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    Elemental
    Elemental
    Elemental
    Ebook57 pages55 minutes

    Elemental

    By K.L. Noone

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Daniel Rose should be having a good night. He’s a bestselling author; he’s had film adaptations of his books; he’s met movie stars. And there’s a storm outside tonight, electric and wild. Dan’s always liked storms.

    Tonight, though, he’s stuck staring at his computer and suffering from writer’s block, out of ideas and inspiration. But when an adorable young man knocks at his door, asks to borrow Dan’s kitchen spices, and announces witchcraft’s real and their apartment building needs an exorcism, Dan’s dark and stormy night takes a turn for the magical.

    Sterling Friday’s among the youngest qualified practicing members of the coven, and this haunted building’s only his third assignment. He’s a very good clairvoyant but less good at proper spellwork, and he could use some help with both ingredients and psychic anchors.

    He also happens to be a fan of those Daniel Rose novels, and he’s hoping Dan, as a writer, will believe his story and not turn him away. On a night drenched in magic and rain, as ghosts hover in the background, the attraction between them is immediate and elemental.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJMS Books LLC
    Release dateSep 15, 2018
    ISBN9781634866880
    Elemental
    Author

    K.L. Noone

    K.L. Noone loves fantasy, romance, cats, far too sweet coffee, and happy endings! She is also the author of Port in a Storm and its upcoming sequel, available from Less Than Three Press, and numerous short romances with Ellora’s Cave and Circlet Press; her fantasy fiction has appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword and Sorceress anthologies. With her Professor Hat on, she teaches college students about Shakespeare and superhero comics, and has published academic articles and essays on Neil Gaiman’s adaptations of Beowulf, Welsh mythology in modern fantasy, and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels.

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      Book preview

      Elemental - K.L. Noone

      4

      Chapter 1

      The night stormed. The dark got darker.

      Safely snug and dry in his study, Dan tossed a grin at the tempest. The rain spilled long silvery ribbons across his windows in wild gleeful answer. New York City sparkled beyond glass, a watercolor painting of lights and dazzle and color, blurred and gleaming and lovely as a whole kaleidoscope of stories. He’d always loved storms; he got breathless at the crackle of lightning through the air, electric and vibrant. Thunder snagged his pulse and tantalized his heartbeat.

      He’d fallen in love with this apartment in part for the windows. They stretched upward in glorious towering panes; they offered up the world for his gazing. At home, cozy in faded jeans and an ancient long-sleeved NYC Writers Workshop shirt that’d never be allowed near celebrity author photos, he appreciated that world.

      So many stories. Lots of history in this building. Old bones and new. Nineteenth-century secrets and renovated tales hanging out side by side.

      The building was supposedly haunted; multiple tenants, moving out, swore up and down that they’d been watched. That they’d felt eerie presences. That lights’d gone on and off without explanation. That chilly spots lurked in rooms and furniture shook itself. Dan had rather liked the idea. Past lives and narratives remaining. Personalities. Again, stories.

      Stories; and he sighed, left the storm alone, glared at his laptop. Writing. The next novel. Increasingly improbable spy-related thrills. Action and adventure and decently large royalty checks. Johnny Stone and his intrepid undercover team fighting evil everyplace evil popped up.

      Movie adaptations, only just beginning—two films in, of six books, so far—but well received as popcorn entertainment. Glitz and glamor and expectations. His name, Daniel Rose, in shiny silver on book covers. Assuming he could come up with the next story.

      He couldn’t come up with the next story.

      Everything he could think of wouldn’t work. Either too over the top or too mundane. Too obvious, overdone, or else too preposterous. Cosmetics poisoning. Submarine redirecting. Retired adversaries from the past getting randomly angry. No, no, no.

      Maybe he was finally done with the spy-novel action-hero world. Maybe he needed something new. A whole new genre. New life. New hope. Or just retirement. What old worn-down men did, right?

      He glared at his laptop some more.

      Thirty-one wasn’t even old, and he knew it. Felt older. Ancient. Drawn thin and out of ideas. Story-well run dry. Golden fleece spun to non-existence. Ink no longer flowing.

      He’d already cleaned the apartment to within an inch of either his or its life. He’d ordered and consumed pizza. He’d done laundry. He’d made and drunk tea. He couldn’t come up with anything else to do.

      More accurately, he could: what he should be doing. Except he wasn’t.

      He did like rain. Rejuvenating the world. Petrichor and promises. Cool waterfalls and liquid rushing susurration. Nighttime mysteries, potentialities, unfurling roads.

      He stared out the window. He tried to think, or to not think: whatever’d lead to a new plot emerging, on this crescendo of an evening. Himself and the storm.

      The storm hammered, rappelled down crenellations, summoned up unlikely ideas.

      Maybe Johnny Stone’s international spy team could fight a villain with weather-controlling satellite technology. One final send-off. A massive dramatic climax. They could have a battle in the rain. On rooftops. Calling and avoiding lightning strikes. Or localized hurricanes. Miniature personal ones.

      The rain decided this was hysterical. Got noisier, chattering away.

      His laptop waited, screen unhelpfully blank.

      Yes, fine, Dan grumbled at it, someday soon I’ll replace you, see if I don’t, and tipped his chair back, balancing on two legs, leaning in the direction of noise and clamor and frenetic sheets of exultant water.

      A knock bounced off his front door. Rattled through the apartment and down his spine. Startled both him and the rain.

      Dan and his chair nearly fell over, got entangled, separated themselves. Rubbing

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