I’ve been running a series of interviews with authors that are releasing new books. I hope you’ll take the time to check out their work. Today, please welcome back author, Daniel Arenson.

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I interviewed you for Firefly Island a couple of months ago. Tell me about this new book.

Flaming Dove is a dark, paranormal fantasy novel. The battle of Armageddon was finally fought… and ended with no clear victor. Upon the mountain, the armies of Hell and Heaven beat each other into a bloody, uneasy standstill, leaving the Earth in ruins. Armageddon should have ended with Heaven winning, ushering in an era of peace. That’s what the prophecies said. Instead, the two armies–one of angels, one of demons–hunker down in the scorched planet, lick their wounds, and gear up for a prolonged war with no end in sight.

In this chaos of warring armies and ruined landscapes, Laila doesn’t want to take sides. Her mother was an angel, her father a demon; she is outcast from both camps. And yet both armies need her, for with her mixed blood, Laila can become the ultimate spy… or ultimate soldier. As the armies of Heaven and Hell pursue her, Laila’s only war is within her heart–a struggle between her demonic and heavenly blood.

What inspired you to write this particular novel?

Fairytales inspired my first novel, Firefly Island. Biblical mythology — stories of demons and angels and Armageddon — inspired this novel.

I recently visited Israel and saw biblical ruins, Roman ruins, crumbling Crusader forts. I thought about how for thousands of years — from Old Testament times, to Roman times, to the Crusades, to modern conflicts — men fought over the Holy Land. Prophecies even speak of Heaven and Hell fighting for this place.

I knew this would be my next novel. But I wouldn’t write a simple Heaven vs. Hell story. I wanted to explore new ideas about Armageddon. I wanted to write a Good vs. Evil story, but not in the form of Good Angels vs. Evil Demons. Instead, I wanted to explore themes of Good and Evil struggling within the soul, to examine the moral conflict war places within its belligerents. This isn’t a straightforward Light vs. Darkness story, but a story about how war brings out both sides within us. My main character is a half-demon, half-angel, allowing me to explore these ideas.

Which of your characters in this book was the most difficult to write about? Why?

At first I had difficulties writing Beelzebub, the main antagonist. I originally portrayed him as a towering, fiery demon of scales and horns — pitchfork, hooves, the works. It didn’t work. It felt too clichéd, almost a parody of demons. To make him more original, I made him world-weary; he sighed a lot and reflected upon the meaning of life. It still didn’t work; he just reminded me of the devil in the South Park movie.

I scrapped that character and recreated Beelzebub as a fallen angel. He was now dark, mysterious, and haunted — an angel who rebelled against God thousands of years ago, who was outcast and cursed. I also gave him a romantic past with Laila, the main heroine in the book, which enhanced the drama. This character clicked right into the story, and I think Beelzebub is now one of my best characters.

I have a keen interest in dark fiction. Tell me how you would classify this book and what’s dark about it?

On a basic level, Flaming Dove is dark fantasy because it deals with demons, fallen angels, and a post-apocalyptic future.

On a thematic level, Flaming Dove is also dark. This novel is a tragedy. This is not a book where Good defeats Evil. This is not even a book that offers a clear vision of Good and Evil. I explore a dark side within angels, as well as humanity buried within demons.

This isn’t a feel good book. I don’t hesitate to kill some characters, and I don’t feel like the “good guys” always have to win. Flaming Dove does not offer an easy, happy ending. I’m hoping, though, that the ending leaves you reflective, maybe even stays with you long after you place the book back on the shelf.

You were once published by a small publisher. Tell me about your experiences of being a traditionally published author vs an indie author.

The main difference is who you market to. With a traditional publisher, you’re marketing to booksellers. When you’re indie, you’re marketing directly to readers.

With a traditional publisher, you get an initial boost of marketing. In 2007, Five Star Publishing released my novel Firefly Island in hardcover. Right out the gates, Firefly Island sold 600 hardcovers, this thanks to my publisher promoting it. After this initial effort ended, I was left to market the book myself. This was difficult since the hardcover cost $26, more than most people want to pay for a book.

I released Flaming Dove, my new novel, independently. When you’re indie, you usually don’t focus on selling to bookstores and libraries (the way publishers do). Instead, you hit the blogs, the boards, the social networks. You interact directly with readers. You build up word-of-mouth slowly. Instead of starting with a bang and then seeing sales drop off, as happens with most traditionally published novels, you can gradually see your sales increase.

This blog is called Random Musings, so give me a random quote from the book – something you’re particularly fond of.

Here is the opening paragraph from Flaming Dove. I feel like it captures the mood of entire novel.

I am Laila, of the night. I have walked through godlight and through darkness. I have fought demons and I have slain angels. I am Laila, of the shadows. I have hidden and run, and I have stood up and striven. I am Laila, of tears and blood, of sins and of piety. I am Laila, outcast from Hell, banished from Heaven. I am alone, in darkness. I am Laila, of light and of fire. I am fallen. I rise again.

What can we expect from you next?

I’m working on a new fantasy novel. This one is about entering the world of dreams and nightmares. I hope to release it next spring.

Where can we find you on the internet?

• My website
• My personal facebook
• My facebook fan page
• My twitter

Any final comments or thoughts?

I’d like to mention Timothy Lantz, the artist who created Flaming Dove’s cover. His artwork truly brings Laila, the main character, to life. You can learn more about the artwork, and see a high res image, here. Thank you for this interview, David. It was a pleasure.

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Always a pleasure, Daniel! Glad to have you back!

Best of luck with Firefly Island, Flaming Dove, and I look forward to hearing about your next release!

Purchasing information:

Amazon – Trade Paperback
Amazon – Kindle
Smashwords

When Liz learned that our rooms had been broken into and that the Necronomicon for each of us had been stolen, I swear her hair looked like she was touching one of those magnetic spheres at the science fair – it got even more frizzy. It even smoked.

Jeeves seemed to be shaking under her gaze.

“How in the Afterlife did you let that happen, Jeeves? Were you poking around in the Arcane Room all day instead of keeping watch?”

Jeeves lowered his head. The guilt on his face was enough of an answer that he didn’t even have to speak the words.

“Jeeves! You know Gertrude can’t keep an eye on all the rooms at once.”

She stuck out her hand that had the blackened finger. Smoke was rising from her outstretched palm. “Give me the key to the Arcane Room now. You are forbidden from entering until further notice!”

Jeeves dropped to his knees, sobbing hysterically. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I couldn’t help me’self.” His fingers fumbled with the ring of skeleton keys until he found one that was slightly different from the others. It had a five pointed star on the end of it instead of a skull. Jeeves’ lower lip curled downwards in a sulky pout as he looked at Liz. He cradled the key to his chest.

“Now, Jeeves!”

“It won’t happen again, ma’am, I swears it!” His body shook with his sobbing.

“You said that the last time, remember? Consequences, Jeeves, consequences.”

At that point he stopped sobbing and his pout turned angry. He thrust the key out at her. Liz took it and then Jeeves got up and stomped off like a scolded child.

“My apologies,” Liz said. She tucked the key somewhere in the folds of her dress. “He’s been slacking off lately. We’re going to have to have a long talk with him.”

None of us really knew what to say so we all stood there rather awkwardly until Kenji broke the silence. “Excuse me,” he said. “But what is this Arcane Room?”

Liz headed for the stairs. “You’re about to find out. But first, let’s check out your rooms. I want to see what we can find out.”

We followed her up and came first to Miesha’s room. Liz and Miesha struggled to be the first to examine the room, but after a single look from Liz, Miesha resorted to following.

The space was similar to my own with the exception that the drapes and bedding were a little more feminine. The dresser was dusty, but there was a clean space in the shape of a book. The room was otherwise in pristine condition.

Goliath sniffed at the dresser. He looked at me, but didn’t seem to indicate what he was thinking.

We moved on Kenji’s room after that. It was the same situation there, with the book having gone missing from the nightstand. His room looked identical to mine.

Then we moved on to my room. Goliath was growling the moment we walked in the door. Liz pulled one of the vials from her bag and motioned for us to wait for her. She looked like she was ready to throw it on a moment’s notice. Goliath joined her as she entered the room.

I hovered at the door, the other two breathing down my neck. Kenji’s breath smelled like berries.

From what I could see from the doorway, the room had been torn apart. The dresser drawers were all opened or lying about the room. The curtains were shredded, the bed had been turned upside down, and the nightstand was in pieces all over the room.

Liz motioned for us to enter.

“Where did you leave the book?” she asked.

I had to think about that. After Liz’s visit, I had crawled into bed to sleep. I hadn’t felt like reading and I think I had shoved the book to the floor. And from the depths of my recollection I think I might have knocked the book under the bed while I was scrambling to shut the curtains.

I immediately looked under what was left of the bed and mattress. There was nothing there.

“I think it was under the bed,” I said.

Liz shook her head. “Looks like it’s gone now.”

Miesha fingered the curtains. “And it looks like someone went to a lot of trouble to find it.”

Liz nodded. “Come with me,” she said. “We need to talk to Gertrude. Necronomicons don’t just go missing.”

We followed her out the door and into the elongated corridor. Liz kept a furious pace. We all practically ran to keep up.

The hand in my pocket kept bumping around. I held it while I jogged down the hallway, wondering when I would get chance to remove it. The woman in the market had given me a suggestion that I was itching to try out, but I hadn’t had a moment alone – not even to use the washroom.

And now that I thought about it, I hadn’t noticed any bathrooms. Nor did I even feel like I had to go since I arrived in the Afterlife. I hadn’t eaten either, and I wasn’t feeling hungry. I figured neither of those mattered here and kept on running.

We seemed to travel for an eternity through the corridor. It was almost like we were in one of those dreams where you run, but you don’t really get anywhere. We kept passing the same light fixtures and paintings on the wall. It must have been around the fifth time we passed a painting of some stodgy old man holding three keys that Liz came to a sudden halt. She faced the painting and pulled out the one Jeeves had given her. She held it up to the painting and it was then that I noticed that he wasn’t really holding three keys. There were two painted-on keys and a slot to place the third key in.

Liz put it in its proper place and the key became part of the painting. Then it slid back, revealing an entrance to a darkened corridor.

“Cool,” I muttered. Miesha and Kenji seemed to be thinking the same thing. They had the same look of wonder on their faces that I was feeling.

Liz reached inside and turned the knob on a wall-mounted light. The corridor lit up. It was long, but not like the one we had just left. There were mirrors along the walls, but we couldn’t see our reflection in them. They were just black glass that seemed to show nothing.

There was only one door, at the very end. It had a large gargoyle hanging on it. His arms were crossed in front of him.

“Gertrude’s waiting for you,” he said.

“I figure,” Liz said. “Any idea what it was?”

The gargoyle shook his head. “How should I know? No one talks to me since I was placed on this door. I just as well be hanging on a log.”

Liz pushed the door open, muffling the gargoyle’s complaining.

The room that awaited us was enormous, almost the size of a school gymnasium, except it was domed. Every wall was loaded with books and there were a few round tables scattered about – some with large astrolabes on them, others with cauldrons. The floor was filled with various circles and symbols. There were locked wardrobes against some of the walls and the room had five doors, spaced evenly apart. The dome was made of glass and open to the sky above. It was then that I noticed that it was almost dawn.

Kenji noticed it too and pointed.

“Daylight is coming,” he whispered.

“Don’t worry,” Liz said. “That glass is tinted. Nothing will happen in here.”

A huge sigh escaped Kenji’s and my lips.

Miesha didn’t even look up. She marched right in and looked about. “Where is this Gertrude?” she asked. “I want to know who took my book?”

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room with the exception of the four of us and Goliath.

“You’re standing in her. Gertrude is the collective essence of all who live in this building.”

Miesha didn’t look impressed. “That is ridiculous,” she said.

Liz walked to one of the cauldrons. She grabbed a handful of powder from the table and tossed it in. There was a flash and smoke rose from the cauldron as it bubbled.

The smoke continued to rise and thicken. Eventually it started to take a form, that of a woman with long hair.

Liz pointed to it. “If it makes it any easier, you can call this Gertrude.”

The smoke woman nodded to Liz, but said nothing.

“Who took the books, Gertrude?” Liz asked. She had her hands on her hips.

The smoky woman raised her arm and pointed.

Her finger was aimed directly at me.

I’ve decided to try a little experiment. I’ve started a new children’s novel. It’s middle-grade – ages 9-12, so bear that in mind when reading. I’m going to post each chapter as I write it. It will be unedited at the moment and I’m not entirely sure where it will take me. I will gladly take comments on this and if I use your suggestion (not spelling or grammar suggestions though) then I’ll gladly acknowledge you in the book when it’s finished. (Maybe I’ll even name a character after you ) Naturally, I reserve the right to post when I want (I’ll try to keep this up weekly) and I reserve the right to change anything I want in the book, at any time. And of course, everything written here is copyrighted. For those that want to read on an electronic reader, I’ll try to come up with various files you can download so you can read at your leisure. If you want to read this to children you know in that age category, that’s fine too. Sometimes they have great suggestions. So, without further ado, here is Billy Bones: Beyond the Grave (it’s just a working title for now – I might change it later). Earlier chapters : Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Warning: It’s rather morbid, so be warned. ——————— Billy Bones: Beyond the Grave Chapter Four It was difficult to focus on Dead Lessons while somebody else’s hand was in my pocket. It wasn’t like it was moving around or anything – it actually sat quite still. But the fact that it was there, balled up in a fist, was unnerving, to say the least. The small group of us sat in a huge old room with slate boards along the walls. An old woman stood up at the front – Mrs Shivers was her name. She was older than Stella and moved like a slug. I sat at the very back, by myself. And when no one was looking I kept trying to fish the hand out of my pocket. It was really hard because when the hand was balled up in a fist, it didn’t have enough room to come out. I kept bending and twisting, this way and that, in an effort to get the blasted thing out of there. In fact, I was so focused on it, I failed to notice Mrs Shivers staring at me. I think she’d asked me a question, but darned if I knew what it was. There was a hand in my pocket! The rest of the group were all turned around in their seats, staring at me. I straightened up in the chair and shrugged. “Sorry,” I said. “I have an itch.” Liz guffawed. “Glad it’s not in your nose!” The rest of them laughed. That was fine. I didn’t really mind. I had more important things to concern myself with. Mrs Shivers seemed to move on from there. I tried to pay attention. I really did, but it just wasn’t working. It’s not like she was teaching us how to do something interesting. It was all about what not to do. Don’t scare the living. Don’t stay in cemetaries. Don’t haunt old mansions. Don’t, don’t, don’t…. She kept yammering for hours and my mind drifted off. I couldn’t help but wonder about the strange man with the decayed face. What was so important about his hand? Unless he had something in it, which just made me want to get it out all the more. I sighed, looking up, and noticed that the rest of the group was just staring at me again, except they were all standing this time. Mrs Shivers was now asleep at her desk and it looked like they were all waiting on me. Liz shook her head. “Did you not get any sleep?” I shrugged. “Sort of. I opened the curtains once.” The rest of them groaned. “What did you do that for?” Miesha asked. “You must not be very smart.” “I dunno,” I responded. “I wanted to see what it looked like outside.” Liz didn’t look impressed and Kenji was holding his head like he knew exactly what I was talking about. I noticed he didn’t say anything. We left the building and I was relieved to learn that Dead Lessons were over. It was only one day of blah blah blah. What a relief that was. Liz went on to explain that we all had jobs in the Afterlife. It all depended on what we used to do before. “Before?” I asked. She gave me that look that said were you not listening at all to what Mrs Shivers said? I shrugged. “It’s in the Necronomicon. You know, the book you didn’t read.” I had to shrug again. “What’s in it?” “Our past lives,” Kenji said. “The book is unique for each person, detailing your history both in the Afterlife and the Livingworld.” That was a bit of a surprise. I would have very much like to have known who I was in my past lives. Liz continued to lead us into what appeared to be a central point in the city. The buildings here were even closer together and much older. The streetlamps were barely functioning, making it rather dark. And she kept leading us through some really dark alleys with very little room to manouver. “I suggest,” she said, “that you read the book as soon as you get back. You need to know what your purpose is here. And once you start reading, your memories will start to return. Just like in the Livingworld, we each have a purpose here.” “Aren’t I kind of young to be working?” I asked. “You’ll understand when you read the book,” she said. “Just because you died as a child in the Livingworld, it doesn’t mean you’re one in the Afterlife. Almost none of us are children here.” She then approached an old market square. There were all kinds of things for sale here, but nothing I would have expected, except on Hallowe’en. The merchants were kind of a shady lot – crooked and bent, warty noses, more hair than I thought would be considered normal, and some were more dead than they probably should have been. They were selling cauldrons, bones, black cats – some of which weren’t alive, and jars of substances that didn’t look proper. “Wait here,” she said, and walked over to chat with one of the merchants – an old crone selling some herbs and potions. Kenji and Miesha waited on the spot while Goliath chased off a couple of feral cats that were slinking in our direction. I took a moment to examine the place a little. I didn’t even get past two old, and I mean old, men selling creepy looking clowns, when a woman called me over. “You,” she said, motioning me over with a heavily ringed finger. “Over here.” I looked back to the others. Liz was bartering with the old woman and the other two were patiently waiting for her. I walked over. “That hand in your pocket,” the woman said. “I can help you.” My eyes opened pretty wide when she said it. “How did you know?” I asked. I probably should have played dumb, but the words were already out of my mouth. She didn’t answer my question. Instead she pointed to her own fist and tickled the lower part of her palm. Then she opened her fist. I reached into my pocket to try it, but she grabbed my hand. Her touch was cold. “Not here,” she said. “Too many eyes. Remember, it’s to be kept secret.” “What is it?” I asked. All this secret stuff was a little cryptic and getting kind of annoying. I wanted to know what the heck was in my pocket. She leaned over to whisper with breath that was as cold as her touch, but Goliath came around the corner. Upon seeing the size of him, the woman twirled on her heel. “I hate dogs,” she muttered and slipped into the market. Goliath sauntered over and sniffed my pants. “Thanks, dog. I was about to find out something useful and you scared her off.” He looked to where she had disappeared and then nudged me back to where Miesha and Kenji still waited like statues. I joined them, but said nothing. Not long after, Liz emerged from the small shop. “What did you get?” I asked. From a drawstring bag she pulled out a couple of vials and some herbs. They stunk. “Protection,” she said. “Protection from what?” Miesha asked. “We’re already dead.” Liz shook her frizzy head. “Read your book,” was all she said and then started to make her way back through the market. We followed her, and pretty close on her heels at one point as there was wailing and screaming behind us. “Banshees,” Liz said. “We should hurry. We don’t want to run into those.” Her already speedy pace quickened. It was all we could do to keep up. Even Goliath was moving along at a steady trot beside me. When we finally got back to Wayward Place, we all dropped onto the couches that waited in the front room. Jeeves was there, fidgeting and mumbling to himself. He looked at Liz apologetically. “We seem to have had some problems while you were away,” he said. Liz put her hands on her hips. “What problems, Jeeves?” He stuttered, trying to get the words out. “T-T-There was a break-in. Some things were stolen.” Liz didn’t look impressed. Her lips were pressed together pretty tight. “What was stolen, Jeeves?” “The Necronomicon,” he said. “Whose?” she asked. He pointed at Miesha, then Kenji, and finally me. “All three of them.”

I’ve decided to try a little experiment. I’ve started a new children’s novel. It’s middle-grade – ages 9-12, so bear that in mind when reading. I’m going to post each chapter as I write it. It will be unedited at the moment and I’m not entirely sure where it will take me. I will gladly take comments on this and if I use your suggestion (not spelling or grammar suggestions though) then I’ll gladly acknowledge you in the book when it’s finished. (Maybe I’ll even name a character after you ) Naturally, I reserve the right to post when I want (I’ll try to keep this up weekly) and I reserve the right to change anything I want in the book, at any time. And of course, everything written here is copyrighted. For those that want to read on an electronic reader, I’ll try to come up with various files you can download so you can read at your leisure. If you want to read this to children you know in that age category, that’s fine too. Sometimes they have great suggestions. So, without further ado, here is Billy Bones: Beyond the Grave (it’s just a working title for now – I might change it later). Earlier chapters : Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Warning: It’s rather morbid, so be warned. ——————— Billy Bones: Beyond the Grave Chapter Three The next night I awoke, somewhat tired. I wasn’t really accustomed to sleeping during the daylight. I even got up at one point during the afternoon and peeked through the curtains to see what the daytime looked like. I should have known what was coming when Goliath whined and hid under the bed as I approached the window. He’s a smart dog. I pulled back the drapes. Blinding light stabbed me in the eyes. The pain hit me so hard I fell over from the impact. I crawled across the floor and reached for the curtains. I strained to close them, and finally had to close my eyes, stand up and yank them shut. With the awful light gone, I plopped on the bed, moaning with what was probably the worst headache I’ve ever had. Goliath got back up on the bed and licked my face. I wrapped my hands around his neck. “Guess that wasn’t such a good idea,” I said. Fortunately, his presence helped to lessen the throbbing behind my eyeballs. I eventually fell back asleep, but woke often to scraping sounds from the hallway. Once it even scratched outside my room. I decided, after the encounter with the sun, that I should probably not open the door. Instead, I hid under the blankets with Goliath and tried to sleep. So by the next night, I was not only tired, but a little shaky. I wasn’t sure what other surprises I was in for, but I thought it might be best to be a little more cautious. I checked myself in the mirror. For a brief moment, I thought I saw an old man there. I shook my head, thinking that I had to be seeing things and studied my nose. I wiggled it and tried to look at it from different angles. I don’t know how Liz figured that one nostril was bigger than the other. It was hardly noticeable. Then, with Goliath on my heels, I inched open the door. He pushed past me and walked out into the corridor. I looked both ways. Again, the rug stretched out forever in each direction with endless doors. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point. Standing around waiting for something to happen didn’t seem to be the best of ideas. I suppose I could have wandered around a little to see just how far the hallways went, but Goliath starting heading for the grand staircase. I shrugged and followed. At the bottom of the staircase were four others – Jeeves and Liz among them. The other two were around my age. One wore a gold and silver kimono. His eyes were almond shaped and he had red stains on his robes. Strangely his lips were the same color. The girl had one nostril that was a little larger than the other. She was as short as the boy, but her shoulders were really wide. Her blonde pigtails bobbed as she looked at me. She touched her larger nostril for a second and then turned around. Goliath and I descended the stairs. “Hello,” I said. The other two nodded, but said nothing. “I’m Billy,” I said, offering my hand. The boy bowed. “Kenji,” he said. The girl took my hand. Her callused grip was really strong. “Miesha. Pleased to meet you.” She looked at Goliath. “I don’t like dogs.” I wasn’t sure what to say about that, so I kept my mouth closed. Goliath didn’t seem offended. He just kept wagging his tail. Liz was still in her blue dress and her hair was still as frizzy as when I met her. “Ready?” she asked. “You three are the late sleepers. The rest have already gone.” “Where?” I asked. “Dead Lessons.” “Oh right. So where do we go?” “I’ll take you,” Liz said. She turned to Jeeves who seemed to be admiring Kenji’s robes. “We’ll probably be late getting back. I have to stop downtown for something and they’ll be coming with me.” Jeeves just blinked and then walked away. He turned only once to look at Kenji’s robes again. “What’s with the robes?” I asked. “Traditional Japanese wear,” Kenji said as we made our way out the door. It was dark out and strangely it helped to dull the mild aching that was still in my head. “I didn’t mean that,” I said. “Why did Jeeves keep looking at your robes?” “They’re silk,” he said, fingering them. I touched them myself. He was right. Silk. “How’d you die?” I asked. We quickened our pace to keep up with Liz. She was marching along the cobblestone sidewalks like she was late for something. He pointed to the stains on his robes. “Poisonous berries. They were in a garden, but I couldn’t read the sign. I only speak Japanese.” I was about to respond that he seemed to speak my language quite nicely, but Miesha interrupted me. “Well that’s ridiculous,” she said. “Your Russian is perfect.” “I don’t speak Russian,” Kenji said. “Sure you do. You all do,” she said. Her lips pursed like she was a little irritated. Liz slowed her pace so that she walked in the midst of us. “No one speaks Russian,” she said. Miesha’s pout got more pronounced. “Nor any other language from the Livingworld. We all speak the same language here in the Afterlife. It’s all in the book.” She looked at the three of us. “None of you have read it, have you?” she asked. All of us hung our heads. Liz said nothing and marched ahead once more. We followed on her heels past faint streetlamps and old, decrepit buildings until we started to get closer to the center of Necropolis. Everything here was tall and cramped together with a smattering of narrow alleys that descended into blackness. There were eyes shining from within some of those alleys and even Goliath seemed a little uncomfortable walking too close to them. Finally Liz brought us up to a blackened stone structure with massive wooden doors. On each door hung a knocker with a gargoyle. The two gargoyles were already waiting, arms crossed. “What took ya so long?” they asked in unison. Liz nodded her head in our direction. “Sleepy heads.” The gargoyle on the left looked at us. “My turn to guess!” “No, it’s not,” said the other. “It’s mine!” “You got the last one,” said the first. “That didn’t count! She was holding her head in her hands. Any idiot could have guessed that one.” “Fine,” said the first. “Your turn then.” The second gargoyle then took a good long look at us. “Easy,” he said. “Two nose pickers, a berry-eater, and a drowned dog.” “Watch out!” screamed the other one, pointing, but it was too late for me. Something barreled into me, knocking me to the ground. It was a man in a bowler hat and a jacket that was far too big for him. His face was half decayed. Three men were chasing after him. He slipped something into my pocket and whispered to me. “Keep this for me. Don’t let them get their hands on it!” The other men seized him, dragging the man away. He didn’t struggle, but watched me with his half gaze. I put my hand in my pocket wondering what seemed so important to the strange man. I nearly gasped as I discretely probed at what felt like four fingers and a thumb. He’d left his hand in there.