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Saturday, 28 of January of 2012

ESPAN 2011 Page One Winners

Our winners were announced at the 2011 RWA National Conference in New York City last week.

Just a few points about our winners: One of our three winners was also a finalist last year and placed higher this year. The top three all scored within 2 points of each other and a difference of .2 was all that separated a couple. That is a close!

On to the winners:
In 3rd place – Carol Goss with To Resist a Rogue (Historical)
In 2nd place – Kelly Whitley with Into the Red (Paranormal)
And our overall winner of the 2011 Page One Contest is:
Sarabeth Thomas with Bloodlust in Big Sky (Contemporary)

Congratulations to all of our winners. Scoresheets and requests will all be sent by the end of August.

ESPAN Page One Finalists Announcement

We had previously announced the winning entries, but here are the names (in alphabetical order).  All I ask the Finalists is to not mention which entry is theirs in order to preserve their anonymity for the Editor judges.

Darcy Drake
Jessica Eldridge
Carol Goss
Sarabeth Thomas
Kelly Whitley

Congratulations!

Our Page One 2011 Finalists

Here they are -

Entry #Entry
8After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.
Smoothing out her inventory book's ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week's menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern's meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.
A pained moan came through the barred door of her bedroom. Her hand shook as the sound chilled her straight through. 'Corned Beef' now read more like 'Corned Beaks.' "Might leave that one," Philena muttered. "Served worst."
The door rattled.
14Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship. Especially not female companionship. Once again, he'd lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.
Evan pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Vista. The dull black tops of the bar and the tables ate a helping of the ambient light, but he had no trouble seeing the large number of female patrons. The place rocked tonight, music pumping, liquor flowing. Sex in the air. As usual, good scenery abounded. Lots of young lovelies, out looking to meet the man of their dreams. Some human, some not. In turn, the guys in the bar checked out the females. Some human, some not.
He grabbed a tall table near the bar and steeled himself for attack. Right away, the first predator sauntered up. A human waitress.
She made no attempt to hide her inspection. "Hi there, tall, dark and handsome. What can I get you?"
Privacy. Blood. "Beer. Whatever you've got in a bottle."
"Bud Select okay?"
"Yep."
"You have the most gorgeous blue eyes," she said.
Here we go. "Thanks. My beer?"
"On the way."
17Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound. She'd never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.
Focus. She took deep breaths as she reminded herself to work on one problem at a time. Disregarding the bite marks around the top of the head, she felt for the bleeder at the dog's neck.
Just as Friea had her finger on it, the shepherd tried to get off the table. She hissed out an order to the cowboy beside her. "Hold her head. I've got to clamp that or she won't have enough blood to move at all." The man complied and mumbled into the pup's ear. Its muscles slid into relaxation. This cowboy had magic with animals. "We'll move her to a stretcher in a moment. Then I can restrain her."
The man spoke, his voice low and strained. "She'll be still now. She wants your help."
24Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind. Though her heart race, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.

"Your appointment has arrived, my lord." With these words, the butler ushered her into the most impressive gentleman's office she'd ever seen, then stepped out, closing the door behind him. Her body, chilled from her long walk in the inclement weather, relaxed a bit in the welcome heat flowing from the great fireplace. Yet she couldn't focus on the room.

Sunlight streaming through tall, arched windows not only glinted off polished furniture and mahogany bookcases. It also glinted off the raven hair of the person silhouetted against those windows. Standing with his back to her was the wounded but still dangerous man she must convince to hire her if she wanted to achieve freedom. Drawing a deep breath, she braced for an explosion of anger the second he transferred his gaze from the window to her.

He turned - and went still. She found herself pinned, like a butterfly in a shadow box, by those cat-green eyes she remembered from years ago. Set deep in his hawkish face, they narrowed as he stared at her in utter silence.
34He was getting closer. She couldn't afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby's life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her. Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she'd ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

"Jane," his taunting voice from behind sounded nearer than she'd thought and not at all out of breath. She gave a little shriek of terror and pushed her aching legs harder, focusing on breathing in a rhythm the way she'd been taught and had forgotten in her terror. "He had to die Jane, he knew too much."

She choked back a sob at the monster's words. She'd tried to forget that someone she loved so much was dead. To forget the sight of his body cold and still in her living room, blood pooled around his head, while that predator stood over him.

"We can talk about this. Jayne!" His voice was sounding desperate and more pissed off now. "I won't hurt you," what a liar! There was no way he was going to let her live, she knew too much now. In the distance she could hear a siren and wondered if it was because they'd found the body in her apartment. Will they think I've killed him?

 

If you see your entry above, then please send us an EMAIL to pageone@espan-rwa.com and include your entry number (the number beside your entry above) and your entire Page One Entry formatted in a word doc, as if you were subbing it to a publisher (because you are – these entries are now going to our Editor Judges). Make sure your email has your Name and email in the body, but no names on the actual word doc entries. You have until Sunday, May 8, 2010 at 5pm Pacific to get the updated entries submitted. If you don’t get your entry in on time you will forfeit. We will not chase down late entries.

Please remember that the entire page at the end is to be no more than 250 words long (in other words the total word count of all four paragraphs cannot be longer than 250). This is a Page One contest. Any entries longer than 250 words will not be considered. Please do not change your entry from what is above, as you will be disqualified.

For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!

Here is our contest schedule:
Week 1 – bottom 11 entries (there was a tie) eliminated (leaving 23 entries), announced by April 16, 2011
Week 2 – bottom 7 entries eliminated (leaving 16 entries), announced April 23, 2011
Week 3 – bottom 7 (there was a tie) entries eliminated (leaving 9 entries), announced April 30, 2011
Week 4 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 5 entries to be forwarded to the final Editor judges), announced May 7, 2010

The winners will be announced at ESPAN’s Afternoon Tea in New York at RWA 2011 – sign up for the tea now!

Page One Week 4 Entries

The TOP 5 (five) of the following entries will be sent to our final, editor judges:

Entry #Entry
8After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.

Smoothing out her inventory book's ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week's menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern's meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.

A pained moan came through the barred door of her bedroom. Her hand shook as the sound chilled her straight through. 'Corned Beef' now read more like 'Corned Beaks.' “"Might leave that one,"” Philena muttered. "“Served worst.”"

The door rattled.
14Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship. Especially not female companionship. Once again, he'’d lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.

Evan pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Vista. The dull black tops of the bar and the tables ate a helping of the ambient light, but he had no trouble seeing the large number of female patrons. The place rocked tonight, music pumping, liquor flowing. Sex in the air. As usual, good scenery abounded. Lots of young lovelies, out looking to meet the man of their dreams. Some human, some not. In turn, the guys in the bar checked out the females. Some human, some not.

He grabbed a tall table near the bar and steeled himself for attack. Right away, the first predator sauntered up. A human waitress.

She made no attempt to hide her inspection. “"Hi there, tall, dark and handsome. What can I get you?"”

Privacy. Blood. “"Beer. Whatever you'’ve got in a bottle.”"
“Bud Select okay?”
“Yep.”
“You have the most gorgeous blue eyes,” she said.
Here we go. “Thanks. My beer?”
“On the way.”
17Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound. She’d never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.

Focus. She took deep breaths as she reminded herself to work on one problem at a time. Disregarding the bite marks around the top of the head, she felt for the bleeder at the dog’s neck.

Just as Friea had her finger on it, the shepherd tried to get off the table. She hissed out an order to the cowboy beside her. “"Hold her head. I’'ve got to clamp that or she won’'t have enough blood to move at all.”" The man complied and mumbled into the pup’s ear. Its muscles slid into relaxation. This cowboy had magic with animals. “"We’'ll move her to a stretcher in a moment. Then I can restrain her.”"
The man spoke, his voice low and strained. “She’ll be still now. She wants your help.”
22The smell of danger hit him the moment he stepped through the side door of the warehouse. It energized him. It was a fine mix of stale air, acrid chemicals and a healthy dose of his own fear. Fear was healthy. Fear is what kept him alive, it was like biting down hard on tinfoil, it kept him focused.

The information on this mission was good he noted with respect. The worst of the chemicals hadn’'t been moved yet. Excellent, it would look realistic that way. Looking around at the array of possible burning points he smiled, he couldn'’t wait to see this one go up.

It was the anticipation that always got him. The moment just before the first flicker of her flame caught and ignited, when all of his careful planning culminated into a consuming force of nature. She was his; his to call at will. Her flickering hands seduced, caressed and then consumed everything in her path. She was the destroyer; consuming the dreams of others, making their nightmares come true.

He stood transfixed, swaying in a trance-like ecstasy picturing the walls of flame erupting around him. The flames licked and raced to find the warehouse’s secrets, exposing them to him and only him. He shivered in delight at the expanding carnage around him. He reached out to touch the flames, to offer them a lover’s caress, to direct them to his will. He knew what he had to do as he stepped into her flames.
24Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind. Though her heart raced, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.

"Your appointment has arrived, my lord." With these words, the butler ushered her into the most impressive gentleman's office she'd ever seen, then stepped out, closing the door behind him. Her body, chilled from her long walk in the inclement weather, relaxed a bit in the welcome heat flowing from the great fireplace. Yet she couldn't focus on the room.

Sunlight streaming through tall, arched windows not only glinted off polished furniture and mahogany bookcases. It also glinted off the raven hair of the person silhouetted against those windows. Standing with his back to her was the wounded but still dangerous man she must convince to hire her if she wanted to achieve freedom. Drawing a deep breath, she braced for an explosion of anger the second he transferred his gaze from the window to her.

He turned - and went still. She found herself pinned, like a butterfly in a shadow box, by those cat-green eyes she remembered from years ago. Set deep in his hawkish face, they narrowed as he stared at her in utter silence.
28This must be the place. The address matched the one on the card, but no signage. A scary door, though. Crude wood bound by iron straps. Looked like it belonged on a castle. Or in a torture chamber. Kira adjusted her leather miniskirt and rang the buzzer. A postcard-size window divided with iron bars opened, revealing intense eyes set in a hard masculine face. "“Yes?”"

With shaking hands, she pulled the black leather business card from her purse and handed it through the window. "“Uh, Jack Lehman invited me.”"

The man took the card. Kira gulped and stared at her feet. Was this a mistake? Curiosity had gotten her in trouble before, but she trusted Jack. Mostly.

“"Miss Montrose? Do you wish to enter?"”

Her head snapped up. Oh, crap. What was the response? "“Uh, yes, master, show me the way to heaven.”"

The window slammed shut. Access denied. Had she screwed up the words? Maybe she should have written them down, passed them through the window along with the invitation. She sighed. Oh, well. Probably for the best. She could go to one of her usual haunts—--

The door swung open, and the man with intense eyes stood before her. “Enter the Pleasure Dome, Miss Montrose.”
A cold tongue licked at her neck. Now or never.
She stepped inside, and the door shut behind her with a thunderous boom.
29Sy gripped the wrought iron bar, tracing its twisted pattern with her
covered thumb. When the cold metal brushed against the tips of her
exposed fingers, she gasped. But then she held on tighter, as if the
cold could clear her mind of anything else. She clenched her eyes
tightly to blot out the image of the house behind the gates, squatting
on the wastelands like a stubborn old bear. The only thing on the
bleak horizon. She wouldn’'t cry. The brittle dirt crunched behind her
with the sound of footsteps.

"“Jon,”" she said before turning around. When she did, it was to see
that familiar bushy black beard and bright blue eyes. Though they
didn'’t betray any emotion, she could sense the tension below the
surface. He was, after all, the closest thing to a father she had ever
known.

“"You don'’t have to do this.”" No chastisement from him about leaving
alone. About leaving without saying goodbye.

“"I know,"” Sy said. "“But it will give us everything we’'ve wanted. Food,
protection. . .”"

He studied her before grunting, “"Protection for the others.”"

“I’ll be the best protected.” She tilted her head and grinned,
purposely misunderstanding his meaning.

“You don’t dream of protection.” He said it through gritted teeth.
“You’re one of the best in the band at fighting off outsiders.”

“And the reason we were always fighting,” Sy murmured. A vicious sand
eddy swirled closer, and she adjusted the scarf over her face.
33The piercing sound of gunfire startled him awake. "“Rebecca,"” he screamed. His body jerked upright. Where am I? Focus. He raised his hand, and drew it across his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped when he looked into his palm. It wasn’'t covered in her blood. He scanned the area around his deck while he searched for a gunman, but could see nothing in the moonless night. No shadows on the beach, no reflections in the water.

Breathe, breathe. Sweat rolled from his brow into his eyes. His heart pounded violently in an attempt to break free of its confines. Breathe. It was no use. He collapsed against the chair trying to pull himself out of the darkness that crept into his soul. Several moments elapsed before he dropped his head forward, his eyes slid closed. He couldn’'t escape the vision.

A low feral growl put Linc on alert. There stood a dog--– a very big dog--– close to a hundred pound dog, just two feet away. The male Yellow-Lab stared at him, his guttural rumbling continued. A piece of leftover pizza crust hung from his clenched teeth. The pizza box turned upside down on the floor. Scram! Get your own damn pizza.

The dog watched him, but didn’t move. Instinctively Linc brought his arm around to shove the large beast out of range. “Damn it.” He clutched his fist to his left shoulder. “Get out of here.” Pain tore through his upper chest. He winced and struggled to stand.
34He was getting closer. She couldn'’t’ afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby’'s life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her. Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she'’d ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

"“Jane,"” his taunting voice from behind sounded nearer than she'’d thought and not at all out of breath. She gave a little shriek of terror and pushed her aching legs harder, focusing on breathing in a rhythm the way she'’d been taught and had forgotten in her terror. “"He had to die Jane, he knew too much.”"

She choked back a sob at the monster'’s words. She’'d tried to forget that someone she loved so much was dead. To forget the sight of his body cold and still in her living room, blood pooled around his head, while that predator stood over him.

“We can talk about this. Jayne!” His voice was sounding desperate and more pissed off now. “I won’t hurt you,” what a liar! There was no way he was going to let her live, she knew too much now. In the distance she could hear a siren and wondered if it was because they’d found the body in her apartment. Will they think I’ve killed him?

Page One, Week 3 Entries Moving On

The following entries are moving on to week 4 (please note that due to a tie only 9 entries are moving on):

 

8

 After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.

Smoothing out her inventory book’s ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week’s menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern’s meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.

A pained moan came through the barred door of her bedroom. Her hand shook as the sound chilled her straight through. ‘Corned Beef’ now read more like ‘Corned Beaks.’ “Might leave that one,” Philena muttered. “Served worst.”
14 Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship.  Especially not female companionship. Once again, he’d lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.

Evan pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Vista. The dull black tops of the bar and the tables ate a helping of the ambient light, but he had no trouble seeing the large number of female patrons. The place rocked tonight, music pumping, liquor flowing. Sex in the air. As usual, good scenery abounded. Lots of young lovelies, out looking to meet the man of their dreams. Some human, some not. In turn, the guys in the bar checked out the females. Some human, some not.

He grabbed a tall table near the bar and steeled himself for attack. Right away, the first predator sauntered up. A human waitress.

She made no attempt to hide her inspection. “Hi there, tall, dark and handsome. What can I get you?”

Privacy. Blood. “Beer. Whatever you’ve got in a bottle.”
17 Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound. She’d never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.

<em>Focus.</em> She took deep breaths as she reminded herself to work on one problem at a time. Disregarding the bite marks around the top of the head, she felt for the bleeder at the dog’s neck.

Just as Friea had her finger on it, the shepherd tried to get off the table. She hissed out an order to the cowboy beside her. “Hold her head. I’ve got to clamp that or she won’t have enough blood to move at all.” The man complied and mumbled into the pup’s ear. Its muscles slid into relaxation. This cowboy had magic with animals. “We’ll move her to a stretcher in a moment. Then I can restrain her.”
22 The smell of danger hit him the moment he stepped through the side door of the warehouse. It energized him. It was a fine mix of stale air, acrid chemicals and a healthy dose of his own fear. Fear was healthy. Fear is what kept him alive, it was like biting down hard on tinfoil, it kept him focused.

The information on this mission was good he noted with respect. The worst of the chemicals hadn’t been moved yet. <em>Excellent</em>, it would look realistic that way. Looking around at the array of possible burning points he smiled, he couldn’t wait to see this one go up.

It was the anticipation that always got him. The moment just before the first flicker of her flame caught and ignited, when all of his careful planning culminated into a consuming force of nature. She was his; his to call at will. Her flickering hands seduced, caressed and then consumed everything in her path. She was the destroyer; consuming the dreams of others, making their nightmares come true.
24 Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind. Though her heart raced, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.

“Your appointment has arrived, my lord.” With these words, the butler ushered her into the most impressive gentleman’s office she’d ever seen, then stepped out, closing the door behind him. Her body, chilled from her long walk in the inclement weather, relaxed a bit in the welcome heat flowing from the great fireplace.  Yet she couldn’t focus on the room

Sunlight streaming through tall, arched windows not only glinted off polished furniture and mahogany bookcases. It also glinted off the raven hair of the person silhouetted against those windows. Standing with his back to her was the wounded but still dangerous man she must convince to hire her if she wanted to achieve freedom. Drawing a deep breath, she braced for an explosion of anger the second he transferred his gaze from the window to her.
28 This must be the place. The address matched the one on the card, but no signage. A scary door, though. Crude wood bound by iron straps. Looked like it belonged on a castle. Or in a torture chamber. Kira adjusted her leather miniskirt and rang the buzzer. A postcard-size window divided with iron bars opened, revealing intense eyes set in a hard masculine face. “Yes?”

With shaking hands, she pulled the black leather business card from her purse and handed it through the window. “Uh, Jack Lehman invited me.”

The man took the card. Kira gulped and stared at her feet. Was this a mistake? Curiosity had gotten her in trouble before, but she trusted Jack. Mostly.

“Miss Montrose? Do you wish to enter?”

Her head snapped up. Oh, crap. What was the response? “Uh, yes, master, show me the way to heaven.”

The window slammed shut. Access denied. Had she screwed up the words? Maybe she should have written them down, passed them through the window along with the invitation. She sighed. Oh, well. Probably for the best. She could go to one of her usual haunts—
29 Sy gripped the wrought iron bar, tracing its twisted pattern with her
covered thumb. When the cold metal brushed against the tips of her
exposed fingers, she gasped. But then she held on tighter, as if the
cold could clear her mind of anything else. She clenched her eyes
tightly to blot out the image of the house behind the gates, squatting
on the wastelands like a stubborn old bear. The only thing on the
bleak horizon. She wouldn’t cry. The brittle dirt crunched behind her
with the sound of footsteps. 

“Jon,” she said before turning around. When she did, it was to see
that familiar bushy black beard and bright blue eyes. Though they
didn’t betray any emotion, she could sense the tension below the
surface. He was, after all, the closest thing to a father she had ever
known.

“You don’t have to do this.” No chastisement from him about leaving
alone. About leaving without saying goodbye.

“I know,” Sy said. “But it will give us everything we’ve wanted. Food,
protection. . .”

He studied her before grunting, “Protection for the others.”
33 The piercing sound of gunfire startled him awake. “Rebecca,” he screamed. His body jerked upright. Where am I? Focus. He raised his hand, and drew it across his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped when he looked into his palm.  It wasn’t covered in her blood. He scanned the area around his deck while he searched for a gunman, but could see nothing in the moonless night. No shadows on the beach, no reflections in the water.

Breathe, breathe. Sweat rolled from his brow into his eyes. His heart pounded violently in an attempt to break free of its confines. Breathe. It was no use. He collapsed against the chair trying to pull himself out of the darkness that crept into his soul. Several moments elapsed before he dropped his head forward, his eyes slid closed. He couldn’t escape the vision.

A low feral growl put Linc on alert. There stood a dog – a very big dog – close to a hundred pound dog, just two feet away. The male Yellow-Lab stared at him, his guttural rumbling continued. A piece of leftover pizza crust hung from his clenched teeth. The pizza box turned upside down on the floor. <em>Scram! Get your own damn pizza.</em>
34 He was getting closer. She couldn’t’ afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby’s life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her. Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she’d ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

“Jane,” his taunting voice from behind sounded nearer than she’d thought and not at all out of breath. She gave a little shriek of terror and pushed her aching legs harder, focusing on breathing in a rhythm the way she’d been taught and had forgotten in her terror. “He had to die Jane, he knew too much.”

She choked back a sob at the monster’s words. She’d tried to forget that someone she loved so much was dead. To forget the sight of his body cold and still in her living room, blood pooled around his head, while that predator stood over him.

If you see your entry above, then please send us an EMAIL to pageone@espan-rwa.com and include your entry number (the number beside your entry above), your name, your email, your first paragraphs exactly as above along with your FOURTH paragraph. You have until Sunday, May 1, 2010 at 5pm Pacific to get the updated entries submitted. If you don’t get your entry in on time you will forfeit. We will not chase down late entries.

NB: For any entries that use italics please use the code < em > and < /em > after it (without spaces) as some of the italics are getting lost in the transition.

Please remember that the entire page at the end of the fourth week is to be no more than 250 words long (in other words the total word count of all four paragraphs cannot be longer than 250). This is a Page One contest. Any entries longer than 250 words will not be considered.

For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!

Here is our contest schedule:
Week 1 – bottom 11 entries (there was a tie) eliminated (leaving 23 entries), announced by April 16, 2011
Week 2 – bottom 7 entries eliminated (leaving 16 entries), announced April 23, 2011
Week 3 – bottom 7 (there was a tie) entries eliminated (leaving 9 entries), announced April 30, 2011
Week 4 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 5 entries to be forwarded to the final Editor judges), announced May 7, 2010

2011 Page One – Week 3 Entries

Entry #Entry
2Blood dripped from the face of the young man. The light from the lamppost lit his translucent body as if from within. Ghosts in New Orleans were about as common as gumbo, so, being a witch, Jared Dupre wasn’t overly alarmed when one stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of him. But as the specter reached out a bloody hand toward him, the panic Jared read in the pale eyes unnerved him.

Jared backed away. "“Hey, guy, I have no problem with you. I’'ll go about my business, and you go about yours.”"

The spirit shook his head and motioned frantically for Jared to follow. “"Please, you must come."” His brittle voice passed through Jared like slivers of ice. "“We must hurry. He has your brother.”"

Tentacles of fear formed in the pit of Jared’s stomach. His eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? Who has Philippe?”"

Without answering, the specter began to move down Royal Street.

"Damn it, wait."

The specter increased his speed giving Jared no choice but to follow. They ran through the French Quarter, dodging tourists partying on Bourbon Street, and along Toulouse where they encountered a cloaked woman conducting a ghost tour. As they skirted around the group, a wide-eyed little girl seemed to be the only one who could see Jared’s spectral guide.
8After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.

Smoothing out her inventory book's ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week's menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern's meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.

A pained moan came through the barred door of her bedroom. Her hand shook as the sound chilled her straight through. 'Corned Beef' now read more like 'Corned Beaks.' “"Might leave that one,"” Philena muttered. "“Served worst.”"
13Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing line and a bucket of night crawlers. He came up to her in the sunlight, a mile-wide smile on his tanned face, and from that moment nothing else seemed to matter. The frustration she felt, as she struggled with the thin twine tied to the end of her homemade bamboo pole, wasn'’t important. Anger over wet knots that resisted all her tugging, irritation because her brother Mark hoarded his new rod instead of allowing her to borrow it... All magically gone, the very second Annie looked up into blue eyes as warm as the sky above, and lost her heart.

"Hi. Need some help?" He squatted down next to her on the ground. She nodded, a flush heating her cheeks. < em >Stop staring at him, Annie.< /em > She couldn’t get any oxygen into her lungs. < em >Breathe, Annie...< /em >

After what seemed like an eternity of gawking at him, she cleared her dry throat. "I...my line got tangled, over in the reeds. I don’t think I can fix it. Not enough weight on the twine." Her pulse sped up when he leaned in for a better view of her mangled pole. He’s so cute... She barely refrained from sighing in his face.
14Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship. Especially not female companionship. Once again, he'’d lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.

Evan pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Vista. The dull black tops of the bar and the tables ate a helping of the ambient light, but he had no trouble seeing the large number of female patrons. The place rocked tonight, music pumping, liquor flowing. Sex in the air. As usual, good scenery abounded. Lots of young lovelies, out looking to meet the man of their dreams. Some human, some not. In turn, the guys in the bar checked out the females. Some human, some not.

He grabbed a tall table near the bar and steeled himself for attack. Right away, the first predator sauntered up. A human waitress.

She made no attempt to hide her inspection. “"Hi there, tall, dark and handsome. What can I get you?"”

Privacy. Blood. “"Beer. Whatever you'’ve got in a bottle.”"
17Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound. She’d never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.

Focus. She took deep breaths as she reminded herself to work on one problem at a time. Disregarding the bite marks around the top of the head, she felt for the bleeder at the dog’s neck.

Just as Friea had her finger on it, the shepherd tried to get off the table. She hissed out an order to the cowboy beside her. “"Hold her head. I’'ve got to clamp that or she won’'t have enough blood to move at all.”" The man complied and mumbled into the pup’s ear. Its muscles slid into relaxation. This cowboy had magic with animals. “"We’'ll move her to a stretcher in a moment. Then I can restrain her.”"
21"She’'s only been dead a couple of minutes. There’s nothing we can do for her, except burn the body."”

Xavier crouched to examine the shredded werewolf. Jane’s beautiful gray and black coat matted into chunks of drying blood. Her head lay at an odd angle over the trampled grass. He lowered his hand to her crown and stroked the soft fur between her ears.

The waste of a young, innocent life was more than he could bear and struck at the core of all he stood for, all he still struggled to achieve. Unbridled rage crawled through his throat at the liquid pooling where her neck had been torn out. His hands stretched and curled, but he stopped them from shifting into full claws.

“"Who did this, Markus?"” Xavier snarled and searched for bloody footprints where none existed. The clearing where she'’d fallen lay empty, save the hard earth near the Mediterranean Sea.

"“We don'’t know. There's no scent.”"
22The smell of danger hit him the moment he stepped through the side door of the warehouse. It energized him. It was a fine mix of stale air, acrid chemicals and a healthy dose of his own fear. Fear was healthy. Fear is what kept him alive, it was like biting down hard on tinfoil, it kept him focused.

The information on this mission was good he noted with respect. The worst of the chemicals hadn’'t been moved yet. Excellent, it would look realistic that way. Looking around at the array of possible burning points he smiled, he couldn'’t wait to see this one go up.

It was the anticipation that always got him. The moment just before the first flicker of her flame caught and ignited, when all of his careful planning culminated into a consuming force of nature. She was his; his to call at will. Her flickering hands seduced, caressed and then consumed everything in her path. She was the destroyer; consuming the dreams of others, making their nightmares come true.
23The swamp’'s air stirred heavily about as her water soaked feet sank deeply into the bog. With each mud-laden step, she felt certain she would lose one, if not both, of the combat boots her brother made her wear. She’'d cursed him at the time, but now was rather grateful to have the snake proof boots on. Whenever she found him and they got out of this godforsaken place, she was going to kill him, no scratch that. Skin him, and then kill him.

Damn, but she should have listened to Kara. Kept her butt at home rather than out traipsing through this mosquito infested, hot as Hades swamp, trying to track some elusive ass bog monster. She’'d ignored her best friend, listening instead to her whacked out brother as her inner Nancy Drew leapt at the mystery. Now she was lost, in the swamp… at sunset.

Plucking irritably at her sweat soaked tee, she didn'’t think she’'d ever felt so stanky! A quick whiff to her pits, confirmed it. Good grief, surely the bog monster would hightail it in the opposite direction at the first ungodly scent of her. So would any other living thing, she prayed, now that darkness had fallen and the night creatures were out to play.
24Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind. Though her heart raced, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.

"Your appointment has arrived, my lord." With these words, the butler ushered her into the most impressive gentleman's office she'd ever seen, then stepped out, closing the door behind him. Her body, chilled from her long walk in the inclement weather, relaxed a bit in the welcome heat flowing from the great fireplace. Yet she couldn't focus on the room.

Sunlight streaming through tall, arched windows not only glinted off polished furniture and mahogany bookcases. It also glinted off the raven hair of the person silhouetted against those windows. Standing with his back to her was the wounded but still dangerous man she must convince to hire her if she wanted to achieve freedom. Drawing a deep breath, she braced for an explosion of anger the second he transferred his gaze from the window to her.
26They called him the ‘highland beast’. He lived in a cave, sometimes on the moors, perhaps in a cairn, deep in the earth. He would rise up and smite those who would disturb his rest. Aindreas Coinneach Mackenzie was many things but these stories were the stuff of legends. He may be an asshole, but he wasn'’t what they believed. Folk tales harkening back to the days when people didn’'t understand things so easily. Ignorance could get a man killed.

For centuries, he roamed endlessly, isolated from his family. That ill begotten day on the Isle of Lewis burned deep in his synapsis. Fate scattered him and his brothers to the four corners of the earth. Forever cursed to be what they held inside themselves.

Andrew pondered the fate of his brothers and wondered how they fared with their afflictions. He understood his own too well and lived with it on his skin. The beast in him never let anyone get close. Just as well, women were a waste of time.
28This must be the place. The address matched the one on the card, but no signage. A scary door, though. Crude wood bound by iron straps. Looked like it belonged on a castle. Or in a torture chamber. Kira adjusted her leather miniskirt and rang the buzzer. A postcard-size window divided with iron bars opened, revealing intense eyes set in a hard masculine face. "“Yes?”"

With shaking hands, she pulled the black leather business card from her purse and handed it through the window. "“Uh, Jack Lehman invited me.”"

The man took the card. Kira gulped and stared at her feet. Was this a mistake? Curiosity had gotten her in trouble before, but she trusted Jack. Mostly.

“"Miss Montrose? Do you wish to enter?"”

Her head snapped up. Oh, crap. What was the response? "“Uh, yes, master, show me the way to heaven.”"

The window slammed shut. Access denied. Had she screwed up the words? Maybe she should have written them down, passed them through the window along with the invitation. She sighed. Oh, well. Probably for the best. She could go to one of her usual haunts—--
29Sy gripped the wrought iron bar, tracing its twisted pattern with her
covered thumb. When the cold metal brushed against the tips of her
exposed fingers, she gasped. But then she held on tighter, as if the
cold could clear her mind of anything else. She clenched her eyes
tightly to blot out the image of the house behind the gates, squatting
on the wastelands like a stubborn old bear. The only thing on the
bleak horizon. She wouldn’'t cry. The brittle dirt crunched behind her
with the sound of footsteps.

"“Jon,”" she said before turning around. When she did, it was to see
that familiar bushy black beard and bright blue eyes. Though they
didn'’t betray any emotion, she could sense the tension below the
surface. He was, after all, the closest thing to a father she had ever
known.

“"You don'’t have to do this.”" No chastisement from him about leaving
alone. About leaving without saying goodbye.

“"I know,"” Sy said. "“But it will give us everything we’'ve wanted. Food,
protection. . .”"

He studied her before grunting, “Protection for the others.”
30“"Er, you’ve got mail. From Matt. To your SinfulAngel account.”"

"“What?!?!?”"

Nicole stopped her happy post-date dance and stared at her roommate. When she joined the dating site PursuitCity.com, Nicole set up an extra, fake erotic profile in order to weed out the players. It worked and she found the 100% decent Matt - or so she thought. Why in hell is he emailing SinfulAngel?

“"I was using your account when I came across this."” Christina placed the laptop on the counter. "“That’s Matt’s face on the profile alright."” Nicole stared at the picture. "Yes, that'’s Matt without a shred of doubt." His message: “Hey baby, I could go all night.” His profile:



User name: HornyBastardr2go

Status: Married

Seeking: Sex with No Strings



Wait a minute, married???



Nicole stared at the screen, speechless. She’d been going out with this guy for a month, and all this time he was married?



In his profile's Introduction, he wrote: “When the cat’s away on business trips, the mouse is going to play and play and play! I'’ve got tons of naked pics to share, show me yours and I'’ll show you mine!”
31The starmen piled off the spaceships in a teeming herd of voices and motion. Kai opened her eyes and stood up, veins blazing as they dilated, steadying herself on the shifting sand. The familiar shock of the LifesBlood was always welcome, leaving her dizzy in its wake. Necessary. Her heart quickened and gills fluttered. The men didn't see her yet, but soon would spread out along the beach in the moonslight seeking their pleasure. She wasn't ready yet.

Fragments of long-vanished sea-life glittered and crunched as she crept toward the thin row of kneeling trees and thick hedgerows that blockaded the tall ships and their clutch from her sea. When Festival is over, I’ll be leaving Arei on one of those gleaming monsters. Blood be damned.

Kai dropped to her knees and crawled the last few paces to the edge of the overgrowth then peered through the crisscrossed branches. Her gills snapped shut as her breath caught in her throat. Oh my. Starmen stood taller than the Areian men, and were not pale and swim-slender, but dark and muscular. Beautiful. A shell snapped behind her and before she could stand large hands grabbed her bare shoulders and pulled her to her feet.
33The piercing sound of gunfire startled him awake. "“Rebecca,"” he screamed. His body jerked upright. Where am I? Focus. He raised his hand, and drew it across his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped when he looked into his palm. It wasn’'t covered in her blood. He scanned the area around his deck while he searched for a gunman, but could see nothing in the moonless night. No shadows on the beach, no reflections in the water.

Breathe, breathe. Sweat rolled from his brow into his eyes. His heart pounded violently in an attempt to break free of its confines. Breathe. It was no use. He collapsed against the chair trying to pull himself out of the darkness that crept into his soul. Several moments elapsed before he dropped his head forward, his eyes slid closed. He couldn’'t escape the vision.

A low feral growl put Linc on alert. There stood a dog--– a very big dog--– close to a hundred pound dog, just two feet away. The male Yellow-Lab stared at him, his guttural rumbling continued. A piece of leftover pizza crust hung from his clenched teeth. The pizza box turned upside down on the floor. Scram! Get your own damn pizza.
34He was getting closer. She couldn'’t’ afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby’'s life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her. Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she'’d ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

"“Jane,"” his taunting voice from behind sounded nearer than she'’d thought and not at all out of breath. She gave a little shriek of terror and pushed her aching legs harder, focusing on breathing in a rhythm the way she'’d been taught and had forgotten in her terror. “"He had to die Jane, he knew too much.”"

She choked back a sob at the monster'’s words. She’'d tried to forget that someone she loved so much was dead. To forget the sight of his body cold and still in her living room, blood pooled around his head, while that predator stood over him.

Page One, Week 2 – Entries Moving On

The following entries are moving on to week 3:

2 Blood dripped from the face of the young man. The light from the lamppost lit his translucent body as if from within. Ghosts in New Orleans were about as common as gumbo, so, being a witch, Jared Dupre wasn’t overly alarmed when one stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of him. But as the specter reached out a bloody hand toward him, the panic Jared read in the pale eyes unnerved him.

Jared backed away. “Hey, guy,  I have no problem with you. I’ll go about my business, and you go about yours.”
The spirit shook his head and motioned frantically for Jared to follow. “Please, you must come.” His brittle voice passed through Jared like slivers of ice. “We must hurry. He has your brother.”
8 After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.

Smoothing out her inventory book’s ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week’s menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern’s meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.
13 Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing line and a bucket of night crawlers. He came up to her in the sunlight, a mile-wide smile on his tanned face, and from that moment nothing else seemed to matter. The frustration she felt, as she struggled with the thin twine tied to the end of her homemade bamboo pole, wasn’t important. Anger over wet knots that resisted all her tugging, irritation because her brother Mark hoarded his new rod instead of allowing her to borrow it… All magically gone, the very second Annie looked up into blue eyes as warm as the sky above, and lost her heart.

“Hi. Need some help?” He squatted down next to her on the ground. She nodded, a flush heating her cheeks. < em >Stop staring at him, Annie.< /em > She couldn’t get any oxygen into her lungs. < em >Breathe, Annie…< /em >
14 Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship.  Especially not female companionship. Once again, he’d lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.

Evan pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Vista. The dull black tops of the bar and the tables ate a helping of the ambient light, but he had no trouble seeing the large number of female patrons. The place rocked tonight, music pumping, liquor flowing. Sex in the air. As usual, good scenery abounded. Lots of young lovelies, out looking to meet the man of their dreams. Some human, some not. In turn, the guys in the bar checked out the females. Some human, some not.
17 Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound. She’d never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.

<em>Focus.</em> She took deep breaths as she reminded herself to work on one problem at a time. Disregarding the bite marks around the top of the head, she felt for the bleeder at the dog’s neck.
21 “She’s only been dead a couple of minutes. There’s nothing we can do for her, except burn the body.”

Xavier crouched to examine the shredded werewolf. Jane’s beautiful gray and black coat matted into chunks of drying blood. Her head lay at an odd angle over the trampled grass. He lowered his hand to her crown and stroked the soft fur between her ears.
22 The smell of danger hit him the moment he stepped through the side door of the warehouse. It energized him. It was a fine mix of stale air, acrid chemicals and a healthy dose of his own fear. Fear was healthy. Fear is what kept him alive, it was like biting down hard on tinfoil, it kept him focused.

The information on this mission was good he noted with respect. The worst of the chemicals hadn’t been moved yet. <em>Excellent</em>, it would look realistic that way. Looking around at the array of possible burning points he smiled, he couldn’t wait to see this one go up.
23 The swamp’s air stirred heavily about as her water soaked feet sank deeply into the bog. With each mud-laden step, she felt certain she would lose one, if not both, of the combat boots her brother made her wear. She’d cursed him at the time, but now was rather grateful to have the snake proof boots on. Whenever she found him and they got out of this godforsaken place, she was going to kill him, no scratch that. Skin him, and then kill him

Damn, but she should have listened to Kara. Kept her butt at home rather than out traipsing through this mosquito infested, hot as Hades swamp, trying to track some elusive ass bog monster.  She’d ignored her best friend, listening instead to her whacked out brother as her inner Nancy Drew leapt at the mystery. Now she was lost, in the swamp… at sunset.
24 Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind. Though her heart raced, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.

“Your appointment has arrived, my lord.” With these words, the butler ushered her into the most impressive gentleman’s office she’d ever seen, then stepped out, closing the door behind him.  Her body, chilled from her long walk in the inclement weather, relaxed a bit in the welcome heat flowing from the great fireplace.  Yet she couldn’t focus on the room.
26 They called him the ‘highland beast’. He lived in a cave, sometimes on the moors, perhaps in a cairn, deep in the earth. He would rise up and smite those who would disturb his rest. Aindreas Coinneach Mackenzie was many things but these stories were the stuff of legends. He may be an asshole, but he wasn’t what they believed. Folk tales harkening back to the days when people didn’t understand things so easily. Ignorance could get a man killed.

For centuries, he roamed endlessly, isolated from his family. That ill begotten day on the Isle of Lewis burned deep in his synapsis. Fate scattered him and his brothers to the four corners of the earth. Forever cursed to be what they held inside themselves.
28 This must be the place. The address matched the one on the card, but no signage. A scary door, though. Crude wood bound by iron straps. Looked like it belonged on a castle. Or in a torture chamber. Kira adjusted her leather miniskirt and rang the buzzer. A postcard-size window divided with iron bars opened, revealing intense eyes set in a hard masculine face. “Yes?”

With shaking hands, she pulled the black leather business card from her purse and handed it through the window. “Uh, Jack Lehman invited me.”

The man took the card. Kira gulped and stared at her feet. Was this a mistake? Curiosity had gotten her in trouble before, but she trusted Jack. Mostly.

“Miss Montrose? Do you wish to enter?”
29 Sy gripped the wrought iron bar, tracing its twisted pattern with her covered thumb. When the cold metal brushed against the tips of her exposed fingers, she gasped. But then she held on tighter, as if the cold could clear her mind of anything else. She clenched her eyes tightly to blot out the image of the house behind the gates, squatting on the wastelands like a stubborn old bear. The only thing on the bleak horizon. She wouldn’t cry. The brittle dirt crunched behind her with the sound of footsteps.
“Jon,” she said before turning around. When she did, it was to see that familiar bushy black beard and bright blue eyes. Though they didn’t betray any emotion, she could sense the tension below the surface. He was, after all, the closest thing to a father she had ever known.
30 “Er, you’ve got mail. From Matt. To your <em>SinfulAngel</em> account.”

“What?!?!?”

Nicole stopped her happy post-date dance and stared at her roommate. When she joined the dating site <em>PursuitCity.com</em>, Nicole set up an extra, fake erotic profile in order to weed out the players. It worked and she found the 100% decent Matt – or so she thought. Why in hell is he emailing <em>SinfulAngel</em>?

“I was using your account when I came across this.” Christina placed the laptop on the counter. “That’s Matt’s face on the profile alright.” Nicole stared at the picture. Yes, that’s Matt without a shred of doubt. His message: “Hey baby, I could go all night.” His profile:

User name: HornyBastardr2go
Status: Married
Seeking: Sex with No Strings

Wait a minute, <em>married</em>???
31 The starmen piled off the spaceships in a teeming herd of voices and motion.  Kai opened her eyes and stood up, veins blazing as they dilated, steadying herself on the shifting sand.  The familiar shock of the LifesBlood was always welcome, leaving her dizzy in its wake.  Necessary.  Her heart quickened and gills fluttered.  The men didn’t see her yet, but soon would spread out along the beach in the moonslight seeking their pleasure.  She wasn’t ready yet.

Fragments of long-vanished sea-life glittered and crunched as she crept toward the thin row of kneeling trees and thick hedgerows that blockaded the tall ships and their clutch from her sea.  When Festival is over, I’ll be leaving Arei on one of those gleaming monsters.  Blood be damned.
33 The piercing sound of gunfire startled him awake. “Rebecca,” he screamed. His body jerked upright. Where am I? Focus. He raised his hand, and drew it across his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped when he looked into his palm.  It wasn’t covered in her blood. He scanned the area around his deck while he searched for a gunman, but could see nothing in the moonless night. No shadows on the beach, no reflections in the water.

Breathe, breathe. Sweat rolled from his brow into his eyes. His heart pounded violently in an attempt to break free of its confines. Breathe. It was no use. He collapsed against the chair trying to pull himself out of the darkness that crept into his soul. Several moments elapsed before he dropped his head forward, his eyes slid closed. He couldn’t escape the vision.
34 He was getting closer. She couldn’t’ afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby’s life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her.  Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she’d ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

“Jane,” his taunting voice from behind sounded nearer than she’d thought and not at all out of breath. She gave a little shriek of terror and pushed her aching legs harder, focusing on breathing in a rhythm the way she’d been taught and had forgotten in her terror. “He had to die Jane, he knew too much.”

 If you see your entry above, then please send us an EMAIL to pageone@espan-rwa.com and include your entry number (the number beside your entry above), your name, your email, your first paragraphs exactly as above along with your SECOND paragraph. You have until Sunday, April 24, 2010 at 5pm Pacific to get the updated entries submitted. If you don’t get your entry in on time you will forfeit. We will not chase down late entries.

NB: For any entries that use italics please use the code < em > and < /em > after it (without spaces) as some of the italics are getting lost in the transition.

Please remember that the entire page at the end of the fourth week is to be no more than 250 words long (in other words the total word count of all four paragraphs cannot be longer than 250). This is a Page One contest. Any entries longer than 250 words will not be considered.

For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!

Here is our contest schedule:
Week 1 – bottom 11 entries (there was a tie) eliminated (leaving 23 entries), announced by April 16, 2011
Week 2 – bottom 7 entries eliminated (leaving 16 entries), announced April 23, 2011
Week 3 – bottom 6 entries eliminated (leaving 10 entries), announced April 30, 2011
Week 4 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 5 entries to be forwarded to the final Editor judges), announced May 7, 2010

2011 Page One Contest – Week 2 Entries

Here are our entries for week 2…

Please note that the translation seems to strip the quotation marks and some of the italics. We are working on getting that fixed.

 

Entry #Entry
2Blood dripped from the face of the young man. The light from the lamppost lit his translucent body as if from within. Ghosts in New Orleans were about as common as gumbo, so, being a witch, Jared Dupre wasn’t overly alarmed when one stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of him. But as the specter reached out a bloody hand toward him, the panic Jared read in the pale eyes unnerved him.

Jared backed away. “"Hey, guy, I have no problem with you. I’ll go about my business, and you go about yours."”
The spirit shook his head and motioned frantically for Jared to follow. "“Please, you must come."” His brittle voice passed through Jared like slivers of ice. "“We must hurry. He has your brother.”"
7"“Mon amour,”" Mademoiselle Colette Marceau whispered beseechingly, "“please don’t make me wait any longer. Show yourself.”" She huffed, faint clouds of breath pirouetting in the silent frigid air like the buoyant trim of a young ballerina’s tutu. The sprawling Marceau estate boasted of twelve grand fireplaces, thirteen if one counted the kitchen, yet the cinders in the room’s hearth had grown cold - unattended and unobserved by Colette. Fire, of a different sort, was on her mind.
Sighing, she dropped to her knees for a closer inspection. The object of her perusal lay dormant, awaiting her capable administrations. But how to proceed? His present state – as rigid as a lump of tuffeau stone – would not suffice. Undeterred, she bit her lip, ignoring both his obstinacy and his pungent odor. Her fingers reached for the long tool, a surprise token of affection from Monsieur Lavoisier.
8After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.

Smoothing out her inventory book's ink-stained pages with shaking hands, she straightened a piece of scrap paper labeled as the following week's menu. There were as many lines through mistakes on the tavern's meal offerings as those crossing her time beaten skin. Salt clung to those markers of age, the last sign of her tears now hours past.
9I am royally screwed. Hoisting her gaze from the blood red ruby dominating her hand to the towering, dark haired man at her side, Anna instantly wished that she hadn’t. He was as crippling for the confidence as he was easy on the eye, and right now almost smoking with barely contained fury. Intimidating? Most definitely. But how well he wore it. ‘"We’'re not married.’" He said quietly. "‘We can’t be. Impossible.’"

Anna fought to believe him and failed. Strong fingers locked on to her wrist. ‘"And if you came to cause trouble,’" he said, in that slow, soft way that made her skin prickle. ‘"Let me assure you that a charity luncheon at the Carpanian Embassy is not the place to do it."’
12In the parlor, there is a portrait of Madame, painted when she was a shy young miss of seventeen. She is looking over her shoulder, and her midnight hair tumbles down her back in a profusion of curls. The uninitiated might think that this house, which has come to be called the House of the Sable Locks, was named for that portrait, and for Madame's glorious spill of hair. But that is not so; Madame's hair is more silver than sable now, and there is another reason for the name. The uninitiated never go further than the parlor, never know that there is another world beyond the doors that lead into the rear of the house. They think that Madame is simply a woman of independent means, the widow of a rich, albeit eccentric, inventor. They do not know the truth. They do not know about us.

The House of the Sable Locks is famous, but only in a rarefied circle. Certain men meet at their clubs and whisper to each other about the delights that they find behind our doors. There is the second floor, where those who prefer women can gather. Or the third floor, wherein those who prefer men can find what they seek. And then there is the fourth floor, where I can be found. But I get ahead of my story.
13Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing line and a bucket of night crawlers. He came up to her in the sunlight, a mile-wide smile on his tanned face, and from that moment nothing else seemed to matter. The frustration she felt, as she struggled with the thin twine tied to the end of her homemade bamboo pole, wasn’t important. Anger over wet knots that resisted all her tugging, irritation because her brother Mark hoarded his new rod instead of allowing her to borrow it... All magically gone, the very second Annie looked up into blue eyes as warm as the sky above, and lost her heart.

"Hi. Need some help?" He squatted down next to her on the ground. She nodded, a flush heating her cheeks. < em >Stop staring at him, Annie.< /em > She couldn’t get any oxygen into her lungs. < em >Breathe, Annie...< /em >
14Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship. Especially not female companionship. Once again, he’d lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.

Evan pulled open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Vista. The dull black tops of the bar and the tables ate a helping of the ambient light, but he had no trouble seeing the large number of female patrons. The place rocked tonight, music pumping, liquor flowing. Sex in the air. As usual, good scenery abounded. Lots of young lovelies, out looking to meet the man of their dreams. Some human, some not. In turn, the guys in the bar checked out the females. Some human, some not.
15“"They'’re all gay anyway, aren’t they?"” Jayne Morrow folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her black vinyl office chair. She glanced at the slideshow of half-naked men on her computer monitor and cocked her head toward her co-worker in a “you’'ve got to be kidding me” pose. As one of the top writers at the Las Vegas Tribune, the prospect of a piece on an all-male strip show was somehow beneath her. After all, she'’d earned the second largest office with the second best view of the strip in the entire building. She received first choice on any story coming through the door. Why take this lame dog?
“"Come on, Jayne, you don’t believe that, do you?"” Eliza shot back.
"“I mean, isn'’t there some sort of rule that they only hire gay guys for these strip clubs so they don’t get erections onstage? I think I read it somewhere,”" Jayne continued.
"“In your copy of Pilgrim’s Progress, no doubt. I suppose they take saltpeter, too.”"
17Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound. She’d never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.

Focus. She took deep breaths as she reminded herself to work on one problem at a time. Disregarding the bite marks around the top of the head, she felt for the bleeder at the dog’s neck.
18Sammie Fallon stretched out alongside her border collie, Jasper, soaking up the late August sunshine on a seemingly perfect day, had the dog next to her not been busy dying.

"You're half of my heart, Jasper, you know that buddy?"

It was a position they'd assumed frequently over the years, lying on a tattered blanket in the bed of the pickup truck, they might be taking a break from work, camping or just enjoying fair weather. Since he was just a pup given to her by a neighbor on her thirteenth birthday, Jasper had been her unwavering companion, tireless co-worker, and the only consistent male in her life for seventeen years. And now Jasper's labored breathing and micro seizures were all the evidence Sammie needed; as much as it crushed her heart, it was time to let him go.
19"Ms. Nichols, this is VISA calling. We have some fraudulent charges on your credit card to report. There has been a rather large purchase at...Love Palace Lingerie.”"

Blood rushes to my face and my cheeks blaze. I frantically wave Cole, my assistant - and full time gossip - out of my office and motion for him to shut the door. He looks like a scolded puppy and slams it with enough force for me to know he’s miffed. I swear that guy is part bloodhound, the way he can sniff out scandal anywhere.

“"Um yeah, well, it’s just that my husband and I are trying to have a baby and we just thought we needed to spice things up a little...um, because sex is kind of becoming a chore.”" Oh God, I scream in my head, just shut up now before you tell him your life story. I quickly assure the Visa man that my purchases are legit and hang up fast. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Jack, of course, will find the whole thing hysterical when I tell him later.
21"“She'’s only been dead a couple of minutes. There's nothing we can do for her, except burn the body.”"


Xavier crouched to examine the shredded werewolf. Jane’s beautiful gray and black coat matted into chunks of drying blood. Her head lay at an odd angle over the trampled grass. He lowered his hand to her crown and stroked the soft fur between her ears.
22The smell of danger hit him the moment he stepped through the side door of the warehouse. It energized him. It was a fine mix of stale air, acrid chemicals and a healthy dose of his own fear. Fear was healthy. Fear is what kept him alive, it was like biting down hard on tinfoil, it kept him focused.

The information on this mission was good he noted with respect. The worst of the chemicals hadn’t been moved yet. Excellent, it would look realistic that way. Looking around at the array of possible burning points he smiled, he couldn’t wait to see this one go up.
23The swamp’s air stirred heavily about as her water soaked feet sank deeply into the bog. With each mud-laden step, she felt certain she would lose one, if not both, of the combat boots her brother made her wear. She’d cursed him at the time, but now was rather grateful to have the snake proof boots on. Whenever she found him and they got out of this godforsaken place, she was going to kill him, no scratch that. Skin him, and then kill him

Damn, but she should have listened to Kara. Kept her butt at home rather than out traipsing through this mosquito infested, hot as Hades swamp, trying to track some elusive ass bog monster. She’d ignored her best friend, listening instead to her whacked out brother as her inner Nancy Drew leapt at the mystery. Now she was lost, in the swamp… at sunset.
24Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind. Though her heart raced, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.

"Your appointment has arrived, my lord." With these words, the butler ushered her into the most impressive gentleman's office she'd ever seen, then stepped out, closing the door behind him. Her body, chilled from her long walk in the inclement weather, relaxed a bit in the welcome heat flowing from the great fireplace. Yet she couldn't focus on the room.
26They called him the ‘highland beast’. He lived in a cave, sometimes on the moors, perhaps in a cairn, deep in the earth. He would rise up and smite those who would disturb his rest. Aindreas Coinneach Mackenzie was many things but these stories were the stuff of legends. He may be an asshole, but he wasn’t what they believed. Folk tales harkening back to the days when people didn’t understand things so easily. Ignorance could get a man killed.

For centuries, he roamed endlessly, isolated from his family. That ill begotten day on the Isle of Lewis burned deep in his synapsis. Fate scattered him and his brothers to the four corners of the earth. Forever cursed to be what they held inside themselves.
28This must be the place. The address matched the one on the card, but no signage. A scary door, though. Crude wood bound by iron straps. Looked like it belonged on a castle. Or in a torture chamber. Kira adjusted her leather miniskirt and rang the buzzer. A postcard-size window divided with iron bars opened, revealing intense eyes set in a hard masculine face. “"Yes?”"

With shaking hands, she pulled the black leather business card from her purse and handed it through the window. “"Uh, Jack Lehman invited me.”"

The man took the card. Kira gulped and stared at her feet. Was this a mistake? Curiosity had gotten her in trouble before, but she trusted Jack. Mostly.

“"Miss Montrose? Do you wish to enter?”"
29Sy gripped the wrought iron bar, tracing its twisted pattern with her covered thumb. When the cold metal brushed against the tips of her exposed fingers, she gasped. But then she held on tighter, as if the cold could clear her mind of anything else. She clenched her eyes tightly to blot out the image of the house behind the gates, squatting on the wastelands like a stubborn old bear. The only thing on the bleak horizon. She wouldn'’t cry. The brittle dirt crunched behind her with the sound of footsteps.
"“Jon,"” she said before turning around. When she did, it was to see that familiar bushy black beard and bright blue eyes. Though they didn'’t betray any emotion, she could sense the tension below the surface. He was, after all, the closest thing to a father she had ever known.
30"“Er, you’ve got mail. From Matt. To your SinfulAngel account.”"

"“What?!?!?”"

Nicole stopped her happy post-date dance and stared at her roommate. When she joined the dating site PursuitCity.com, Nicole set up an extra, fake erotic profile in order to weed out the players. It worked and she found the 100% decent Matt - or so she thought. Why in hell is he emailing SinfulAngel?

"“I was using your account when I came across this.”" Christina placed the laptop on the counter. “"That’s Matt’s face on the profile alright."” Nicole stared at the picture. Yes, that’s Matt without a shred of doubt.
His message: “Hey baby, I could go all night.” His profile:

User name: HornyBastardr2go
Status: Married
Seeking: Sex with No Strings

Wait a minute, married???
31 The starmen piled off the spaceships in a teeming herd of voices and motion. Kai opened her eyes and stood up, veins blazing as they dilated, steadying herself on the shifting sand. The familiar shock of the LifesBlood was always welcome, leaving her dizzy in its wake. Necessary. Her heart quickened and gills fluttered. The men didn't see her yet, but soon would spread out along the beach in the moonslight seeking their pleasure. She wasn't ready yet.

Fragments of long-vanished sea-life glittered and crunched as she crept toward the thin row of kneeling trees and thick hedgerows that blockaded the tall ships and their clutch from her sea. When Festival is over, I’ll be leaving Arei on one of those gleaming monsters. Blood be damned.
33The piercing sound of gunfire startled him awake. "“Rebecca,"” he screamed. His body jerked upright. Where am I? Focus. He raised his hand, and drew it across his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped when he looked into his palm. It wasn’t covered in her blood. He scanned the area around his deck while he searched for a gunman, but could see nothing in the moonless night. No shadows on the beach, no reflections in the water.

Breathe, breathe. Sweat rolled from his brow into his eyes. His heart pounded violently in an attempt to break free of its confines. Breathe. It was no use. He collapsed against the chair trying to pull himself out of the darkness that crept into his soul. Several moments elapsed before he dropped his head forward, his eyes slid closed. He couldn’t escape the vision.
34He was getting closer. She couldn’t’ afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby’s life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her. Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she’d ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

"“Jane,"” his taunting voice from behind sounded nearer than she’d thought and not at all out of breath. She gave a little shriek of terror and pushed her aching legs harder, focusing on breathing in a rhythm the way she’d been taught and had forgotten in her terror. “"He had to die Jane, he knew too much.”"

Page One Contest – Entries Moving on

2 Blood dripped from the face of the young man. The light from the lamppost lit his translucent body as if from within. Ghosts in New Orleans were about as common as gumbo, so, being a witch, Jared Dupre wasn’t overly alarmed when one stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of him. But as the specter reached out a bloody hand toward him, the panic Jared read in the pale eyes unnerved him.
7 “Mon amour,” Mademoiselle Colette Marceau whispered beseechingly, “please don’t make me wait any longer. Show yourself.”  She huffed, faint clouds of breath pirouetting in the silent frigid air like the buoyant trim of a young ballerina’s tutu. The sprawling Marceau estate boasted of twelve grand fireplaces, thirteen if one counted the kitchen, yet the cinders in the room’s hearth had grown cold – unattended and unobserved by Colette. Fire, of a different sort, was on her mind.
8 After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.
9 I am royally screwed. Hoisting her gaze from the blood red ruby dominating her hand to the towering, dark haired man at her side, Anna instantly wished that she hadn’t. He was as crippling for the confidence as he was easy on the eye, and right now almost smoking with barely contained fury. Intimidating? Most definitely. But how well he wore it. ‘We’re not married.’ He said quietly. ‘We can’t be. Impossible.’
12 In the parlor, there is a portrait of Madame, painted when she was a shy young miss of seventeen. She is looking over her shoulder, and her midnight hair tumbles down her back in a profusion of curls. The uninitiated might think that this house, which has come to be called the House of the Sable Locks, was named for that portrait, and for Madame’s glorious spill of hair. But that is not so; Madame’s hair is more silver than sable now, and there is another reason for the name. The uninitiated never go further than the parlor, never know that there is another world beyond the doors that lead into the rear of the house. They think that Madame is simply a woman of independent means, the widow of a rich, albeit eccentric, inventor. They do not know the truth. They do not know about us.
13 Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing line and a bucket of night crawlers. He came up to her in the sunlight, a mile-wide smile on his tanned face, and from that moment nothing else seemed to matter. The frustration she felt, as she struggled with the thin twine tied to the end of her homemade bamboo pole, wasn’t important. Anger over wet knots that resisted all her tugging, irritation because her brother Mark hoarded his new rod instead of allowing her to borrow it… All magically gone, the very second Annie looked up into blue eyes as warm as the sky above, and lost her heart.
14 Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship.  Especially not female companionship. Once again, he’d lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.
15 “They’re all gay anyway, aren’t they?” Jayne Morrow folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her black vinyl office chair. She glanced at the slideshow of half-naked men on her computer monitor and cocked her head toward her co-worker in a “you’ve got to be kidding me” pose. As one of the top writers at the Las Vegas Tribune, the prospect of a piece on an all-male strip show was somehow beneath her. After all, she’d earned the second largest office with the second best view of the strip in the entire building. She received first choice on any story coming through the door. Why take this lame dog?
17 Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound.  She’d never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.
18 Sammie Fallon stretched out alongside her border collie, Jasper, soaking up the late August sunshine on a seemingly perfect day, had the dog next to her not been busy dying.
“You’re half of my heart, Jasper, you know that buddy?”
19 “Ms. Nichols, this is VISA calling.  We have some fraudulent charges on your credit card to report.  There has been a rather large purchase at…Love Palace Lingerie.”
Blood rushes to my face and my cheeks blaze.  I frantically wave Cole, my assistant – and full time gossip – out of my office and motion for him to shut the door.  He looks like a scolded puppy and slams it with enough force for me to know he’s miffed.  I swear that guy is part bloodhound, the way he can sniff out scandal anywhere.
21 “She’s only been dead a couple of minutes. There’s nothing we can do for her, except burn the body.”
22 The smell of danger hit him the moment he stepped through the side door of the warehouse. It energized him. It was a fine mix of stale air, acrid chemicals and a healthy dose of his own fear. Fear was healthy. Fear is what kept him alive, it was like biting down hard on tinfoil, it kept him focused.
23 The swamp’s air stirred heavily about as her water soaked feet sank deeply into the bog. With each mud-laden step, she felt certain she would lose one, if not both, of the combat boots her brother made her wear. She’d cursed him at the time, but now was rather grateful to have the snake proof boots on. Whenever she found him and they got out of this godforsaken place, she was going to kill him, no scratch that. Skin him, and then kill him!
24 Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind.  Though her heart raced, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.
26 They called him the ‘highland beast’.  He lived in a cave, sometimes on the moors, perhaps in a cairn, deep in the earth.  He would rise up and smite those who would disturb his rest. Aindreas Coinneach Mackenzie was many things but these stories were the stuff of legends.  He may be an asshole, but he wasn’t what they believed.  Folk tales harkening back to the days when people didn’t understand things so easily.  Ignorance could get a man killed.
27 A lone figure stood in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, watching.  Across the narrow street, a three story apartment building loomed with a single yellow light bulb in the alcove casting an eerie silhouette out onto the sidewalk.  A large gray cat sat in the small entrance licking his paw and waited for a door to open so he could get in out of the cold.
28 This must be the place. The address matched the one on the card, but no signage. A scary door, though. Crude wood bound by iron straps. Looked like it belonged on a castle. Or in a torture chamber. Kira adjusted her leather miniskirt and rang the buzzer. A postcard-size window divided with iron bars opened, revealing intense eyes set in a hard masculine face. “Yes?”
29 Sy gripped the wrought iron bar, tracing its twisted pattern with her covered thumb. When the cold metal brushed against the tips of her exposed fingers, she gasped. But then she held on tighter, as if the cold could clear her mind of anything else. She clenched her eyes tightly to blot out the image of the house behind the gates, squatting on the wastelands like a stubborn old bear. The only thing on the bleak horizon. She wouldn’t cry. The brittle dirt crunched behind her with the sound of footsteps.
30 “Er, you’ve got mail. From Matt. To your SinfulAngel account.” 

“What?!?!?”

Nicole stopped her happy post-date dance and stared at her roommate. When she joined the dating site PursuitCity.com, Nicole set up an extra, fake erotic profile in order to weed out the players. It worked and she found the 100% decent Matt – or so she thought. Why in hell is he emailing SinfulAngel?
31 The starmen piled off the spaceships in a teeming herd of voices and motion.  Kai opened her eyes and stood up, veins blazing as they dilated, steadying herself on the shifting sand.  The familiar shock of the LifesBlood was always welcome, leaving her dizzy in its wake.  Necessary.  Her heart quickened and gills fluttered.  The men didn’t see her yet, but soon would spread out along the beach in the moonslight seeking their pleasure.  She wasn’t ready yet.
33 The piercing sound of gunfire startled him awake. “Rebecca,” he screamed. His body jerked upright. Where am I? Focus. He raised his hand, and drew it across his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped when he looked into his palm.  It wasn’t covered in her blood. He scanned the area around his deck while he searched for a gunman, but could see nothing in the moonless night. No shadows on the beach, no reflections in the water.
34 He was getting closer. She couldn’t’ afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby’s life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her.  Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she’d ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

If you see your entry above, then please send us an EMAIL to pageone@espan-rwa.com and include your entry number (the number beside your entry above), your name, your email, your first paragraphs exactly as above along with your SECOND paragraph. You have until Sunday, April 17, 2010 at 5pm Pacific to get the updated entries submitted. If you don’t get your entry in on time you will forfeit. We will not chase down late entries.

NB: For any entries that use italics please use the code < em > and < /em > after it (without spaces) as some of the italics are getting lost in the transition.

Please remember that the entire page at the end of the fourth week is to be no more than 250 words long (in other words the total word count of all four paragraphs cannot be longer than 250). This is a Page One contest. Any entries longer than 250 words will not be considered.

For those that did not move on, we wish you the best of luck. This is only one contest and, as in all such things, is very subjective. Keep on writing!

Here is our contest schedule:
Week 1 – bottom 11 entries (there was a tie) eliminated (leaving 23 entries), announced by April 16, 2011
Week 2 – bottom 7 entries eliminated (leaving 16 entries), announced April 23, 2011
Week 3 – bottom 6 entries eliminated (leaving 10 entries), announced April 30, 2011
Week 4 – bottom 5 entries eliminated (leaving 5 entries to be forwarded to the final Editor judges), announced May 7, 2010

2011 Page One Contest – Week 1 Entries

Our entries for this year’s contest – 34 entries, up from 27 last year. Our members will choose their 10 LEAST favourite from those below and those will be dropped, leaving 24 to move on.

Please forgive any odd quotation or question marks. There seems to be a glitch when they transposing it from Excel (I have fixed them where I could, please don’t fault the author).

Entry #Entry
1“"I'’m here to fix the shower.”"
It was a line right out of a porn movie, but the man standing in front of her didn’t look like a porn star. At least, not like the star of the only dirty movie Rachel had ever seen. That guy had pasty skin, acne scars, and a piece of equipment so enormous, it was as horrible and mesmerizing as a traffic accident.
2Blood dripped from the face of the young man. The light from the lamppost lit his translucent body as if from within. Ghosts in New Orleans were about as common as gumbo, so, being a witch, Jared Dupre wasn’t overly alarmed when one stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of him. But as the specter reached out a bloody hand toward him, the panic Jared read in the pale eyes unnerved him.
3Across the tracks roam lovelies that we don’t have in my part of town. Their hair is colored and teased into shining perfection and neither their clothing nor their attitudes leave any doubt as to their intentions. On the well-lit, tree-lined streets of my life, their particular brand of beauty would appear tawdry, cheap and flashy. But dime-store rhinestones gleam brilliantly under fizzling neon lights and scarlet lips promise delights unobtainable in brighter settings.
4As Edward reached the end of the document, he swore loudly. If a guest or member of his family had been sat in the library with him, they would have been, no doubt, greatly surprised by his language, for Lord Edward Carrington was well renowned for his even temper. In this particular case however, Edward felt that the language was fully justified. In fact, he felt he had been quite reserved in his outburst.
5“"What in heaven's name have you done with your hair, Anne? You look a complete sight!” "
Whilst mildly affronted at Lady Constance Kimberly’s rather blunt remark, Anne knew that she was probably correct. In comparison with the lady stood before her, whose auburn tresses were swept into a high knot with curls cascading down her back, Anne probably did look quite a sight. It was hardly her fault however.
6"“Andrew!"” Euan, Chief of the Campbell Clan Fionns bellowed as he entered the inner walls of his castle. Bloody, dirty and exhausted from a recent battle against the Poookahs, Euan sheathed his sword and ran a shaky hand over his watering eyes.
"“Andrew-"” He yelled again, picking up pace as he weaved through the extensive castle walls. “I’m here Chief.” Andrew called, entering from a joining hallway.
7“Mon amour,” Mademoiselle Colette Marceau whispered beseechingly, “please don’t make me wait any longer. Show yourself.” She huffed, faint clouds of breath pirouetting in the silent frigid air like the buoyant trim of a young ballerina’s tutu. The sprawling Marceau estate boasted of twelve grand fireplaces, thirteen if one counted the kitchen, yet the cinders in the room’s hearth had grown cold - unattended and unobserved by Colette. Fire, of a different sort, was on her mind.
8After waiting five hours for her husband to die, Philena Hennessey was getting impatient.
9I am royally screwed. Hoisting her gaze from the blood red ruby dominating her hand to the towering, dark haired man at her side, Anna instantly wished that she hadn’t. He was as crippling for the confidence as he was easy on the eye, and right now almost smoking with barely contained fury. Intimidating? Most definitely. But how well he wore it. “We’re not married.” He said quietly. “We can’t be. Impossible.”
10Bree Campbell lied to her son about his father. Again. So it was no suprise when the silver bell over the gallery door jingled, she didn't move. She didn't turn around or smile or offer a quick hello to the silhouette browsing the art-lined walls. She simply called over her shoulder, "Have a look around I'll be with you in a moment."
11"“Yuck."” Pretty much covered the whole freakin’ day.

A strobe, a blinding red-white red-white, reflected in my brand new Wrangler’s rearview mirror seized my attention. I tossed my hands, ready to surrender. The policeman wanted me to pull over. I shouldn’t have been too surprised. “Today, anything’s possible.”
12In the parlor, there is a portrait of Madame, painted when she was a shy young miss of seventeen. She is looking over her shoulder, and her midnight hair tumbles down her back in a profusion of curls. The uninitiated might think that this house, which has come to be called the House of the Sable Locks, was named for that portrait, and for Madame's glorious spill of hair. But that is not so; Madame's hair is more silver than sable now, and there is another reason for the name. The uninitiated never go further than the parlor, never know that there is another world beyond the doors that lead into the rear of the house. They think that Madame is simply a woman of independent means, the widow of a rich, albeit eccentric, inventor. They do not know the truth. They do not know about us.
13Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing line and a bucket of night crawlers. He came up to her in the sunlight, a mile-wide smile on his tanned face, and from that moment nothing else seemed to matter. The frustration she felt, as she struggled with the thin twine tied to the end of her homemade bamboo pole, wasn’t important. Anger over wet knots that resisted all her tugging, irritation because her brother Mark hoarded his new rod instead of allowing her to borrow it... All magically gone, the very second Annie looked up into blue eyes as warm as the sky above, and lost her heart.
14Evan shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and mentally prepared to become the prey. Instinct said to run. Honor insisted he stay. His worn motorcycle boots crunched across the gravel of the parking lot. The night smelled of grilled steak, alcohol, and the coming rain. The bar was a punishment, not a reward. He craved solitude, not beer. Not companionship. Especially not female companionship. Once again, he’d lost to Gage in the sparring ring, and the winner got to choose the bar.
15“They’re all gay anyway, aren’t they?” Jayne Morrow folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her black vinyl office chair. She glanced at the slideshow of half-naked men on her computer monitor and cocked her head toward her co-worker in a “you’ve got to be kidding me” pose. As one of the top writers at the Las Vegas Tribune, the prospect of a piece on an all-male strip show was somehow beneath her. After all, she’d earned the second largest office with the second best view of the strip in the entire building. She received first choice on any story coming through the door. Why take this lame dog?
16The dream was back haunting my nights. An Asian man with a black and blue mane of hair, wearing a pair of headphones, his lips covered with blood. He had a lean body, well toned arms revealed by a sleeveless black t-shirt. The pounding of my heart matching the beats of the dance music the DJ with the bloody lips was playing. The man smiled directly at me, revealing perfect white teeth and fangs. He handed me a book. I had to focus to look at it. With a start I realized the setting of the dream mirrored the book cover and the name of the author was mine. When I looked up again, still holding the book, the stranger was now standing near me and I felt his lips on my shoulder before he bit down as I screamed in horror and ecstasy.
17Friea Larsson wiped the blood away in a search for the wound. She’d never seen so much red. A trail of it dripped from the table onto the tile floor. Lacerations and punctures dotted the body before her. This patient was on the losing end of the fight.
18Sammie Fallon stretched out alongside her border collie, Jasper, soaking up the late August sunshine on a seemingly perfect day, had the dog next to her not been busy dying.
"You're half of my heart, Jasper, you know that buddy?"
19 “"Ms. Nichols, this is VISA calling. We have some fraudulent charges on your credit card to report. There has been a rather large purchase at...Love Palace Lingerie.”"
Blood rushes to my face and my cheeks blaze. I frantically wave Cole, my assistant - and full time gossip - out of my office and motion for him to shut the door. He looks like a scolded puppy and slams it with enough force for me to know he’s miffed. I swear that guy is part bloodhound, the way he can sniff out scandal anywhere.
20"“Mairi?".” He whispered.
"“I love ye with all of my heart."” He heard the evidence of that love in her soft voice.
Alexander swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. “"I love ye too.”" He glanced down at their son. Brown hair dusted the little head and he gently ran his hands over it as he fought back tears.
"“I want ye to be happy, Alexander.”" A blanket of confusion covered him as she turned and looked away.
21“She’s only been dead a couple of minutes. There's nothing we can do for her, except burn the body.”
22The smell of danger hit him the moment he stepped through the side door of the warehouse. It energized him. It was a fine mix of stale air, acrid chemicals and a healthy dose of his own fear. Fear was healthy. Fear is what kept him alive, it was like biting down hard on tinfoil, it kept him focused.
23The swamp’s air stirred heavily about as her water soaked feet sank deeply into the bog. With each mud-laden step, she felt certain she would lose one, if not both, of the combat boots her brother made her wear. She’d cursed him at the time, but now was rather grateful to have the snake proof boots on. Whenever she found him and they got out of this godforsaken place, she was going to kill him, no scratch that. Skin him, and then kill him!
24Tama Phillips forced fear to the back of her mind. Though her heart raced, she fought to keep her breath even, fought to maintain an outward calm as she followed the man down a long corridor toward the last carved door.
25This world is dying. The apocalyptic future that the humans foretold, centuries long past, had finally come. No one expected it would arrive the way it did. In any event, it was here and there was no escaping the finality of it all. Andae leapt from the top of the Comcast Building. At one time, it had been the tallest building in what was left of downtown Philadelphia.
26They called him the “highland beast”. He lived in a cave, sometimes on the moors, perhaps in a cairn, deep in the earth. He would rise up and smite those who would disturb his rest. Aindreas Coinneach Mackenzie was many things but these stories were the stuff of legends. He may be an asshole, but he wasn’t what they believed. Folk tales harkening back to the days when people didn’t understand things so easily. Ignorance could get a man killed.
27A lone figure stood in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, watching. Across the narrow street, a three story apartment building loomed with a single yellow light bulb in the alcove casting an eerie silhouette out onto the sidewalk. A large gray cat sat in the small entrance licking his paw and waited for a door to open so he could get in out of the cold.
28This must be the place. The address matched the one on the card, but no signage. A scary door, though. Crude wood bound by iron straps. Looked like it belonged on a castle. Or in a torture chamber. Kira adjusted her leather miniskirt and rang the buzzer. A postcard-size window divided with iron bars opened, revealing intense eyes set in a hard masculine face. “Yes?”
29Sy gripped the wrought iron bar, tracing its twisted pattern with her covered thumb. When the cold metal brushed against the tips of her exposed fingers, she gasped. But then she held on tighter, as if the cold could clear her mind of anything else. She clenched her eyes tightly to blot out the image of the house behind the gates, squatting on the wastelands like a stubborn old bear. The only thing on the bleak horizon. She wouldn’t cry. The brittle dirt crunched behind her with the sound of footsteps.
30"“Er, you’ve got mail. From Matt. To your SinfulAngel account.”"

"“What?!?!?”"

Nicole stopped her happy post-date dance and stared at her roommate. When she joined the dating site PursuitCity.com, Nicole set up an extra, fake erotic profile in order to weed out the players. It worked and she found the 100% decent Matt - or so she thought. Why in hell is he emailing SinfulAngel?
31The starmen piled off the spaceships in a teeming herd of voices and motion. Kai opened her eyes and stood up, veins blazing as they dilated, steadying herself on the shifting sand. The familiar shock of the LifesBlood was always welcome, leaving her dizzy in its wake. Necessary. Her heart quickened and gills fluttered. The men didn't see her yet, but soon would spread out along the beach in the moonslight seeking their pleasure. She wasn't ready yet.
32A reflection on the window distracted Laura. She saw sad eyes that spoke of loneliness and pain disguised in age. The image flinch as her mind produced the crack of a gunfire to relive the pain of seeing her husband’s demise.
33The piercing sound of gunfire startled him awake. “"Rebecca,"” he screamed. His body jerked upright. Where am I? Focus. He raised his hand, and drew it across his forehead. A sigh of relief escaped when he looked into his palm. It wasn’t covered in her blood. He scanned the area around his deck while he searched for a gunman, but could see nothing in the moonless night. No shadows on the beach, no reflections in the water.
34 He was getting closer. She couldn’t afford to look back to find out how close, she had to keep going. Her hand covered her abdomen protectively for a moment as she ran. Her baby’s life was at stake, there was no way she was going to let that monster kill her. Breathing in gulping gasps she ran on, harder than she’d ever run before, her legs trembling from the strain.

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