Jules:
The 2nd Adventure
Kaelia
Stevens
Genre:
Magical Realism
Date
of Publication: December18, 2015
ISBN:1519697090
ASIN:B019KYLOJC
Word
Count: 26,489
Cover
Artist: Ryan Bayron
Book
Description:
War.
It doesn’t start with armies or bombs. It doesn’t start with
declarations or protests. It doesn’t start with speeches. It starts
with one thing. Intent.
Jules
understands this concept. She intends to kill a cult leader. She
intends to undo magic from the past. She intends to get her family
home.
She
intends to start a war.
Excerpt:
The
moonlight shone down silver on a small, sleepy town on the outskirts
of Colorado. I arrived just as the humans of the town were settling
down, which meant that night-walkers, creatures like me, were out and
about.
Almost
six foot of pure, sexy half-elf form, my slick boots and lithe figure
slipped through the little town unnoticed. My blood-red skirt swayed
with the motion, the fabric making a faint swishing sound as it slid
across my legs. The crystalline broadsword across my back tapped
lightly against the chain mail wrapped around my torso.
I
passed by a sprite-like figure, flicking black hair out of my eyes as
we watched each other pass. The sprite flinched and flitted past me.
I wasn't surprised. When you encounter a biped with eyes as dark as
her soul, you quickly and quietly move on.
A
ghostly figure appeared next to me for just a moment; tall, like me.
Long, black hair falling in waves away from a bird-like face. Hollow
eyes. Pale skin. Leather outfit from neck to toe. Dual kodachi by her
side and a billowing jacket behind her. She just loved the dramatics,
even as a ghost of my psyche.
Raven.
Julia,
she thought, I hope you know what you're doing.
Oh
relax, Mother, I thought back. I know exactly what I'm doing.
A
small establishment innocently sat on the side of a back-street, a
dirty alleyway tracking behind it. Trash bins squatted on the
sidewalk, dirty and uninviting.
The
brick on the outside of the building was stained with various
liquids. I'd say it was various forms of blood, if only by the smell.
Alien blood. Faerie blood. The black ook of various lunar
skin-walkers.
It
was painted on the bricks as a sort of 'human-repellant'. The sign on
the front had a faded sign indicating it was some sort of hardware
store, but it was just a farce so that the humans wouldn't
investigate too thoroughly.
I
walked through the solid glass doors painted black with a thick,
tar-like substance and walked into Sting's store. The concrete floor
was littered with old, wooden shelves lined with rusting tools. A
counter sat on the wall to the left, and to the right the shelves
opened up to a back room.
On
a support beam over the back room, a neon sigh blinked and hummed,
reading out the name of the nightclub behind the door: "My Fair
Lady."
I
walked through the backdoor and was greeted with Sting's second layer
of deception.
Wooden
support beams from the exposed roofing overhead gave the appearance
of gross incompetence from the builders, and thick, wooden beams came
down to give the small room a square appearance. The floorboards
creaked in the places that weren't punched through with holes, and
the entire area smelled of puke and cheap booze.
I
walked up to the rotting counter where a bored-looking pirate
skeptically glared at me with his one good eye.
"Whaddya
want, la—" He stopped, his one eye narrowing as he squinted at
me. I smiled, letting him get a good look at my fair complexion and
my sloped-to-a-point ears. He glanced at the slightly angular
features of my fine-boned face, the odd nature of my eyes.
With
a grunt, he motioned to the door at the end of the counter. I smiled
my thanks and sauntered away.
To
humans, this back door led out to the alleyway. But humans wouldn't
be able to activate the runes etched all around the doorframe and on
the inside of the handle.
The
nightclub—the actual nightclub—was crisp and clean.
Old-fashioned. 1970s. Sting kept up a respectable establishment for a
half-human.
Blue
lights glowed overhead, a long bar covered the entire left side of
the wall with a massive shrine to various drinks. A bartender stood
at either end of the bar, which was lined with high, stool-like
chairs. The middle was comprised of a smattering of round and
straight tables made of decent but not fancy wood, cleaned as best as
could be with only a rag and a little magic.
The
tables were parted to either side of the room, the long space of
floor filled with various creatures milling around and dancing
together.
A
strong beat thrummed out from a stage, a number of long planks
hammered into the far end of the club. It was raised just enough for
the band and singer to be off the floor and out of the range of
moving, kicking feet.
A
band was up on the stage, sassy jazz music flooding the room. A full
set of drums was being pounded on by a fancy-looking pixie. An
upright bass was being plucked by a willowy elf. A saxophone was
being handled nicely by a shirtless vampire, and the piano's beat was
pumped out by a half-elf. His feet were up on the bench, knees bent
comically, and his motions sporadic as he played. He was practically
hopping around up there as he rammed his fingers against the keys.
The
last beats were fired out from the band, the piano player bringing
the music to a crest before they crashed down on the final note
together. I made my way to the front as everyone cheered, talons and
claws and fingers crashing together as the crowd showed their
appreciation. I moved to the front as everyone disbanded, moving back
to the tables and the bar. I watched the piano player talk
enthusiastically to the band members and waited for him to notice me.
About
the Author:
A
half-Hawaiian, half-Spanish, half-Italian, half-Filipino, K. Stevens
is 4'6" of sarcasm and introverted weirdness. She enjoys time
spent communing with local flora and fauna. She hopes to one day be
considered one of the greats in literature, but will settle for
people at least knowing her name.
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