Sneak-Peek: Voice of the Ashes

We’re nearly there, friends–release day is exactly one week away! You still have a chance to pre-order your copy of Voice of the Ashes from Calla Press Publishing and Amazon.com, and in short order you’ll be able to purchase from Amazon.ca, Barnes & Noble, and Chapters/Indigo.

Thanks for stopping by today to read this sneak-peek of my book. It was difficult to decide which scene to share, but I finally settled on this portion.

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Excerpt from Chapter 5

Laurence walked to the door and pulled it open as he grabbed his hat. It creaked, but only a little. Stars shone through the wisps of fog gathering in the street, and Laurence tried to stay out of the moon’s friendly light. He winced. He had never been on the wrong side of the law before. But the moment the idea of turning back entered his mind, with it came the memory of that authoritative, Laurence, go.

Silver Street had never been so far away. The fog thickened; moisture beaded on his face and dampened his jerkin. It helped to deaden the sound of his footsteps, but it made him breathe heavier than he already was from nervousness and his swift pace.

He was insane. He shook his head as he turned onto St. Anne’s Lane. He was going to an illegal meeting, held by complete strangers, and . . .

He stopped at the next corner and looked right, down Foster Lane—as far as he could look in the fog. He was going to define truth. With a long, shaky breath, he turned left and headed up Noble Street, his conversation with James playing through his mind.

James asked if he was accusing his father of lying, and he said no. But by doing this, he was. He was doubting him, anyway.

That hurt. He bit his teeth together—hard. No. He was just going because he could not stop that—that Voice. His hands clenched at the thought of the first day he had felt the Voice: that golden June day and its execution. Nothing had been the same since then. But it would go back. He slipped right, onto Silver Street. After this clandestine gathering, everything would go back to normal. It had to.

He started out of his thoughts when a glimmer of light caught his eye, and he saw a glow in the window close to his right. Or wait . . . he had first seen it on his left. He froze, then looked both ways again.

Two windows had candles.

Anxiety and fear washed over him in one overwhelming, nauseating wave. He took off his cap, brushed a hand through his hair, and found it damp with cold sweat. Leaning weakly against the wall beside him, he shook his head to clear his suddenly muddled vision and looked across the street at the second glowing window. Then he relaxed. What if he woke someone? There was no way to tell where he was supposed to go, and that meant—

A cloud crawled through the sky, and the light on the window across the street went out.

Laurence closed his eyes and gulped. All right. No moonlight would help him get out of this. He turned toward the door next to him, lifted a hand as though it were made of lead, and cringed as his knock sounded harsh and loud in the misty stillness.

Five seconds passed. He caught himself twisting one finger around and around the last button of his jerkin, and he shoved his hand into his pocket.

Ten seconds. He wiped his forehead, wondering if the dampness on his hand was more from sweat or the clingy fog, and then the door opened. His stomach lurched.

“Laurence?” Neil smiled, though his face shone tense in the light of his candle. “I’m glad you’ve come. You’re just in time.” He latched the door behind Laurence and led the way across the room.

It was a large room; their footsteps echoed from the corners, and Laurence could see the vague outline of tools and tables. It was some kind of workshop. He glanced around once more as Neil opened another door at the end of the room. A silversmithy. What else would be on Silver Street?

“Just be sure to shut that door behind you.”

It was Neil’s voice, low and hollow above him. Laurence looked up a dark staircase, hesitating to close the door. It was not that he minded the dark, but to be in the dark in a stranger’s house was different.

The soft thud as he pulled it shut sent an odd feeling through him. He knew—in some strange way—that the door closing behind him was closing on part of his life, and something was about to happen that could never be reversed. A tremor ran through him, and he started up the creaky steps. He could not back out now …

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Does this scene leave you intrigued? I’d love to hear from you in the comments!