Sharing Links and Wisdom: Emily's Trial Book Tour

Blurb:

Two years ago, Emily Adams took a perilous journey, answered the hero’s call and became a modern Celtic Priestess. Armed with a magic dagger and powerful golden torc, she was entrusted with sacred magic and ancient wisdom.

But even a Priestess can know desire, feel temptation, and yearn for love. Will passion entice Emily to use the sacred magic entrusted to her in a forbidden way? Can new love take root in a world of nightmares? And will her friendships survive Emily’s Trial?

The Journey Continues . . .

Long Excerpt:

As I scanned the street for a place to start my search for Owen, I saw a trail of what looked like blood on the sandy ground outside of the saloon. I ran to the saloon and pushed my way inside.

The sign out front said ‘The Broke Spoke’. It looked like the only watering hole in town. I half expected to find Owen strung up in there with a rowdy crowd egging on a fight.

Instead, it was fairly quiet inside. There was no tinny piano playing, no fistfights or gunslinging going on. Just a large round table with about a half-dozen guys in long-sleeved shirts and dusty pants who looked like they were in dire need of a bath, smoking cigars and playing cards. There were a few other tables with guys sitting and talking over a drink. There wasn’t a woman to be found, not even a lady of the evening.

At the bar was a lone customer, who looked like he’d raided Johnny Cash’s closet. He was dressed entirely in black, from his black hat covering his black hair to his black boots. He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either. And because his black clothes weren’t covered in dust, he stood out from the others.

I noticed that none of the people in the saloon had auras. It made me wonder if any of the people were real. Of course they’re not real. I’m in a nightmare. All of them were plants – figments of an imagination. But whose? Owen’s? Ciardha’s? Or my own?

The Dark Man was dressed in a black, wide-brimmed hat that shielded his face from me. Sitting in the dim light of the saloon, it was all but impossible to make out his features. At first, I thought it was Ciardha here to play the game. I felt drawn to move toward the man anyway, my feet like they were on a conveyor belt pulling me in.

As I approached the man, I noticed he had a black cat on his lap. He gently stroked the cat’s head with his right hand. When I got about two feet away from him, I could hear the cat purring. I began to think maybe this wasn’t Ciardha because it didn’t seem likely that Ciardha could ever make a cat purr.

I felt I should speak to the man, but I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, unsure what my next move was supposed to be in Ciardha’s no-win game.

A bartender was at the other end of the bar, wiping a glass with a towel. He noticed me standing there and huffed, but came over.

“Whad’ya have?”

“What is he having?” I asked as I gestured toward the Dark Man.

“Coffee,” the bartender said.

“Coffee? Okay then, that’s what I’ll have.”

“A fine choice,” the Dark Man said. The bartender sat down a humble-looking mug that looked as if it hadn’t been properly washed in months. He tipped his metal pot and poured the black liquid to the rim of the cup then went back to what he was doing at the other end of the bar.

“That’s a lovely cat.” I watched the Dark Man pet the cat absent-mindedly.

“Yes, she is,” he said.

“She sure is purring. She must like the petting.”

“This contact. It’s illusory,” he said.

I wasn’t sure what he meant. The contact with the cat, or my contact with him?

“Illusory?”

“The cat and I. To paraphrase your human philosopher Borges, we are as if separated by a pane of glass. She, living in a world of singular moments, aware only of the instant of being. No fear of the future. No regret about the past. She lives in the eternity of the instant.”

“The ‘now’. That’s what you’re talking about.”

The man nodded.

“Your cat is in the ‘now’. But where are you?”

“Like you, I am destined to live a life that is a string of pasts linked to thoughts of the future, perpetually dragged around by my ego-mind.”

“You sound like my master, Madame Wong.”

“Your ‘master’? Master of what?”

That was a fair question. I took a sip of the viscous black liquid being passed off as coffee. The flavor was so awful I winced. It tasted like dirty feet.

“Try this.” The Dark Man opened the sugar bowl, scooped about five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee, than handed me the bowl. He took a sip from his mug and looked content with the flavor. I followed his lead and loaded my cup up with sugar.

I took a sip.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded my approval.

“You didn’t answer my question. Not that I mean to pry, mind you, but your statement rendered me curious about what this Madame Wong is a master of.”

“You’re not prying. That’s a valid question. I wish I had an easy answer. But I guess you could say she is a master of the arts of combat and of life.”

“The two are intertwined.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“You cannot master the one without mastering the other.”

Who was this Dark Man? The way he talked, he reminded me of Madame Wong.

“I don’t mean to pry, but I’m curious too. You don’t seem to belong here.”

“You refer to the saloon?”

“Well, yes, for starters. You look out of place here. Do you live around here?”

“I am not of this place.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To help you of course.”

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Author Bio and Links:

Natalie is the author of The Akasha Chronicles, a young adult paranormal fantasy trilogy. When not writing, blogging, Facebooking, Tweeting, Wattpadding or eating chocolate, Natalie nurtures her young daughter, feeds her dog too many treats, and can’t resist watching Ancient Aliens, no matter how absurd the show becomes.

Natalie enjoys travel, good wine, and excellent food shared with family and friends. She was raised an Ohio farm girl, now lives in the desert Southwest, and dreams of living in a high rise in a big city.

Natalie enjoys chatting with readers, so stop by and say hi:

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Twitter: @NatalieWright_

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