WEAVER
Book 1 of The Weaver Saga
John Abramowitz
Copyright 2011, 2012 John Abramowitz
Also By John:
Novels:
Atticus for the Undead (Legal Fiction Series, Book 1)
The Void (The Weaver Saga, Book 2) -- Available May 12, 2012!
Short Fiction:
The Antlerbury Tales
For my (de)mentor, Joss Whedon,
who has taught me so much about storytelling;
For Ruth, for whom
I save all of my best stories;
And for my parents, who gave me
an imagination, and taught me the words to give it life.
Acknowledgments
In addition to my own efforts, a number of people worked tirelessly to see Weaver come to fruition.
First and foremost is Ericka Skinner, who gave me a concept for the character of Moira McBain while having no idea how perfectly that concept would fit into the story I wanted to tell. She deserves infinite credit.
Second, my tireless beta readers: Ericka Skinner, Suzanne Capwell, and my parents, Mary Ann and Ben Abramowitz. These people selflessly gave (lots and lots) of their time to read drafts of chapters, sections, or even the manuscript as a whole, often doing so on short notice so that I could keep the story flowing quickly. Their feedback – both thematic and technical – has been invaluable, and some parts of this story were made much better by their efforts. I am in their debt.
Third, to my online writing and gaming group, On The Bird. Working with them for years has taught me much of what I know about the things that make a story work – character development, pacing, plot development, tying together apparently disparate story threads, and much more.
Fourth, to Steven Novak, for doing such a brilliant job with the cover art. (The cover for The Void is even better, folks!)
Fifth, to my dear friend Ana Nagel, who contributed to this book without even realizing she was doing so. Her vivid zombie dreams (and colorful recitations of same) were the inspiration for Alex Cronlord’s prophetic power.
Prologue
Alex ran frantically over the uneven ground, her feet seeming to almost have a mind of their own as she raced desperately, not in any particular direction, but simply away. The first beads of sweat broke out on her forehead beneath the crown of golden-blonde hair, but Alex didn’t care, couldn’t care about that, nor about the burning feeling starting to blossom in the pits of her lungs. All she could think about was keeping as much distance as possible between herself and what was chasing her.
Snick! came the soft noise as one of her tennis shoes collided with a branch on the ground in front of her, snapping loose a twig from the branch as she fell forward, her face hitting the dirt. Alex cursed herself even as she fell – she’d been so focused on the simple act of moving ahead that she hadn’t thought to watch what was ahead. Always were a clumsy bitch. She rolled onto her back as fast as possible, scrambling to her feet as she saw the dark streak swoop ever closer to her.
It moved with almost inhuman speed, closing a full third of the gap between them just in the time it took her to get to her feet. Alex shrieked and leapt to one side. It was a wooded area, so there were plenty of trees to hide behind. She scrambled behind a trunk and hid. The black thing raced forward, stopping a mere few feet from the tree behind which she hid.
Alex’s heart raced, a pounding in her ears that she was sure her pursuer could hear. She waited a few moments in the barest silence, the only noise being a slight breeze rustling the leaves above her head. A brown leaf fell across her nose and cheek. She struggled to resist sneezing as it tickled her sinuses.
What seemed like eternities passed in utter silence.
CRASH. CRASH. CRASH. Alex’s heart continued to pound in her ears, intermixed with the soft squeak-squeak-squeaking sound of her pursuer’s shoes against the dirt and grass as he searched for her. Unable to bear it any longer, she risked a glance over her shoulder – and her heart nearly stopped as she saw him.
Her eyes followed his frame from the beaten-up tennis shoes, up the slender legs covered in the black denim pants, past the torso in the black t-shirt, with sleeves just short enough to show hints of his muscular upper arms, to the sculpted face and short, close-cropped brown hair. There was something almost angelic about his features, even now, as he hunted her. Slowly, his head turned in her direction, and she jerked her own head back behind the trunk, actually holding her breath to avoid detection.
“I know you’re here, Alex,” came his baritone voice, at once lilting and lethal. “I can feel you. I can smell you.”
Another eternity-long silence in which Alex heard nothing – not the wind, not her heart, not his voice. It was the space between heartbeats, but it felt like a lifetime.
And then he found her. “Gotcha!” he roared, starting for her as she squealed in fright and tried to run away.
She could feel him closing the distance between them, but dared not look back, dared not put any of her already-exhausted body’s energy into anything but propelling herself forward, forward, forward. Adrenaline pushed the ache out of her muscles and the burning out of her lungs as she ran –
And then he was on her – one arm like a vise around her stomach, and his breath on her cheek and in her ear told her that he had brought their faces close. She looked over, trembling and whimpering, and saw the cool, predatory smile, the soft brown eyes gleaming with delight. And then, for just a moment, the eyes flashed blood red.
“I’m gonna enjoy this,” he whispered.
And then all she knew was a world of pain.
Weaver Page 1