Can you, in less than five words
describe your book?
Paranormal urban romance, gargoyles, fey
What inspired you to write it?
I think it was
in 2009 that a small on-line publisher ran a contest called the Scottish
Nocturnal contest, and I badly wanted to write something for it. I had spent
the past two years trying to get my head around the romance genre well enough
to write it. The theme of a Scottish hero who was also a creature of the night appealed
to me, so I thought I’d give it a go.
The first snag I
hit was that I didn’t want to write about vampires or werewolves. There were a
lot of stories featuring them, and I couldn’t think of an approach that
satisfied me. I wanted something different—and gargoyles adorned many Scottish
cathedrals… so gargoyles it was.
The second snag
was that I wasn’t familiar with Scotland and its landmarks, and I had to think
of a way to bring it to more familiar territory. The opening chapter was the
result.
And here's the excerpt....
The
crate had been loaded with care, its contents cushioned by foam, and iron bands
shrunk to fit so it didn’t burst open. It had been packed in a shipping
container and hauled down from the highlands on the back of a monster truck
driven by a driver who should have been certified insane long ago. Its contents
had been auctioned before being packed back into the crate and loaded onto a
ship in Greenock.
Since
then, the crate had travelled three oceans and rounded the Cape. It had skirted
the southern reaches of the world’s largest island and come to rest in that
island’s only island state. The crew of the freighter, Hinchinbrook, was glad
to see the back of it.
It
wasn’t that there was anything particularly sinister about the crate—it was a
normal shipping container, painted a bright reddish-orange and labeled in white
with the firm’s logo, just like all the
others. Unlike all the others, however, there were some in the crew who claimed
they only had to walk past the thing for it to give them the creeps… and there
were some as whispered that something moved within.
Others
claimed the wind moaned more loudly when they stood in close proximity, and a
few even claimed that the wind moaned when they stood right next to it and
there was no wind at all. More than one hinted at seeing a look of relief cross
the lorry driver’s face as the thing was unloaded from his truck.
Claire
Handley knew nothing of these rumors as she watched it being unloaded at
Hobart’s docks—and she wouldn’t have cared if she had. She didn’t have time for
such things. The Hotel Gothica, her Hotel Gothica, was due to open in less than
a week, and the gargoyle was the last thing that needed to be fitted before the
hotel’s inauguration. It would form the perfect finish to the guest entrance in
what had once been Saint David’s Cathedral.
Claire
had kept her promise of keeping the main area of the cathedral open to the
public. The stained-glass windows and vaulted ceiling provided the perfect
backdrop for the Gothica Café, and she had reserved a portion as a chapel,
using long tubs of carefully pruned and trellised citrus trees to form a living
wall around it. Smaller tubs, containing sweetly-scented lavender, formed a low
border around the trees, and the two-tiered arrangement gave privacy to any who
might need it.
Velvet-covered
benches, flanked by statues or more greenery, and iron-work chairs and tables
were scattered around the remainder of the hotel’s ground floor to provide
people with nooks in which they could settle to wait for loved ones or guests,
or stations from which to admire the windows—and all around the place were
gargoyles, some hanging from pillars, others hiding beneath benches, and still
others peering out from beside potted plants. It was no longer a church, but
Claire hoped it was still a place where people could find solace and solitude.
The
benches, statuary and greenery had been set aside to provide a clear path for
the crate and its contents to follow, and Claire watched as the workmen began
unpacking the creature she’d fallen in love with in Scotland.
Perhaps
‘fallen in love’ was too strong a term, but she could think of none better to
describe the feelings of pride and affection she felt for the beautiful
carving. Yes, it was a gargoyle, and, no, it wasn’t exactly pretty, but it
showed superb craftsmanship and elegant lines. Claire suppressed a flutter at
the memory of some of those lines.
The
corded muscles of its forelimbs stretched into well-muscled shoulders, and the
large hands that would rest on the lintel over the door leading to the registry
and hotel lifts and stairs were curiously human, in spite of the half-extended
claws sprouting from their fingertips.
Claire
sighed. Whoever had modeled for the
creature, had possessed a fine chest as well… and abs, very nice abs… and the
back below the wings. You could run your fingers along those muscle lines for
ever… She shook her head, trying to shake her thoughts in a more
businesslike direction. It’s only a
statue for heaven’s sake!
Leaving
the workmen to their task, she decided to visit the kitchens of Café Gothica
for a coffee. Matthias, the café’s lessee would probably be in, going over his
preparations for opening night, and he would want to tell Claire how they were
progressing. Revising Matthias’s plans in her head, Claire turned away from the
workmen. As she did so, she noticed a figure standing at the entrance to the
cathedral, a visitor far too early for opening night.
“I’m
sorry, but we’re closed,” she said, moving to intercept it. “We don’t open
until…” She hesitated, recognizing who it was.
“I know when you open,” the man sneered,
“but I wanted to see where you would be putting my inheritance.”
Many thanks for sharing Eleanor!
If you'd like to find out more about Eleanor Maine and her books, click on the following weeks. Enjoy your Wednesday!
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