Please describe your
novel twitter style 140 characters or less.
Witch-in-denial, Cait O’Connell, joins
her sexy police detective ex-husband to find a demon pulling women into the
past to commit its murders in a seedy Memphis hotel.
What is the one thing you
wish you knew before you tried to get published?
The secret handshake.
:) Or just a warning about how hard it is to make a living in this business.
Knowing wouldn’t have changed my mind, but I would have been better prepared!
What to you is the best
part of being a writer and what is the part you wouldn’t mind giving up?
The best part is the dress code—there is none! The hours—I set my schedule. But
the truly best part is the fact I get paid to dream. The worst part is the need to promote. I would
prefer to write all day. As it is, I spend half of my time writing and the
other half promoting. Not that I don’t mind connecting with readers. That part
I love. It’s just not as tangible—what works, what doesn’t—so I do waste a lot
of time.
What city would you love
to set a story in but the right one hasnt come along yet?
I’ve used Memphis and
New Orleans a lot! And the east coast of Florida. I love both Memphis and New
Orleans and have visited often. I lived in Florida and know the area firsthand
so it’s easy to set stories there. I’d like to write a story set in the
Everglades—a place I’ve visited, but would love an excuse to get back to, and
one in Iceland, because again, I need an excuse to go there!
Vampires, Shifters,
Zombies, Angels - who wins the final ultimate battle?
I’m sure it will be
Zombies. They never die except from a head shot, and Vampires will starve to
death rather than feast off of Z-blood. Angels won’t win the battle because
they won’t stick around for the fight. They will abandon Earth and head back to
heaven while they wait for the Z’s to wither and die. Then they’ll go back to
God and say “I told you so.”
If you could witness any
historical event past, present or future what would it be and why?
I’d love to be
around when man heads into deep space. I want to be part of that crew that gets
Lost In Space. I wouldn’t even mind
being that caretaker on Silent Running
who waters the last garden in space. I want to see a different set of
constellations, step onto a newly terraformed planet, and gaze up at the moons
and stars.
If you were going to
cowrite a new book, who would you want to write it with?
Co-writing’s hard!!!!!
I’ve written with my sister, and we struggle with scheduling. I’ve written with
poor Paisley Smith and struggled with that exact same issue. I don’t think I’m
the best writing partner. Now, I’d love to collaborate with Joss Whedon (Buffy,
Angel, Firefly, The Avengers) on a project.
What books are currently
on your nightstand?
Several Egyptian
mythology books and a vision board book. No fiction currently.
What is the best thing
you have done in the name of research?
Reading is the most
important thing. I’ve visited morticians to see what it is they do. I’ve spoken
with firefighters about hairy rescues. Travel is the most enjoyable form of
research. Whether I go with an end in mind or simply find a story while I’m at
my destination, it’s the best way to “find” ideas.
When writing what is your
favorite part of the story?
The opening. It’s shiny
and newborn. Nailing the opening is the hardest part of writing a book. You
have to get to know your characters very quickly. You have to figure out their
problems and their strengths, walk in their shoes so you can “see” where they
are in their lives. Once you have the opening, you pretty much have the rest of
the book. Or at least, I do.
Anything else you would
like to share today?
Just that I really
think readers will enjoy Lost Souls.
It’s a wild ride—funny, fast-paced, a little scary, very sexy. You’ll laugh and
you’ll cry. And you’ll meet Sylvia—one of my most favorite secondary characters
ever. You’ll see.
LOST SOULS
by Delilah
Devlin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Fan
favorite Delilah Devlin delivers her second paranormal romantic thriller
featuring unforgettable heroine, Caitlyn O’Connell. This time, the psychic PI
joins her police detective ex-husband to find a demon pulling women into the
past to commit their murders in a seedy Memphis hotel.
Private Investigator Caitlyn O’Connell is tapped by Memphis PD to discover who
has been using a Memphis hotel as his killing ground. Women are going missing,
and their bodies are found inside the walls of the hotel. But the bodies
themselves? They appear to have been murdered in the distant past. With
ghosthunters and cops crawling all over the crime scene, Cait and her detective
ex-husband Sam Pierce race to find the demon responsible before he kills again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT:
Note for Readers: You must be of legal age in your country of origin to read this
excerpt.
“Caitydid,
quick! Get the bell jar!”
Annoyed
at the interruption, the girl looked up from the homework spread on the dining
room table to see her mother dart through the room, her flowered skirt swishing
around slender legs. Mama was heading toward the kitchen, her hands cupped
together.
The
girl’s stomach tightened in a knot. She knew where this action was heading—yet
another attempt by her well-meaning mother to bring her daughter out of her
blue funk. “Mama, now? I have a test to study for.”
Laughter
trilled. “It’s only math! Algebra can wait. Come, I’ll need your help.”
The
girl sighed and set down her pencil. A basic understanding of math was
needed—even for spell-weaving. Morin understood that. Morin also understood the
need for grieving. The dead deserved respect. Her mother’s seeming need to
inject happiness in their quiet house grated. As she followed her mother, she
dragged her feet.
Lorene
O’Connell’s face was animated, bright circles of color on her cheeks. She
looked more excited than she had in weeks. The girl felt slightly ashamed of
her resentment over how her mama was beginning to move on. She’d much prefer
they hold on to their grief a while longer. Her daddy deserved an ocean of
tears in remembrance.
Still,
she went to the cabinet and stood on tiptoe, searching with her fingertips for
the crystal bell jar. When she found it, she inched the jar off the shelf until
it tilted, and then quickly grabbed the bottom rim before the glass fell to the
floor.
“Hurry,
Caitydid.”
The
girl’s lips pressed together. She hated the childhood nickname, wishing her
mama wouldn’t treat her like she was still five years old. She was Cait, not
Caitydid, not Caitlyn. She preferred the stark, crisp version of her name. The
single syllable made her feel older than her twelve years, something she wanted
desperately to be, because if she were older, Morin might look at her the same
way he did her mother.
With
a smoldering heat in his eyes that never failed to get either of the O’Connell
women warm and flustered.
She
hurried to her mama as the older woman set her cupped hands atop the counter.
“Place the jar above my hands. Be ready. I’ll slide my fingers free.”
Holding
the jar so that it touched the tops of her mother’s hands, Cait waited as
Mama’s fingers opened slowly and a butterfly emerged, flying with frantic
wings, fluttering toward the top of the jar.
Her
mama eased her hands from beneath the lip, and Cait dropped it down, trapping
the butterfly inside. She eyed it, feeling a little sorry for the creature but
not overly impressed with its appearance.
The
insect was ordinary, bright yellow with muddy spots, a hint of black at the
edges of its wings. Small. She glanced up, studying the banked excitement in
her mama’s eyes. Excitement that Cait thought was overkill. The bug was hardly
a treasure. Dozens just like it flitted about their backyard garden.
“Isn’t
he lovely?”
Cait
shrugged. “It’s a butterfly.”
“A
clouded sulphur.” Her mother’s gaze left the butterfly to pin Cait with a
frown. “You really should pay attention to your other lessons.”
“Is
this something Morin taught you?” Cait asked, wondering how she’d missed it.
Because for him, she remembered every single thing he’d ever said and never had
to be scolded for daydreaming.
Her
mama’s cheeks brightened. “Never mind. You can help me. But first, I need to
gather some ingredients.”
Cait
leaned an elbow on the counter and set her chin on her hand, her gaze studying
the butterfly as it bounced against the clear crystal trying to escape.
Her
mother bustled around her, talking to herself as she gathered the items she’d
needed for whatever she was about to cook up.“Saffron, alcohol . . . Vodka
should do nicely. Gum arabic for thickening . . .”
Cait
turned her head to watch her mother bring her conjuring chalice to the counter
and straightened. So, this was a serious spell.
Her
attention caught, she followed her mother’s motions as she took saffron strands
she’d already steeped in bowling water and left to cool, and placed them in the
bottom of the chalice. Mama poured in the yellow water, followed by a generous
dash of alcohol, and then added a sprinkle of the thickening agent.
She
stirred the brew with her slender, double-edged athamé, and then set it aside,
her gaze going to the butterfly again. “Here’s where I need your help,
darling.”
Another
thing she didn’t like being called, because her mother only used that endearment
when she wanted something. Badly.
But
her curiosity was caught. “What do you want me to do?”
“I
need the dust from the butterfly’s wings.”
Cait
swallowed. “Do I have to pluck the wings?” It was just a bug, but that still
seemed unnecessarily cruel.
Her
mama laughed. “No, silly. The butterfly must live. He’s precious.” Her head
tilted, and a dreamy smile stretched her mouth. “You really should have paid
better attention to your bedtime stories. Don’t you remember? Psyche was a
mortal woman who loved Eros, the god of love. She traveled to the Underworld
and performed arduous tasks to earn the right to stand among the gods and marry
Eros. She became goddess of the butterflies.”
“That’s
a story. A myth. There was no Psyche.”
Her
mother’s dark brow arched. “Are you so sure? But there is a goddess, Gaia. And
she has given you gifts. You mustn’t anger her with your stubbornness or she
could take them away.”
The
girl refrained from continuing the argument. She’d never win it because her
mother wasn’t the most logical person on the planet. She believed the stars
determined her fate. That the Goddess had a reason for the tragedy they’d
endured. A wave of melancholy swept her at the thought of her papa. He’d been
so strong and brave, and yet his will and fate hadn’t saved him from a tiny
bullet.
A
sigh burst beside her. She glanced up at her mother, caught the edge of sadness
in Lorene’s soft brown eyes, and shrugged off her own emotion. She was her
daddy’s girl. He wouldn’t like her to get weepy-faced. Not when her mama needed
her to be strong. “What do you want me to do?” she asked in a gruff voice.
“Think
about your papa, sweetheart, and put your hand beneath the jar. Let the
butterfly brush against your fingers. I need dust from its wings.”
Cait
expelled a breath and did as she was told, raising the edge of the jar then
slipping her hand underneath. She held her fingers still while the butterfly
flew around them, his frantic fluttering tickling the tips.
“That
should be enough.”
Cait
removed her hand and held her fingers to the sunlight streaming through the
small kitchen window. Fine yellow particles clung to her skin.
Mama
held out the chalice. “Swirl the butterfly’s scales in the liquid.”
Cait
dipped her fingers into the chalice and swirled, thinking of her papa, of his
dark auburn hair, his thick shoulders and chest, his dark uniform and towering
height. When tears began to gather, she drew back her hand. “What did we just
make, Mama?”
“Butterfly’s
blood—an ink I will use to write a spell.”
“What
kind of spell?”
A
moment passed. Her mother’s lips thinned. “Go finish your homework, Caitydid.”
Knowing
her mother had no intention of telling her, Cait filed away the list of
ingredients in her mind. A question she’d bring to Morin. Something for them to
laugh over during her next lesson.
She
eyed her mother’s retreating figure, and then glanced at the butterfly, still
fluttering inside the crystal. The thought of it staying trapped upset her, so
she sought a saucer, slid it beneath the jar, and carried her burden to the garden.
Darkness
sank as murky as the sultry summer air, as heavy as a blanket pulled over a
child’s head to hide the monsters lurking in a shadowy closet. Street lamps
popped and sizzled, darkening then lightening, but failing to flare bright
enough or long enough to chase away deep pockets of inky black. Cait was
creeped out, since all she had were glimpses of silvery light from a full moon
rimming buildings and casting deeper shadows to cloak alleyways and doorway
stoops.
Another
full moon. An event she was acutely aware encouraged monsters, both human and
supernatural, to come out and play. Edgy and beyond bored, she almost wished
for something out of the ordinary to happen, but then quickly changed her mind.
The last time her job had given her a real challenge she’d battled a demon in
an attic while a wraith latched its freezing fingertips around the man sitting
beside her, slapping him around like a rag doll.
For
just a second, she relished that last memory. At least Jason had been awake.
For
the umpteen thousandth time that night, Caitlyn O’Connell sighed. This time
exaggerating the sound. Loudly. Actually, more of a groan than a sigh. A
sound that invited Jason Crawford, lying back in the seat beside hers, to wake
up and keep her company. She was bored as freaking shit. Surveillance was the
one part of her job she truly hated. In fact, she thought she might like having
her ingrown toenails cut better than sitting in a dark alley waiting for
something to happen.
The
weather irritated her even more. Although she’d stripped down to a tank top and
jeans, the insides of her boots were damp from the oppressive summer heat. Not
a trace of a breeze stirred, and they’d shut off the sedan’s engine to be able
to hear vehicles approaching, so the AC sat silent.
What
good was having magic if she couldn’t even muster up a spell to start a breeze?
She’d tried waving, punching, wiggling her nose, but nada. Worse, she’d tried
to come up with a poem to appease The Powers That Be, but hadn’t found a line
that sounded even remotely elegant with “wheeze” tacked on the end.
She
supposed she’d used up her last favor asking for intervention with Worthen’s
monstrosity, the Civil War–era demon resurrected in his tomb, for which she’d
had to beg The Powers and a certain sorcerer for help defeating. Or perhaps
they didn’t like how she’d ignored Morin since she’d fought the demon and won.
Whatever. She was a PI, not a witch. And right now, she had a job to do.
So
why couldn’t she and Jason be watching the Peabody Hotel? Or any of the nicer
hotels in the downtown area? The Deluxe Hotel was anything but deluxe.
The marquee above the entrance was missing a few letters and read, DELUXE HO,
which on second thought appeared apropos for the sleazy dive.
The
whole area had an aura of neglect. Trash overfilled bins and cluttered the
gutters. Worse, a small tattered sign was taped to the hotel’s glass door: AA
MEETING, 9 PM SATURDAY.
Mocking
her. The very thing her ex-husband, and now sometimes boyfriend, had been
nagging her to locate.
And
worse yet, the car she sat in reeked of stale onion-and-anchovy pizza. If she
didn’t know him better, she might have thought her partner had ordered it on
purpose. But he’d munched away happily, while she’d chosen to drag in the
scents from the overfilled bin they’d parked beside. Better unknown trash than
fishy-smelling onion breath.
Her
cheeks billowed around another harsh exhalation. How the hell could Jason sleep
through all the noise she’d been making? She aimed a scowl his way, caught the
quick lowering of his eyelids and a twitch at the side of his lips.
She gave a grunt and turned back to watch the entrance of the seedy old hotel
where Mrs. Oscar Reyes was scheduled to meet up with her boy-toy. Or so Mr.
Reyes had informed them this morning after hacking into his wife’s Facebook
account.
“Get
me pictures of the bitch,” he’d said, clearing his throat when Cait had given
him a narrow-eyed glare. “I won’ believe it ’til I see.”
She’d
eyed his oily hair, brushy mustache, and stocky frame and wondered why he was
so surprised his wife had sought the attention of a lover who called her his
“mariposa rubia.”
“Blonde
butterfly,” Jason had translated under his breath since Cait’s Spanish was
limited to curses.
Oscar
Reyes was the typical slimy client they attracted—spouses seeking ammunition
for divorce court, employers wanting an employee followed for proof they hadn’t
been injured badly enough to warrant workmen’s comp.
Since
Oscar had already done the legwork and found cyberproof of his wife’s
infidelity, Cait wondered why the hell he’d hired them to snap the shots. A
$500 retainer plus their hourly fee would rack up quite a bill in no time. But
she’d refrained from asking him.
The
nice fat check they’d gotten from the Memphis PD for helping find her first
partner’s killer and three young women who’d been kidnapped by a demon hadn’t
lasted long. So she and Jason were back hustling for smaller fish.
Which reminded her again of the half-eaten pizza in the backseat.
Ready
to pitch the box into the trash bin, she paused when headlights flared as a car
turned onto South Front Street. A low-slung sedan stopped in front of the
hotel.
Cait
waited for the beams to extinguish, and then raised her camera with its
night-vision lens and took a look. Just as Oscar had predicted, Sylvia Reyes
stepped out of the car, her bleached-blonde hair neon bright in the viewfinder.
She wore an ass-hugging mini-skirt, four-inch heels, and a top that rode the
curves of her full breasts.
Cait
clicked off a couple of shots of the woman entering the hotel, then reached out
and backhanded Jason’s belly. “Time to move.”
“Mmm,
wha’?” he said, pretending to waken from a deep sleep.
She
rolled her eyes. “Like you’ve been sleeping? It’s Reyes’s wife. Let’s see if we
can catch her with her boyfriend.”
“Sound grumpy.” Jason flashed her a smile. “The anchovies gettin’ to you?”
She
shrugged, pretending the stench hadn’t made her slightly nauseous. “It’s your
car. The smell’ll be here for a week.”
With
quiet moves, they opened their doors. Cait quickly replaced the special lens
and hung the camera on her shoulder before jogging to the entrance. She pushed
through the grimy glass, lifted her head in a vague nod to the clerk at the
reception desk, and walked to the elevators, eying the red digital numbers
above the doors. There were two elevators. Only one was moving, and it stopped
and held at floor three.
She
elbowed past two men and a woman laden with cameras and equipment bags. One
held out a device Cait thought might be a light meter, but she changed her mind
when a red light beeped on the top and it clicked like a Geiger counter.
“Do
you see that?” the chubby man with a Fu Manchu said, elbowing the skinny dude
beside him. “We’ve got something here.”
“Told
you there’s lots of activity in this old place.”
Activity?
She eyed them again, read the logo on their bags, and rolled her eyes. REEL
PIS: PARANORMAL INVESTIGATORS. As if. She stuck her finger in the elevator
button, doing her best to ignore the morons. She hadn’t heard so much as a
whisper or a wail since she’d entered the hotel.
“Faster
goin’ up the stairs,” Jason said, pulling her arm with one hand and pointing
toward the stairway door. He flipped the door handle and pushed through. “After
you,” he said with a flourish of his hand. His grin said he knew how much she
disliked racing up three flights.
She
gave him the stink-eye and started the climb. When she reached the third-floor
landing, she glanced through the door’s rectangular window, saw no one in the
hallway, and opened the door.
The
corridor smelled as bad as it looked—urine to complement the yellowed beige
walls, mildew to enhance the brown-and-green plaid carpet.
Gasping
to catch her breath, she looked left, then right, and caught a flash of
impossibly blonde hair a moment before Sylvia Reyes turned the corner farther
down the hallway. Cait hurried after her, on the scent of a woman about to
cheat on her husband. She turned the corner, entering a hallway marked by a
door frame for a double door that no longer existed. The corridor was empty. No
room doors along the short hall closed to indicate where their target had gone.
Jason
drew up beside her, his eyebrows rising. “What now? Listen for moaning?”
Giving
him a shove, she took a step past the hallway door frame, and then halted, some
instinct keeping her from pushing forward. Or maybe what stopped her was the
yellow police tape covering one of the doors. Not something she had time to
ponder right that moment because a strange hum sounded. A bulb popped, plunging
the hallway into darkness. The hairs on her arms lifted a second before
electricity arced from a light switch, sending out a bolt like lightning that
shot toward the ceiling, then turned, traveling toward her, hitting doorways as
though searching for ground. The jagged dagger of electricity darted, then
blinked out, but not before she saw a figure, one in four-inch hot pink heels,
her eyes rounding in terror—a figure she could see straight through to the
piss-yellow wall behind her.
Darkness
took the figure. Then another hissing arc flared from the light switch,
brightening the hallway again. Sylvia Reyes was gone.
Jason
grabbed her arm, pulled her back around the corner, and flattened her against
the wall with an elbow digging into her belly.
The
white bolt flickered past the corner, then dove to the floor, sparking out with
a fizzle.
“Bad
wiring?” he whispered.
She
shook her head, shoved away his elbow, and stepped into the hall again. The
faint smell of something burning lingered in the air. The hall was once again
empty. And dark.
Cait
held still, listening, and then she heard the sound. A soft wail. Like a
distant echo. “Hear that?” she whispered.
“No.
What do you hear?”
She
swallowed. “Not anyone living.”
Then
the faint sound of whispers rose, maybe half a dozen voices joining in chorus.
Her hand dropped to the camera at her side. She flipped off the lens cap,
raised the camera, and looked through the viewfinder. Nothing out of the
ordinary, other than a really sleazy flophouse. Still, she clicked off a couple
of shots. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t
want to wait around until she leaves? A shot of the lady kissing her boyfriend
good-bye would close this case.”
Cait shook her head, not wanting to voice what she suspected. Not before she
was sure of exactly what she’d seen. “No. Let’s get back to the office. I have
to look at something.”
Jason
knew her well enough not to ask any more questions. The fact she was cutting
the surveillance short told him they had a problem.
This
time they took the elevator. The sooner she got out of here the better. Well,
she’d gotten what she’d wished for. Something out of the ordinary had
definitely happened.
Back
at the Delta Detective Agency, Cait slipped the memory card from her camera
into the slot in her computer. With a couple of clicks, she found the file of
pictures and opened it.
There
was Sylvia Reyes outside the Deluxe, her small cat-like features coated in too
much makeup, her coarse blonde hair flattened to rest limply on her shoulders.
Her expression was furtive, but excitement sparkled in her dark eyes. Another
shot caught her too-tight skirt hugging her J-Lo butt. Then Cait clicked on the
last two shots, unsure what she might see inside the third-floor hallway. Maybe
nothing. Maybe something she didn’t want to see.
The
shot showed an empty hallway. The photo was blurred, but the differences
between the hall’s actual appearance and what was on the computer screen was
startling. Gone were the yellowed walls and crappy brown and green carpet. In
its place was wallpaper—a foiled gold-and-wine-colored paisley. The carpet was
a solid blood red. The fixtures—lights, switches, brass plates on the door—were
shiny and new.
“Where’d
you take that?” Jason asked, hovering at her shoulder.
“At
the Deluxe,” she said, closing out the file. She suppressed a shiver of dread.
“No
kiddin’? How come I didn’t see that?”
She
didn’t dare look his way. He’d see her shock and ask more questions. Questions
she didn’t have any quick answers for.
“Tacky
as hell, but—”
She
gave a sharp shake of her head. “That’s not the way it is.” At last, she shot
an upward glance.
Jason
pushed out his lips. His gaze settled on her, waiting.
She
knew he wouldn’t let her up from the chair until she gave him at least a clue
of what was going on in her head. “It’s the way the hotel was.”
His
gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”
She
rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t know what I mean.”
A
frown dug a line between his blond-brown brows. “I don’t think Reyes is going
to pay us for those shots or our time since we didn’t get what he wanted.”
“Reyes
is the least of our problems,” she muttered.
Jason
groaned. “It was the anchovies, right? This is your revenge?”
Her
mouth tipped up into a smirk. “You think this is all about you? Poor little
rich boy.”
He
shook his head, grinning, but the fine lines beside his hazel eyes deepened
with worry. “Since this case looks like major woo-woo is involved, you have the
lead. Where to first?”
Cait
grimaced. Once again, she had no doubt they were headed straight down the
rabbit’s hole. “I need to talk to Sam about that taped-off room.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Until recently, award-winning romance author Delilah Devlin lived
in South Texas at the
intersection of two dry creeks, surrounded by sexy
cowboys in Wranglers. These days, she’s missing the wide-open skies and starry
nights but loving her dark forest in Central Arkansas, with its eccentric
characters and isolation—the better to feed her hungry muse!
For Delilah, the greatest sin is driving between the lines,
because it’s comfortable and safe. Her personal journey has taken her through
one war and many countries, cultures, jobs, and relationships to bring her to
the place where she is now—writing sexy adventures that hold more than a kernel
of autobiography and often share a common thread of self-discovery and
transformation.
Delilah Devlin is a prolific and award-winning author of erotica
and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously
edgy stories with complex characters. Whether creating dark, erotically-charged
paranormal worlds or richly descriptive historical stories that ring with
authenticity, Delilah Devlin “pens in uncharted territory that will leave the
readers breathless and hungering for more…” (Paranormal Reviews) Ms. Devlin has
published over 100 erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths.
She is published by
Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave,
Harlequin Spice, Kensington, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.
Website: http://www.delilahdevlin.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DelilahDevlinFanPage
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GIVEAWAY:
Follow the tour and
comment at each stop; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour
dates can be found here: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/04/virtual-book-tour-lost-souls-by-delilah.html
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