On this lovely Wednesday, I am proud to introduce Janni Nell, with a snippet of her book, Dance of
FFlames.
Can you, in less than five words describe your book Dance of Flames?
Humorous, mystery, guardian angel
What inspired you to write it?
Here's the excerpt!
Bloodcurdling screams are a pain
in the ass. We’d endured them every night since arriving in the villa and it
was getting old. A family vacation in Spain is not supposed to include
sleepless nights. Well, not unless you’re at a tavern drinking sangria and dancing
flamenco. Things had got so bad Mom was threatening to replace the maid with
someone who didn’t suffer nightmares. Much as I hated to admit it, I was
beginning to agree with her. Don’t get me wrong—I liked Consuela, but I was
home alone babysitting and I’d just got my niece to sleep.
Abandoning the terrace along with
my piña colada and the amazing view of the Mediterranean, I hurried to
Consuela’s room. Her door was locked.
I knocked and called, “Consuela,
wake up.”
Another scream shredded my
eardrums. I considered kicking the door in and clapping my hand over her mouth,
but Mom would kill me if she had to pay damages for a broken door. Not the
money, you understand, the embarrassment. I headed outside hoping Consuela’s
window was open. Yep, just a crack, but enough for me to push it wider. Groans
drifted from the darkness within. Another scream was only a breath away.
Folding my six-foot-and-one-half-inch frame, I slid over the sill and into her
room. Night turned everything to shades of gray. I could just make out a
sitting area and TV near the window.
Moving toward the sound of her
moans, I banged into a low table, knocking a lamp off balance. I caught it
before it crashed to the floor. Flicking the switch, I filled the room with
ghost-pale light. Consuela’s sheets were tangled around her. Hair clung to her
scalp, dark rivers amongst islands of sweat. She arched her back and opened her
mouth. I rushed forward to cover her mouth. Her scream crashed against my hand
and retreated into her throat. When she coughed, I removed my hand. She
blinked, shielding dark-circled eyes from the light. Her olive skin was
unnaturally pale. She whimpered in Spanish, but I didn’t understand a word.
“You’re okay,” I said. “It was
just a dream. You’re here in the villa. Safe.”
“Potro,”
she said,
her eyes suddenly wide and staring. A sob broke from her throat. “Potro.”
I crouched beside her, resting my
hand on her damp forehead. She sucked in a breath and sat up. One arm was held
at her side slightly away from her body. Her face was twisted in pain. Was that
what potro
meant? Pain?
Or did it mean arm? Or get me to a hospital, now?
“Do you need a doctor?” I asked.
“Sí, doctor,” she said.
“Did someone break in?” I asked,
remembering the open window. “Did they hurt you?”
The color drained from her face.
Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and she sucked in air as though she’d
just run a marathon.
“Take it easy,” I said, squeezing
her good shoulder. “It’s okay.” That was when she fainted.
Great, how would I call a doctor?
I knew less than five words of Spanish and two of those were piña and colada.
But I had to
do something for her. She’d kicked off the sheets and I now saw that, as well
as the shoulder injury, there was an ugly burn on her thigh. It looked almost
like a brand—a circle surrounding the number one. My right big toe had been
itching since I’d entered her room, and that meant the paranormal was somehow
involved. A thorough investigation would have to wait until she’d received
medical treatment and, since I couldn’t communicate with a Spanish doctor, I’d
have to throw myself on the mercy of my stepfather’s golfing buddy.
Nigel Noffrends was a British
surgeon who owned a neighboring villa. He didn’t usually make house calls,
especially when he was on vacation, but mentioning I was the stepdaughter of
Stephen Richard Hampton XXXIII encouraged him to make an exception.
I was heaving a sigh of relief
when my niece began to howl. Leaving the unconscious Consuela sprawled on her
bed, I hurried to comfort Little Allegra, but I didn’t make it past the living
room. A figure detached itself from the shadows and blocked my way. He was
taller than me by several inches, big and built. Darkness shrouded his face.
Sounds awesome and very exciting, Janni - thank you so much for sharing.
If you would like to read more, click on the following links!
http://amzn.to/Ti6ZSN
http://bit.ly/WDIstD
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