The very first thing I want to say is that I have posted my review for Amber Stokes's brand new novel, Forget Me Not. You can read my thoughts on it here! Short version: you will enjoy it. :)
It is time for Snippets of Story at Whisperings of the Pen. I don't think this needs explaining, but if it does, the rules can be found here. This past week was a bit bummy writing-wise a few of the days, but I do have a goodly chunk to show from January's capture so here's to lots more in February-to-come!
Vivi stopped and looked at her uncle. He gave a slight shake of his head as if to discourage further explanation of that fact. It was meant to be a secret gesture but Vivi saw the Inspector looking at him.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
She let him boil in that kettle a moment, then graced him with a sweet smile.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
“I can’t remember what she said precisely and if a thing is not accurately presented there is ample room for misconstruction,” Vivi said.
The chief steepled his fingers, putting the points of his index finger against his nose, and stared at her over them. “And if there is nothing presented all all the answer will certainly be misconstrued. Be a sensible little woman.”
-Anon, Sir, Anon
The trio exited the police station and crammed into Dr. Breen’s car. Vivi felt weak and exhausted by the ordeal at the station; no matter how innocent she knew she was, there was always a moment where she feared something would go awry and she would be pegged a murderess. Something to do with her mother’s lessons that the guest was always right.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
The engine coughed to silence and Breen climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened Vivi’s door with a flourish. “Welcome to the Quagmire, my dear Miss Langley.”
-Anon, Sir, Anon
The bad weather of the evening had cleared off with the springing-up of a light breeze, and cloud-tatters flitted over a half moon; the temperature was perfect for an almost-solitary walk: cold without being vampire-like. He felt the weight of Vivi’s arm in his and was glad he was there to protect her if--God forbid--the killer was still in Whistlecreig.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
“I’m your nursemaid. Shouldn’t I be monitoring your food intake?”
“Don’t be a spoil sport. I’m hungry for once in my bang life; let my ulcers scream. We shall solve this mystery and we shall solve it in a week--no more. I shall bet Breen on that.”
-Anon, Sir, Anon
But in her stomach a sparrow-fear darted up and beat its wings.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
She rounded a sudden twist and found herself face to face with a red fox. It grinned at her, brushing its tale across the grass. She took a step forward and it tensed, drawing backward but still grinning; the creature considered her a moment longer before trotting off in an auburn snoot, more cat than dog. She watched a rogue shaft of sunlight jink on the fox’s pelt before it vanished into the rowans like an amber spectre. Vivi was not frightened by the odd meeting with the creature but it occurred to her then that not everything in the Rowan Walk must needs be friendly; there were predators among the woodland folk even as there were among humans.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
“Do you keep horses?” Vivi asked as she and Farnham made their way down the mossy steps of the great house and took to the gravel drive.
Farnham stuffed his hands in his cardigan. “Do I look like I keep horses?”
-Anon, Sir, Anon
“What kind a’ ‘uman could craunch a gel’s head like that and not be a bloke? Barnaby, says I, Barnaby, he’s a nurker he is. Allus hotching about while waitin’ for ‘is train. Allus glining. He’s a rum one, that’un.”
-Anon, Sir, Anon
It was a pretty spot, Vivi decided. She liked it. The mill felt like a mother, gathering the rampant stream to her breast and hushing it with a chuckling murmur till it fell asleep in the cradle-pond.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
She watched Farnham and his hound lounge up the bank with growing apprehension. He wasn’t hurrying. He was barely smiling. But then, Farnham never did go in much for the whole amiable-expression thing.
-Anon, Sir, Anon
“That is positively morbid.”
“It’s a testament to our friendship.”
“Friendships aren’t built on blood!” Vivi protested.
Farnham braked suddenly and turned on her with a certain fierceness both unnerving and quaint. “Aren’t they? Surely you’ve never stuck that aristocratic nose in Henry V or the Bible or any history of any war in the last two millennia if you think friendships can’t be built on blood.”
-Anon, Sir, Anon
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