Monday, March 30, 2009


OKAY folks, Rosie is progressing apace. Cathy's post tells the sad tale of poor Pollyanna, while Brad and Sue have left a real cliffhanger. You need to go look.

Visiting dignitaries have begun sending in their interviews. Since I'm on deadline, I used pretty much the same questions for everybody. (But this way you can compare the information).

Drawing for the ARC (possibly two since Cathy has been appropriately bribed with cyber chocolate) is this evening at 5:00 my time. If you haven't already registered go to . Winner will be notified by e-mail so that they can send a snail-mail address for mailing the prize.

The Duet Gazette Newsletter au deux (rebooted, version 2.0 or whatever) will be coming out April 1. It has all sorts of information in it. So you want it. (You know you do!) To sign up enter the contest above.

There is going to be Rosie Hughes swag. We are in discussions. It is in the planning stage. The contest will probably involve trivia, so be sure to go read it and pay attention.

Okay, gotta run. Day job calls.

If you can't be good, be careful.
If you can't be careful, be GOOD.




Attention all Lackeys/Minions/Posse Members.

I need your tee-shirt size. Unless, of course, you aren't ever planning on showing up at one of our events or book signings. In which case you won't be able to claim it anyway. But JUST IN CASE you actually HELD ON to that ugly, cheesy, hand-made (yes, I made it with my own two hands, computer, and office supplies) ID card, I have a deal for you. If you show up with it at any event where I'm live (and I don't intend to go to any dead. REALLY), you'll get a special Posse Members Only shirt. And YES it will probably be cheesy too. I LIKE cheese. E-mail the shirt size to: with "SHIRT SIZE" in the RE.

Mucho happiness. I gotta get back to work. Deadlines and whatnot.Cie

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

Saturday AGAIN, Already?
Current mood: busy

Saturday AGAIN. OMIGAWD. I mean, yeah, I'm GLAD the work week's over. But I haven't really even dealt with my serial.

Are you sure . . . Fine, fine. If you insist. But it's only going to be a short one. Short enough that I may have to do a mid-term installment on Wednesday to finish the chapter. (Or not. I'm on deadline now. So you may have to take it on faith without a cliffhanger this time. I'm sorry.)

Chapter 3 - Old Friends/Old Enemies (Part 1)

It was cool and dim inside the church. The only light was the sunlight streaming through the glass front doors, and casting beams of bright color where it passed through the jewel tones of the stained glass windows. I could feel powerful residual energy thrumming up from the floor, but it was calm, soothing. I needed to be soothed. I'd put the money and the gun in my backpack, and even though they didn't weigh that much, I was painfully aware of it.

I don't like guns. Don't get me wrong. I think in the hands of someone like Bob, they're perfectly okay. He knows what he's doing, and is careful. And I'm damned grateful he had that shotgun handy to keep me from becoming a "Scooby Snack". But I'm not Bob. It was going to take training and practice before I was comfortable shooting. But it might be worth investing the time. Because compared to my enemy I was practically helpless. Hell, compared to virtually any mage out there.

I did not curse my father. I was in a church. Honor thy father & mother and all that. And curses in my world carry weight. AND cursing is offensive magic. Oh no. So no. Because in the process of almost drowning me during my "baptism" he'd done something. My mentor hadn't been sure exactly what, so she hadn't dared mess with it. But there was an inhibition in my skull that made it impossible for me to use offensive magics. To the point where I collapse to the floor screaming in blinding pain if I so much as think about doing it.

So maybe the gun wasn't such a bad idea. But it still made me nervous.I walked toward the front of the church, approaching the altar a little timidly. I'm not religious (probably in reaction to dear old Daddy), but I have a healthy respect for the divine. I needed to come close enough to that altar that its latent energy would obscure evidence of my passage. But I didn't want to risk irritating the Almighty. If he/she exists. Which I'm not sure of. But I'm not sure he/she doesn't. So better safe than sorry.

I was dithering. I don't dither. Which meant the incident back at the office had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. Damn it I liked it here. I'd made friends. I felt a surge of helpless rage. Not that it mattered. If I cared about these people, I needed to not endanger them. It was time to leave.

Casting one last look around, I gathered my will and created a seam.There's a trick to moving about using seams. You have to be able to clearly imagine where you want to go, where nobody's liable to be, and where you're not liable to set off electronic alarms and/or get arrested. (So no popping into the bank vault, or robbing the museum.) Once I realized that I would be needing to move around a lot to stay ahead of the bad guys I made a point of going to the library, looking up the landmarks of various locations. The internet is a marvelous thing. You can, given enough time and patience, find the floor plans of most public buildings. And I can extrapolate. I might not know which colors they use for the bathrooms in Grand Central Station. But I betcha I know the basic layout. And just how much variety of layout is there in your average Super WalMart?

So, where was I going? Washington, D.C. home of the Lincoln Memorial, the White House, the Jefferson Memorial, Congress, etc. DC is cold in winter and early spring. There might be people around, but not many. And if I remembered correctly, the weather channel had announced they were in the middle of a blizzard. I might freeze my tuchus off. But I wasn't likely to land on top of anybody.I stepped through my little gateway in reality. In less than a minute I went from the dim shadows of a little local church, to the cold shadows of a marble monument.

Shit. Why couldn't I have looked up the major landmarks of Grand Cayman, or Bermuda --- no not Bermuda, not risking that triangle thing. Bad mojo. But still.I stepped out from beside the huge sculpture honoring the 16th President of the US. A tall blonde woman in a thick winter coat and plaid muffler blinked at me, looking a little startled, but she was standing on the South side of th1e building, where she'd been reading the inscription of the Gettysburg Address. I nodded in greeting, trying to act perfectly normal, and not as though I'd just appeared, literally, out of thin air, and moved purposefully out of the entrance and down the wide flight of steps toward the reflecting pool and the main part of the mall.

Wind cut through my lightweight jacket like a knife, and my teeth started chattering. I didn't swear out loud. But the language going through my mind wasn't pretty. I needed a coat. And gloves. And sooner rather than later. The thing is, while I could visualize the monument from pictures on Wikipedia. I had no idea where the nearest store was. I moved as quickly as I dared across the icy walkway. There was a major thoroughfare up ahead. I could see a bus stop. Buses are heated. Right now heat sounded good. Oh yeah. And who knew, maybe the bus driver could tell me how to get to the nearest shopping center. I could only hope.

Friday, March 27, 2009


Okay, I was getting the Visiting Dignitary questions done up (and realized that I am SOOOOOO not Barbara Walters). And a thought hit me. (I've warned you about those.) ANYWAY, it occurred to me that I haven't really answered these questions to you guys. So, in lieu of the usual ramblings, I'm answering my own interview. It makes me feel VERY much as though I have Multiple Personality Disorder (Really? Me too!). ANYWAY, here goes:

I’m going to dive right in. Is there any one character you’ve written that is your absolute favorite? Why?

To me characters are like people, and I try to make them as vivid as I can. Which means that to be realistic I have to make both people I like and dislike. There are some characters I'd love to have over to dinner. Others would scare the crap out of me. For a weekend in the Bahamas though -- Raven Ramirez. In a HEARTBEAT.

Writing is hard work! Have you ever had the dread WRITER’S BLOCK? If so, what do you do to get past it?

It's very hard for me to write when I'm exhausted or sick. So I try to take care of myself. Once I'm feeling well I can't seem to STOP writing.

Almost every author I’ve met gives back to the community by supporting favorite charities. Do you have one? Could you tell me about it? Is there a particular reason why that charity?

I support several different charities. Some are for humans -- like Heifer International and Habitat for Humanity. Others are for animals, like no kill shelters and wildlife sanctuaries. I try to spread it around.

So, what does your schedule look like for the next few months? Anything new coming out that we should keep an eye out for? Tell us a little about it.

Well, Magic's Design hit the shelves a couple of months ago with our new pen name. And in August we have Cold Moon Rising. It's the next Sazi book, and it returns to Tony Giodone's point of view and features Ahmad, the Councilman for the Snakes. We're really looking forward to seeing how the fans like it. We're trying to do a bunch of new things to interact with our fans, particularly on the internet. It's a lot of fun.

What type of books do you read for pleasure? Any favorite authors?

I read a LOT. Seriously. It's one of my major vices. And yes, I have a LOT of favorite authors. Too many to name here, but in urban fantasy I'm a big BIG fan of Jim Butcher and Laurell K. Hamilton; in paranormal romance I'm a fan of Shannon Butcher and (of course) US. I read a lot of mystery and PI novels, so there's always Robert B. Parker, and Dick Francis. . . (I'd better stop now. This could go on for hours.)

Do you have a day job, or do you write full-time?

I have a day job for now in a law office and title company. I'm hoping to move into writing full time when I relocate to Denver. Then again, the cost of living being what it is, who knows.

Do you have any hobbies?

I like creating things. Whether it's painting, drawing, knitting, sewing, braiding a rug. I have a nasty habit of underestimating the time it will take though, so that I wind up having to quit in the middle to get back to the book/work/housework and then taking months (or years) to actually FINISH the blasted thing. I have a million half-finished projects that got packed for the move. Because I WILL finish.

OKAY, I’m going to do one of those short MEME things here.

Favorite song: Varies from day to day. I do love me my hair metal. I don't DARE listen to Rap. Rap makes me aggressive/angry. (Picture Cie turning green and her clothes shredding.) "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Favorite movie or TV show: Anything I love on television gets canceled. VERY depressing. I fell hard for Life on Mars, and now I hear it's going under too. The West Wing was one of the few exceptions. I loved that show (enough to buy the dvds of the whole series) and it actually got to stay on the air! Love cartoons. Particularly things like Danger Mouse, Tom & Jerry, and Wiley Coyote.

Favorite color: (s) Burgundy, gold, and emerald green. Really like jewel tones.

Favorite food: Chocolate. Steak. Shrimp. Hmnnn.... I can't choose. But those three are way up there.

Favorite drink: Non-alcoholic - Pepsi. Alcoholic - usually a screwdriver with Schmirnoff Silver, BUT I've been on a Margarita kick lately.

Is the glass half-full or half-empty: (GLUG GLUG GLUG) No decision. Just empty. Next question.

What animal do you think is most like your personality? A bobcat. (TOLD you you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.)

If you could only give one piece of advice to new or aspiring writers, that would help them in the business, what would it be?

Work hard on your craft. A lot of people assume if you can write a sentence, you can write a publishable book. But it's harder than it looks. Learn what you're doing so that you can do it well. Inspiration comes and goes. But even if you have a brilliant idea, it's not going to fly if you can't present it in a publishable form.

C.T. Adams/Cie.

Thursday, March 26, 2009


We Have ARCs/Contest
(Advance Review Copies)
Current mood: distractable

We have ARCs of Cold Moon Rising (formerly Malevolent Moon). (Every time we get ARCs Cathy and I do this seal noise thing . . . but I digress.

We have ARCs. Which MEANS two things. The two members of the posse who did not get their packets mailed yet will now as a consolation prize, get a signed ARC.

And Toadie, you get one because, you were the FIRST member of the posse to sign up. (I'll really try to mail it out quick. Honest. Can't promise though.)


It's a Sazi book from Tony's POV featuring Ahmad. Any takers?Okay, here's how to go for it. Send an e-mail to our new Fan e-mail site: . Yes, it will sign you up for the new newsletter. Yes., you can unsubscribe later if you REALLY hate that idea. But Monday at 5:00 p.m. our time I will draw a name at random from the responses and send that person an autographed ARC. So there you go!

Let the games begin.


Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Welcome to Wednesday.

Welcome to Wednesday

Okay, Rosie is up on Cathy's blog. Sally forth and get your view, but come back and read this after. ;)

Due to technical difficulties (read blue screen of death, actually, I think it was a black screen of death, but you get what I mean), the entire mailing list for the Duet Gazette is GONE. Poof. (Actually more like crackle crackle with lots of accompanying swearing.) SOOOOOOOO, we're having to start the newsletter over. Sort of a Duet Gazette 2.0. But without the mailing list I'm having to make it up as I go along. I'm culling from e-mails sent to us, and people (like my family and friends) who I THINK want to be on it with the caveat that they're welcome to unsubscribe.

BUT if you're interested, I've set up a gmail to handle it, and will be doing it manually for the first quarter (I'm thinking quarterly. Monthly isn't as likely when I'm on deadline until I can get to Denver and hire myself an assistant type.) SOOOOOOO if you wanna get one (and I won't spam you, sell you out, or display your e-mail when I send it) e-mail me at: or with MAIL ME BABY or something like that in the Re.

In the personal area, RT is coming up fast. (Think Indy car with no brakes fast.) We're going. Hope you are too. There will be signings. There will be drinking (at least by me). There will be networking and schmoozing opportunities. Hope to see you there.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Good News.

Current mood: awake

Okay, today is a day for good news. First -- THE DRAFT OF THE BOOK IS WITH THE EDITOR. Woot! Go Cathy, Go Cathy, you Rock, you ROCK. I still have the finish the draft I'm working on, but it's coming along.

SECOND bit of good news, I've received lots of responses from various authors who are willing to be visiting dignitaries. Enough responses that I'm going to have to get my act together and get things organized. OY. But seriously wonderful nonetheless.

I think I may have found an artist to work with on some of the ad/promo materials, which is cool. And have my flight information and hotel reservations for the RT trip.

I do like the direction the blogs (I keep trying to put BOGS, how very IRISH of me) are going. And we're looking at various folks regarding finalizing the website. (Neither Cathy nor I have time, and the guy we hired previously had his life explode because of the economy.)

So, progress is being made. I'm not THERE yet, but I'm on my way. Now if the blasted migraine meds will kick in, I'll be ready to face another morning at the day job.

Oh, and Anna Genoese -- if you're out there, please e-mail me. I'm a little worried about you. Haven't heard a peep since you moved.

Cie/C.T. Adams

Monday, March 23, 2009

Aw come on guys. . .

Somebody write something. Comment. I'm getting LONELY over here. Do you even like the stuff I'm doing? Or should I just talk? PLEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?

Rosie Hughes -- Chapter 7 The TRAITOR

Okay, as you guys know, we've been doing a round-robin blog chain on The Rosie Hughes Project. Previous chapters include:

here are the paths.
Chapter 1 - C.T. Adams
Chapter 2 - Cathy Clamp (scroll down)
Chapter 3 - Brad Sinor
Chapter 4 - Sue Sinor
Chapter 5 - Rachel Caine
Chapter 6 - Jackie Kessler -

Chapter 7 -- The Traitor

I would’ve listened at the doorway, but I didn’t need to. Magenta’s shouts were clearly audible throughout the house. Almost as audible as Rosie’s ear-piercing (and glass shattering) shrieks.

An uncontrollable shudder wracked my body. Dear God, please let this work. I was so tired of pretending. But when I realized that. . . that. . . thing was using my beloved Suzi Q products to enslave . . . to eat my customers. . . . Well, I had to do something. Even if it meant giving up my job and my friends and pretend enthrallment to the very creature I hated.

So I worked. And I waited. Until the perfect opportunity arose. So simple. Just delete one word from a memo to manufacturing so it read:

"You absolutely must use purified garlic in the formula."

Perfect. It wouldn’t harm the humans. But the vampires . . . scores of them, more than any one person could slay . . . well, they’d be as dead as poor, poor Magenta of the ill temper and man bones.

It would have been perfect if only . . .

"PollyANNA!!!!!" A familiar shriek tore through the house, shattering crystal goblets and lesser glass.

Constanza rushed past, broom and dustpan in hand. Shuddering, I gathered my courage and made my way to the sitting room.

"Yes mistress?" I gave Rosie my very best empty smile—all shining white teeth. She blinked, eyes narrowing against the glare. "Have Constanza bring the Dyson in." She waved manicured nails at the mess on the settee, and the priceless rug lying scorched beneath it. "And we need to do an immediate product recall. Some idiot at corporate changed the formula. If I get my hands on them . . ."

I shuddered at the look on her face. I didn’t want to think what she’d do to them—or to me if she found out I was the traitor.

"Anyway, darling, I need you to take care of the details. A complete product recall. Oh, and while you’re at it, bring me some more sunblock for my personal use. It seems I may be having to go out during business hours to pay corporate a visit. And call the reupholsterers." She paused, tapping a nail against her perfect lips. "While you’re at it, order some new flamingos. The old ones are starting to look . . . tacky."

"Of course mistress." I scurried out of the room, presumably to do her bidding. In truth, I had to get out before she sensed my elation. If what happened to Magenta happened to even half of the vampires . . . But no. Celebration was premature. The worst of the monsters was not only perfectly healthy, she was angry, and more dangerous than ever.

Next installment from Cathy Clamp -- Wednesday.

Saturday, March 21, 2009


Okay folks, on the MySpace page people said that the visiting dignitaries idea was a good one. (You guys over here have been AWFULLY QUIET, but that's okay). So I contacted a few people and 'LO AND BEHOLD' I have DIGNITARIES.

Now this is Saturday, and you get your Breakfast Serial.

But FIRST I want to do something less serious, i.e. say a few words to the posse.

If you haven't received your stuff yet, you will. Honest. For the most recent volunteers I've had to dig stuff out of boxes I've packed for the move. Since we're on deadline, I haven't had a lot of time to do that. But I will try to make it up to you.

For those of you who HAVE received your boxes, or will soon, I have a couple of messages:

First -- Toadie -- I hope you like your garden toad. Also, YOU have a special keychain. It is the key to the ultra-secret lair under the chateau. NO ONE else got the key shaped key ring. Feel special. Feel VERY special. Those of you who got the toad shaped key rings -- well, have hope. These are the key chains for the trusted types who will only have access to the weapons stores for those occasions when other, more evil, overlords attempt to move on the chateau.

I have selected a Grand High Inquisitor and have acquired Trusted and Not so Trustworthy Allies.

I am also going to be starting a newsletter. I hope you all will be willing to participate. In fact, there will probably be additional booty for posse members who sign up. Send an e-mail to: if you're interested. Put CIE/NEWSLETTER in the Re.


"Get out." Roberta Jacobs Ross was a lady, and an attorney, so she was far too dignified to shout. But her face was an ugly, mottled red, and the body beneath her exquisitely tailored dove gray suit was quivering with suppressed rage. The paramedics who'd showed up to check on Bob had stopped by the door. He might be fine, but it looked as though she might stroke out if her blood pressure went any higher.

"But mom. . . " Bobbie Jo interrupted. "She saved our lives."

"Irrelevant. You wouldn't have been in danger in the first place if it wasn't for her."

"Roberta Elaine . . ." Bob's voice was stern. I decided to interrupt before things went downhill.

"It's all right." Everybody, up to and including the paramedics turned to stare at me. "I need to go anyway." I reached down to grab the backpack Bobbie had brought in for me. "You can take the damages out of my final paycheck."

"I fully intend to." Roberta answered, her chin rising so that her nose was even further up in the air than usual.

"Roberta . . ." Bob's voice was a low growl, but I didn't stay to listen to what he had to say. She was being a b****. But I couldn't blame her. She'd come to work planning for an ordinary day and discovered something out of a horror or disaster movie. When she'd seen the corpse of the hound . . .

Oh, crap.

I had a flash of intuition. Or, maybe I finally managed to collate a lot of random information. Whatever. Normal people do not keep loaded guns within hands reach---even in Texas. Roberta's animosity had been strong from the start. I'd overheard her accusing her father of "taking in a stray cat" by hiring me. He'd answered "Everyone deserves a second chance Bobbi Sue."

She'd been on the run once too. Maybe even from the same type of danger I was.

It changed everything; and absolutely nothing. I needed to go.

I brushed past the paramedics on my way out the door. Yes, I could've opened up a seam, but you don't use obvious magic in front of the humans. Bad form and all that. Besides, you can trace back a seam--if you get back to the origin point quick enough. I did not intend to give Evan any reason to go back that office.

So I walked toward the one place that would have its own natural shielding. A church. Any church.

I wouldn't have to walk far. Tucker, Texas is a tiny town, but there are a LOT of churches. The closest was the Catholic church. Just three blocks -- straight up the tallest hill in town. And me in heels. UGH.

I'd only gotten halfway up when I heard the wheels of a truck crunching on the gravel edge of the paved road right behind me. The engine sounded familiar. I turned to look just as Bobbi Jo put her grandpa's old beheamoth in park and cut the ignition. "Sahara, wait up."

"Are you insane? Your mother's going to kill you."

She opened the door and jumped down. (It was a big truck.) Reaching back in she grabbed a shoebox. "Grandpa wanted me to give this to you. He said I needed to catch you before you made it to the church, or we'd never see you again." She gave me a look that held equal parts anger and sadness. "Are you really leaving? Without explaining anything? Without saying goodbye?"

I looked into a pair of blue eyes that were shinier than they should have been. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I like Bobbi Jo. She is the closest thing I have to a friend next to Tracker. She wasn't that much younger than me, but she'd been raised to be an innocent and I did not want to get her killed.

"Bobbi, your mom's right. I'm trouble. Now that they know I'm here . . . You've got to go."

"Sahara Jones isn't even your real name is it?" Her voice was harsh with accusation. She thought I'd lied to her. That everything was a lie. I hadn't. At least not any more than necessary.

"It's what I want to be called."

She shook her head, and a single tear escaped.

I sighed. I should leave. Just go. Standing here was wasting time I might not have. It was probably a weakness to care what she thought. I'd never even see her again. But I couldn't leave it like this. I just couldn't.

"Fine. My real name is Beulah Emmaline Cotter."


I nodded.

"Ew. I mean, that's. . . that's the kind of name they'd give your great-great-maiden aunt or something."

"This from the woman whose family has only used one name for how many generations?"

She shook her head, presumably at the perfidy of parents and nomenclature. But when she looked at me next the tears were gone, and there was even a hint of amusement in her expression "So, Sahara. My grandfather told me to give you this." She shoved a battered cardboard shoebox, the lid held down with a large rubber band, toward my chest.

"Open it."

I did. And blinked. Slowly. Twice. At which point I remembered to close my jaw before flies could fly in. Because the inside of the box held cash, worn 20 and 100 dollar bills. A lot of them. And with the cash there was something else. A handgun. A Ladysmith revolver (undoubtedly loaded---this was from Bob after all) with a pink hand grip. And extra ammo.

"The gun was my grandma's. I'm supposed to tell you 'It may not do anything against that bastard, but it'll take down his dogs. And that's something.'"

It was my turn to blink back tears. I mean, to the Jacobs, this gun was a family heirloom. And that was a lot of cash.

"Gramps has kept this box in his bottom desk drawer for years. 'Just in case.' I never knew what was in it."

"Bobbi, I can't . . ."

"You saved my life Sahara. You could've just run, but you came back and saved my grandpa. You take it."

I did.

Friday, March 20, 2009


Greetings and Salutations.

Okay guys, I had a thought. (For those of you who are new to the blog, this is always a dangerous thing.) But one of the BEST things about the whole writing gig is you get to meet some of the coolest and most creative people. So I was (as I said) THINKING, what if I do a Guest Blog every so often?

Now, I can't guarantee it's going to be weekly. It's hard to get people when they've got deadlines, and we've ALL got deadlines. (And there's always that herding cats thing -- see previous post.) But would you like it?

Let me know.

Oh, and be sure to tune in tomorrow for the Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial.

Cie/C.T. Adams

Wednesday, March 18, 2009


Okay guys, Rosie is up on Rachel Caine's Blog today, and it is a HOWL! Please go visit. You want to laugh, you KNOW you do! Besides, the plot has THICKENED.

Oh, and guys, because it's not moving fast enough to wrap on one time around, it looks as if we'll be doing a second round. SO, I will make sure to CAREFULLY LABEL which posts are ROSIE and which are your Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial. Although honestly, you can tell them apart because Rosie is funny (and PINK, very PINK), whereas the SMBS ISN'T.

Okay, gotta go.


Cie/C.T. Adams

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Happy St. Pat's.

I am 1/2 Irish. I am Catholic. YES, I am wearing green. You BETCHA BABY.

I'm also pondering all things writing. I did plan out approximately what's going to happen with the Saturday morning breakfast serial.

Rosie Hughes is proceeding apace. If you didn't catch the latest installment (from the POV of Rosie's driver/chauffeuse), you definitely should. It's a hoot.

Have oodles to do, so I'd better get to it. Enjoy yourselves mightily, but be good/be safe/be happy.

Cie/C.T. Adams

Monday, March 16, 2009

Sorrow and Sympathy

I just found out that good friends of mine lost their 11 year old daughter last Friday. I have no words for how sorry I am for them. I'm sure that there's nothing I could say that would lessen their grief and devastation. All I can do is pray for them. And I will. But it isn't enough.


Chapter 1 - RUN (cont.)

Okay, I didn't get to get as much down as I wanted, which meant I cut out with my heroine looking like a woos. SOOO. . . you get a bonus post before next Saturday.

Oh, and guys, please let me know what you think. I hate to think I'm doing this in a vacuum.



Okay, I’d like to say that my first instinct was to protect Bob and Bobbie. I’d be lying. My first instinct was to run like hell. But looking at the dead hound on the floor, I couldn’t. I couldn’t abandon a 16 year old kid and her 86 year old grandpa to deal with what would be coming behind that hound. Yeah, she was a smart kid. And he was a tough old Texas coot who kept a loaded shotgun in his office, his truck, and by the front door of his house. But that didn’t change anything. Not really.

So I gathered up my wits and my courage, and when I opened a seam in reality, instead of travelling to. . . oh, Barcelona, maybe the Bahamas, I went back into the front office. Making damned sure, by the way, that I was not in the line of fire from the hallway. Just in case Bob had the chance to reload.

In other words, on top of the counter.

I crouched down, preparing to attack the back of the dark-clad figure gathering a glowing ball of pure power in his left hand to throw at the defiant old man who was charging up the hall, shotgun held like a club.

"HEY UGLY" I screamed the words at the same time I threw the first thing that came to hand—a stapler. He spun around at the sound of my voice, the ball of power flying straight toward me.
Shit! I dived off, into the small space between the counter and my desk, raising my shield, as the marble where I’d been exploded, sending hot shards of stone and dust in a stinging rain that had slowed just enough not to break skin.

"You should’ve run while you could child." Evan Shadows, smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. His handsome features were as cold and beautiful as carved marble.

I watched him gathering his will and his power for a strike that would, undoubtedly, kill me, and I wondered why? Why me? What had I ever done? I wasn’t the strongest. Obviously, I wasn’t the smartest. In the three years since I’d been discovered by the magical community I hadn’t done anything to set myself apart as special. It didn’t make sense.

Bob hadn’t stopped his insane charge. He was behind the wizard now, and he swung his makeshift club with all of his might at the back of Evan’s dark head, only to have it bounce harmlessly off an invisible barrier.

"Get back Grampa." Bobbie’s voice was calm, steady. "And you, drop the . . . whatever, or I’ll shoot. I’ve already called 9-1-1, the cops are on their way."
Like I said, smart. God love her.

Evan snarled, and let the power dribble away. It was a smart move. Because he couldn’t put up a new shield without dropping the old one, and he couldn’t shift the old one without giving gramps an opening.

He looked down at me, his expression one of pure malice. "This isn’t over."

"Of course not." I answered. But he wasn’t there. In less time than it took me to form the words he’d opened a way, cutting a seam in reality, and was gone.



Saturday, March 14, 2009


OKAY guys, it's SATURDAY!!! WOOT, no day job today. YAHOO!

First -- be sure to hie thee thither to the Sinor's blog for Day 3 of Rosie.

Saturday, 3-14, Brad Sinor: .Monday, 3-16, Sue Sinor: . They share a blog, but Sue will post separately.
Wednesday, 3-18, Rachel Caine:
Saturday, 3-21Jackie Kessler:


It must have been putting the key in the lock that set of the trip spell. All I knew was that I saw a flicker of something out of the corner of my eye. I grabbed Bobbie Jo, flinging her bodily out of the line of fire so that the shaft of power missed skewering her. Instead, it passed through the empty air where she'd stood moving like lightning seeking the first solid object in its path. In this case, a battered old pick-up truck which went careening into the intersection amidst the sound of tearing metal and blaring car horns.

I didn't stop to help, not the driver, and not Bobbie, who was sprawled on the ground with her jaw hanging open with shock. There wasn't time. And damn it, they'd all be safer without my help. The best I could do for the innocents in the way was to run. I was the target.

I grabbed the key, twisting open the deadbolt that held the office door as the air shimmered not ten feet from me. I was diving through by the time the hound began to materialize. Slamming the door behind me I bolted past the marble topped counter that had once been the cashier's station of the bank. I was past the secretarial area and halfway down the hall when I heard the plate glass windows shatter. A muscled black form hurtled through the air, eyeless snout raised in the air to bay as he scented the fear of his prey.

"What in the he. . ." I zoomed past the figure of my boss, standing in the open doorway of his office. I only caught a glimpse of his expression, wide-eyed and horrified.

"Get back! Close the door!" I ordered, hoping he'd have the good sense to listen. I didn't wait to watch. My goal was in sight. The ancient bank vault that now served as our file room. My only hope was that the heavy steel door was thick enough to hold off not only the hound, but whoever held his leash long enough for me to open a gate.

I was running full out, but it wasn't going to be enough. The beast was right behind me. I could smell his foetid breath. Instinct made me dive, head first into the vault rolling to absorb the impact. The hound howled in frustration, his jaws having snapped air where my neck would have been.

A shotgun roared, and the nearest best squealed in agony. Blood and meat sprayed across the front of the old metal file cabinets. I rolled to a stop in time to see Robert Jacobs pump another round into the chamber and turn to aim down the hall. I scooted around the beast's carcass, grabbed the vault door. Pulling with all my strength I managed to get it moving. It swung to with a clang that cut off a second shotgun blast.

Cie/C.T. Adams

Friday, March 13, 2009


Recovering from a virus that had me down yesterday. Still a little . . . off.

Hope you enjoyed Cathy's installment. The Sinors are next. Be sure to stop by and see them tomorrow and Monday.

Okay, since Rosie is humorous (albeit a little bit dark), I'm thinking the Saturday Morning Serial will be serious this time out. I even have something in mind. Be sure to stop by!



Wednesday, March 11, 2009


OKAY, Rosie is on Day 2, go to Cathy's blog to find out what happens when her rivals try to hire her arch nemesis -- MAX HUNTER.

Wednesday, 3-11, Cathy Clamp:

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

No Comments?

No comments on Rosie? Bummer.

Let's see, I was talking with another author who is a friend of mine, and she's talking about starting up a forum. The trick is, knowing whether or not you have enough people interested to actually HAVE a forum. Nothing seems as lame as a beautifully laid out board with nobody showing and posting. Sort of like one of those parties that no one attends. (Been there, done that. Wasn't fun the first time.)

Don't get me wrong, I've had some great parties too. But some . . . not so much.

ANYWAY, back to the point. How do you know when? I mean, for someone like Laurell, or Sherrilyn, or Jim, it's obvious. They're huge. But what about for the rest of us?

Oh, and have you made any decisions on the swag and contest stuff?

Monday, March 09, 2009


Ladies and Gentlemen -- Welcome to "The Rosie Hughes Project."

It is a blog chain running Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. I get to start, then we're going round to various other participants for the following installments. If it doesn't wrap on the 21st, it will be back to me:

Wednesday, 3-11, Cathy Clamp:
Saturday, 3-14, Brad Sinor: .
Monday, 3-16, Sue Sinor: . They share a blog, but Sue will post separately.
Wednesday, 3-18, Rachel Caine:
Saturday, 3-21, Jackie Kessler:

Rules are fairly loose, but not loose enough to get us in trouble on public blogs. We can go humorous, or dark, or both. You just have to read and play along. Our villaness is the terrifying vampire Rosie Hughes.

AND WE'RE OFF: (Way off, but that's another story) ;)


Dear Morgana:

I do hope you are well and that your shoulder isn’t still giving you trouble. Damned crossbows anyway.

As you’ve probably guessed, I’m having to start anew. You were right to warn me about that investor. I suppose there is no fool like a (very, very) old fool. He’s in the limelight too much at the moment, but soon, very soon, I will do to him things that would make your dear little Marquis (how is he doing by the way?) blanch.

But enough of that. Exciting news! I’ve started a new venture and it’s going amazingly well. Cosmetics. That’s right darling. I stumbled onto the idea when I was out for a bite. Not only did the little tidbit show me a perfectly lovely fang whitener, she had sun block. For the first time in centuries I can actually go out before dusk. Well, of course I had to hear more! Lo and behold, by siring a mere ten, and enthralling a few dozen, I now have a sales force that works twenty-four hours a day. Who knew it could be so profitable? In next to no time I’ve earned the coveted "pink limo," (with driver) and have bought myself a perfectly lovely stucco home. You simply must fly by sometime. (You can’t miss it. Just look for the tasteful arrangement of flamingos around the pond.)

I know you worry, but you shouldn’t. One of those annoying teenage girls did pop by with her stakes, but I showed her a truly effective acne cream, and now she’s referring all of her friends. And there’s been no sign of any of the descendants of that hideous troll of a man. (What was his name dear? Van or Von something . . . Trapp? Beetho. . . no, that was the musician. Drat my memory. Well, you know who I mean.)

Please tell me you’ll come by return bat. It’s the perfect set-up. What could possibly go wrong?

Rosetta "Rosie" (Stone-Red-. . .) Hughes.

P.S. I’m enclosing a sample of the new night cream. My Renfe. . . Assistant, says it’s "to die for."

Saturday, March 07, 2009


Okay guys, sometimes I like to think I'm funny, or clever, or whatever. But then I read something hysterical and think "Oh, I am SOOOOOO dull." But you have to read this, okay. Maybe you won't think it's as funny as I do, and that's okay, but I love it.

Now this does not mean that you get to skip out on the whole Rosie thing come Monday. Unh unh. Nope. I've invested too much time in prepping you. I mean, I even nibbled your EAR for crying out loud. Nope, I expect you to show up.

Anyway, have a great weekend.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

More Teasing

Hmnnn, I'm supposed to keep teasing you.

Boy, this is really hard. I mean, you're there, I'm here. I suppose it's sort of like phone sex. Only there's no phone. And no sex. JEEZ. Okay, maybe it isn't.

Okay, so come by Monday. Read the blog. PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE?

Oh, and I've contacted a couple of tech types to see if they can work with me to get the website finished. Cathy and I are really on deadline, so we can't do it, and having it half-done is driving me nuts.

Oh, and I LUCKED OUT and got an autographed ARC (advanced review copy) of the new Jim Butcher book, Turn Coat. OHMIGOD IT SO ROCKS!!! I wanna write like him when I grow up. Really. Really really. You NEED to buy this guys.

OK, gotta go.

Monday, March 02, 2009

Herding Cats

OKAY! The cats have all reported in. But nearly everybody's on deadline, so Rosie is in suspense for another week. It will start next Monday.

I am supposed to tease you, tempt you, and get you all hot and bothered about the story. Sort of the heavy petting of blogging.

Consider me to be whispering in your ear, maybe while nibbling on your earlobe:

"Come and see me next Monday. You know you want to." I purr. "We'll have so much fun." Nibble nibble. "Nobody needs to know. You can trust me . . . "

(So, is it working?)


Sunday, March 01, 2009

Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial (Yeah, I spelled that right).

Okay folks, the Saturday morning serial has been postponed for a week. Why? Because HOPEFULLY (assuming we can round up our other authors -- and rounding up authors is like herding cats) we're doing our blog ring next week. If we CAN'T raise everybody then it may have to wait two weeks.

HMNNNNN, let's see, am still recruiting. Come on guys. I've got prizes, I've got cards, there are openings in my organization for: Lackeys, Minions, Toadies, Super Spies, Not-Completely-Trustworthy Allies, and Fawning Sycophants. If you are clever enough to amuse me, you can even come up with your own title. Special thanks to those who have already enrolled. The swag is now packed and should go to the post office tomorrow. Assuming I can get there when it opens. (That's more of a challenge than you think guys. They open AFTER I have to be at the day job and CLOSE before I get off at the day job and they're always packed at noon (go figure!). But the Minions/Lackeys/Toadies and Sychophants who form my Posse are WORTH IT!

Working on some limited edition bookmarks reminding people about the new name. If I like how they look I may wind up printing a gazillion or so of them and sending them to cons and such.

Speaking of cons. ConDFW was a blast! It was great to see everybody. I had a great time.OH, and GOOD NEWS --- a book that has been sitting gathering dust on the shelves for a decade may have found a publisher. They've at least requested a copy to review. Keep your toes crossed (fingers are for typing).

The draft of the next Sazi book is progressing. Cathy has currently chained her muse to the computer and is bribing her with chocolate for a full-out rush to the finish.

Congrats to my sister and brother-in-law. They're having their 38th wedding anniversary. WHOA . . . . and they're still crazy about each other. Really cool. Best wishes.

I'm trying to come up with contests. I'm not sure what to do. What do y'all want? I'm kind of crafty, used to do art (but am WOEFULLY out of practice). Occasionally knit neckscarves in various colors. Have author swag. We can do trivia stuff, whatever. Comment below with wish list. (And be real folks, I may be a Not-So-Evil Overlord, but all this recruiting has strained the budget, no "ten million dollars, a trip to the Bahamas and a good-looking companion to go with me." If I had that, I'D be in the Bahamas, letting said good-looking man feed me peeled grapes.)

Best always, comment here or at MySpace -- I want to hear from you.

C.T. Adams