by Sarah M. Awa
There’d been a note folded neatly on the now-naked mattress where Mel’s roommate—ex-roommate—had used to sleep and gossip and giggle:
I found out your secret. How could you keep something like that from me? I don’t even know who you are anymore. I won’t tell anyone what you are, unless anything weird or dangerous happens, but you’d better stay away from me.
It wasn’t even signed.
The paper slipped from Mel’s hand, drifting downward like a dead leaf. The air seemed to freeze, to be sucked from the room. Blackness edged her vision. Her knees buckled, and she pitched forward onto the empty bed, face buried in the fabric of the mattress until she felt like she would smother to death.
Not a half-bad idea. . . .
A door clicked open down the hallway, and footsteps approached, slowly. Mel knew it was Jocelyn before she heard her voice—quietly, tentatively—say, “Mel?”
She didn’t answer, but finally turned her head so her burning lungs could get some relief. Arms outstretched, she clung to the mattress like it was a life raft. Her eyes stung, and her tear ducts were a dam about to break. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
Fabric rustled, and she could sense Jos crouching next to her, could smell her minty shampoo. Silence reigned for long moments. Then a gentle hand came to rest on Mel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Mel sniffled, and the dam sprang a small leak. Great—she was about to be a blubbering mess in front of Jos once again. Drawing in a shaky breath, she opened her eyes a slit and saw compassion on her suitemate’s face.
“I tried to stop her,” Jos murmured. “To talk some sense into her.”
Mel nodded, then shifted onto her side, facing away from her friend. She hated that pitying look. Especially on Jos’s face, where it was rarely seen.
Then Mel remembered: “How’s your arm?”
“Feeling better as the moon wanes.” Jos explained how Gavin’s touch had also eased the wound’s pain.
Gavin. He left without saying goodbye.
But perhaps things had worked out for the best. Gavin had accused her of being too trusting, but that was only because of his inability to trust people. He couldn’t see that the Organization could help him, wanted to help him. He’d rather stay locked up in his cabin, being tortured every month, than take a risk.
He’s just going in a circle, going nowhere. He accepts this curse, but I’m fighting my hardest to alter my destiny.
Fate, destiny, chance, design . . . Mel couldn’t see that far, that deeply into the scheme of the universe—if it even had one. If there was a reason she’d been bitten, it would probably always remain a mystery. Time to stop dwelling on the past and move into the future.
Sucking in a deep breath, Mel cleared away thoughts of Sunday night, of Gavin, of Timmy’s death. Focus. Read. Get on with what you’re supposed to be doing.
Luis glanced at her over his economics textbook. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Concern still shone in Luis’s eyes, but slowly it morphed to hesitance, to hope, and at last to resolve. He reached out and put a large hand over Mel’s small one, which rested on the table beside her book. “I’ve been meaning to ask you . . .”
She waited, tingles radiating from where he touched her. His hand felt warm, strong, and sinewy. “Yes?” she prompted, gently.
“Well, um, I know . . . he wasn’t my friend either, but it’s a terrible thing when anyone you know dies, especially someone our age.”
“Yeah,” Mel said soberly.
“Pero, sabes, life’s not over . . . for us, I mean. Good things happen too. And I wanted to ask you today, because it’s St. Valentine’s Day, so . . .” Luis took a deep breath. “Will you go out with me?”
Blushing, she looked down and then back into his eyes. “Okay.”
His whole face lit up, and a broad grin stretched from ear to ear. “Excelente,” he said, squeezing her hand.
They smiled shyly at each other, and Mel turned her attention back to her book. Before she could read a whole page, wetness dripped onto her upper lip.
She swiped at it, and saw red on her hand.
The nosebleed was back.
To be continued . . .
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Thinklings Books started out when three speculative-fiction-loving professional editors—Jeannie Ingraham, Deborah Natelson, and Sarah Awa—got together and formed a writing group. We called ourselves the Thinklings, in honor of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien’s group, the Inklings.
Over time, we found ourselves agonizing more and more about how messed up the publishing industry had become. Why couldn’t good books get published? Why were so many bad books published just because their authors had big Twitter followings? We wished there were something we could do about the problem . . . and then we realized there was.
As a developmental editor, a substantive/line editor, and a proofreader, the three of us knew good writing when we saw it—and we knew how to make it even better. We had a lot of experience walking our clients through the publishing process—both traditional and self-publish—and we had contacts with marketing and design experts. We had some amazing unpublished books lined up and ready for production. We had, in fact, everything we needed to make a great publishing company. All that was left was to actually do it.
So we’re doing it.
Spectacular Reads. Every Time.
For more great titles, visit ThinklingsBooks.com
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When she agreed to work for Carina’s greatest and strangest cryptanalyst, Mercedes didn’t realize she’d be playing cloak-and-dagger with aristo-cracy. But once her boss uncovers a grotesque plot against King Emil II’s life, she doesn’t hesitate to dive into a world of deceit and trickery.
Her plan might have worked, if the would-be assassins hadn’t had dark magic up their sleeves. Soon, Mercedes has not only treacherous lords and ladies to deal with, but also both the beautiful, vicious personification Deals & Bargains and a horrifying pair of weapons ready to devour the king, bones and all.
Bargaining Power by Deborah J. Natelson
The Narrative Must Be Obeyed
Everyone in the Taskmaster’s Realm knows how the story goes: the boy of destiny goes on a quest, defeats the dark lord, and gets the swooning princess. It’s a great story, if you happen to be a knight or a wizard or a hero. But it’s pretty odious if you’re Ordinary: a barmaid who has to inflate her bosom and have her backside pinched, a homely prince who can’t buckle his swash because his face doesn’t fit, or a soldier who gets killed over and over and over again just to progress the plot.
Fodder of Humble Village is one of those soldiers, and, frankly, he’s sick and tired of getting speared, decapitated, and disembowelled twice a day so the good guys can look glorious. In fact, he’s not going to take it anymore.
No matter what the Narrative tries to make him do.
The Disposable by Katherine Vick
About the Author
Sarah M. Awa grew up in Northeast Ohio. She “published” her first books at the age of eight and hasn’t stopped writing since then. After earning a BA in English from Toccoa Falls College, she became a freelance proofreader and editor. She also served as creative director for The Ghostwriting Agency for six years. In 2019, she co-founded Thinklings Books, LLC.
Ms. Awa currently lives in Northeast Ohio with two hairy guys: husband, Oscar; and their adorable Shiba Inu mix, Thatcher. She loves reading, writing, anime, chocolate, and walking Thatcher in the park.
You can visit her at
www.sarahmawa.com
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