I've been doing everything wrong

I have confidence in my writing, and the reviews I have received are excellent, but my books haven't been selling well. I sought advice from those whose books sell better, and I have learned that, apparently, I have been doing everything wrong.

These experts told me that my covers are terrible and my blurbs not interesting. My website is worse than horrible, and it doesn't make sense to have my blog separate from my website. Commenting on my blog on its present platform is too difficult because you have to sign into a google account, which stupid me was unaware of.

Therefore, I am going to be making a lot of changes. I am getting my book covers redesigned by a professional who has been recommended and should be able to produce much more enticing covers. This will unfortunately delay the release of the expanded edition of The Goddess's Choice and The Bull Riding Witch. I am rewriting my blurbs and will soon have new and improved ones.

I am moving and combining both my blog and website onto the WordPress platform. For this week, I will be making blog posts on both this old blog and the new one. Starting next week, I will be operating solely on the new blog/website. I sincerely hope all of you will follow me to the new site and subscribe to my blog there. The address is http://jamie-marchant.com/blog/. I'm still working on the design over there, so it's not as pretty as I hope it will eventually be, but it is fully functional. Click on it now if you will, and comment on my post there on what you think of the new set up and if commenting is now easier for you. I sincerely value your opinions.

The Bull Riding Witch Cover and Opening

The cover for The Bull Riding Witch is finally finished. Tell me below what you think.

Reminder, I am giving away two signed print copies and two ebooks of The Bull Riding Witch when it is released. I have added a grand prize of a $25 Amazon gift card. To enter the contest, subscribe to my newsletter (see the sidebar) or comment on any of the posts in my blog. Each comment equals one entry, and you can enter as many times as you like.

On Friday's blog, I discussed openings, so I thought I'd give you the opening of The Bull Riding Witch today.

I woke with my head pounding and my tongue coated with the fur balls of ten thousand cats. I nearly gagged at the stench that filled the air, a scent that combined the reek of inside of a knight’s armor after jousting with the odor of rotting flesh.

Confused, I examined my surroundings. Hung on the wall facing me was a portrait of a huge bull with its head down and its heels kicked high into the air. Incredibly, a man, hanging onto a rope with only one hand, sat on the bull’s back. Why would anyone ride a bull? Bulls were dangerous and impossible to control.

Piled high on the bedside table were plates covered with the remains of several meals, bowls with a few dregs of sour milk, and empty bottles. The sheet I lay on was stained with various substances I didn’t want to identify. Where was I? This was certainly no place worthy of me, the crown princess. Maybe I had somehow ended in the servants’ quarters, although I couldn’t imagine how.

I tried to sit up, and my head felt as if it were going to split in two. I groaned, and the sound was deep and masculine. What the . . .? I looked down at my arms. They were muscular and covered with hair. I grabbed my naked chest. My breasts were entirely flat, and my chest was covered with thick, coarse hair. When I rubbed my hand across my face, I felt thick stubble. I looked down at the short clothes, which were the only thing I was wearing; there was a bulge that just shouldn’t have been there. I lifted the waistband and peeked. Dear gods, how had I gotten one of those? I poked it with my finger, and it twitched. I snapped the waistband closed and jumped away, but I couldn’t get away from the body I was wearing.

My breath came in dizzying gasps, and my pulse raced. This was just a dream, I told myself. It couldn’t be real.

From the bed, I saw a small, closetlike room with a mirror on the wall. With my skull threatening to split apart, I stumbled out of bed and tripped over piles of dirty clothes that covered the floor. I pushed through them to the other room. In a mirror stained with water spots, a man stared back at me. Medium-height, broad shoulders, shoulder-length brown hair with brown eyes to match. A scar near the right eyebrow enhanced rather than detracted from the rugged good looks. It was a face that would have drawn a second glance even from a princess and one that would have sent my father calling for the guards.

But it wasn’t mine. I grabbed the filthy porcelain basin underneath the mirror. How had this happened? Had I gone mad? “Think, Daulphina,” I told myself. “There has to be a logical explanation.”

Tell me what you think. Have I followed my own rules?

The Goddess's Choice, deleted scene

The Goddess's Choice, expanded edition, is now in the hands of the editor and will be ready for release next month. To get you in the mood, below I've included a scene that I deleted from the final version of the novel. I like the scene quite a bit, but it ultimately didn't add to the book. So it isn't lost forever, I offer it to you. Please comment and tell me what you think. Remember commenting on my blog enters you to win a signed copy of The Bull Riding Witch or a $25 Amazon gift card.

One particularly cold day, Robbie emerged from the barn about midmorning intending to head for Brazen’s stable. As he was about to mount Wild Thing, a horse galloped into the farmyard. “Good morning,” the horse’s rider called out.

“Good morning.” Robbie nodded to a man he didn’t know.

“I’m looking for an amihealer by the name of Robbie Angusstamm. I was told he lived here.”

“You’ve found him. What can I do for you?” Robbie wasn’t terribly surprised to find a complete stranger looking for him. As his skill increased under Myst’s tutelage, so had his reputation; more and more farmers trudged to him through the winter snow when an animal of theirs fell ill. He was, however, surprised to hear the man refer to him as an amihealer. Only Myst and Milady had ever called him that.

The farmer got off his horse. He was quite young, no older than Boyden. His face was spotted with more freckles than Robbie had ever seen on human being, and when he smiled his eyes twinkled with amusement, as if he knew a secret that no one else would ever learn. “My name is Perth Quinstamm,” the man said, extending his hand.

Surprised, Robbie put out his own. Even when people came seeking his skill, they always avoided touching him.

As he shook his hand, the man seemed somewhat nervous and extremely upset. “I’ve been riding since before daybreak to get here. I have a new farm on the far side of the Valley. Just bought the place last spring with my wife. She’s expecting our first child. I bought ten milk cows, but something evil has gotten into them. Most of them have stopped giving any milk to speak of. They’re burning up with fever, and they have frightful sores on their mouths, udders, and feet. One of them died last night. I don’t have much in the way of money, but I’m prepared to pay whatever it takes. Will you come with me?”

“Let me get my things.” Robbie went back into the barn and gathered together the materials he would likely need to treat the animals. He didn’t take much; from the farmer’s description, he thought he knew what was wrong, and no herbs he had could cure the problem. It’d take direct healing energy. He gave instructions to Allyn and Darien in case he couldn’t make it back by nightfall.

* * *

The wind had been blowing fiercely, and Robbie was shivering with cold by the time they arrived at Perth Quinstamm’s farm. The closer he got to the farm the more and more the distress of the cattle pressed in about him. He’d been right in what he suspected. When they dismounted in front of the barn, Perth hesitated. “I’m not sure what to do with your horse. Applecreek here seems okay, but the disease is rather bad.”

Robbie shook his head. “It’s okay. Horses can’t sicken in this way.”

“How can you know? You haven’t even looked at the cows yet.”

“An amihealer doesn’t need to see the animal to know what is wrong with it. I can feel their illness. Your cows’ sickness is one only those with cloven hooves can get—cows, pigs, sheep, but not horses.”

A very young woman, no older than Robbie, stuck her head out of the house’s door. She smiled with relief when she saw him. “He came, did he, Perth? I told you he would. When you two get the horses taken care of, come on inside. I have some hot bhat and warm stew waiting for you.” Robbie blinked in surprise. He’d never been invited inside another farmer’s house before.

The man’s expression mingled fear and respect. “If you’re sure your horse is in no danger, she’s welcome to the stable.” He led Robbie inside a warm, comfortable barn. It was solidly built and had been kept scrupulously clean. The sickness of the cows wasn’t caused by any neglect on the farmer’s part. However, the diseased beasts were salivating heavily and had difficulty staying on their painful feet. They called to Robbie for relief. He unsaddled Wild Thing, and the man brought grain and water for both horses. Robbie rubbed his mare down and made her comfortable.

Perth came up to him. “Can you get rid of this evil thing?” Robbie nodded. The man looked both relieved and fearful. “Just what will it cost me? I mean, I’m prepared to pay whatever it’ll take myself. Brietta depends on me, and she’s carrying my child. I’ll lose the cattle before letting anything harm my family, but if it’s just me, whatever it takes.”

Robbie put his hand on one of the cows to better gauge the extent of the illness. “If you can’t afford to pay me now, you can pay when your cattle start producing again. No one need go hungry.”

“I wasn’t taking about money, but about the other thing.” Perth refused to meet his eyes.

“What other thing?” Robbie removed his hand from the animal.

The man leaned forward and whispered. “I heard blood or flesh or possibly a piece of the soul was involved. You know, for the demon inside.”

Robbie thought he might vomit. “You asked me here thinking I meant to drink your blood or worse?”

Quinn's eyes widened. “Are you saying it isn’t true?”

“I’ve had coin, grain, eggs, freshly made bread, a chicken or two, a particularly delicious apple pie, some strawberry preserves and this belt in payment for my services this winter. What I haven’t had is any blood, human flesh, or souls of any kind. I'm not a demon. What is wrong with you people?”

Perth looked at him for a few seconds, then dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have believed the rumors.”

* * *

Robbie spent most of the next three days either in a trance, ridding the cows’ bodies of the vile disease, or sleeping to recover his strength. At the end of it, Perth Quinstamm’s barn was free of disease, and a few of the cows had started giving milk again.

On the morning of the fourth day, both Perth and Brietta stood in the farmyard to see him off. Brietta handed him a large basket. “I don’t know how to thank you, Healer Robbie. This should keep you for the day.”

Perth shook his hand. “You’ve saved my family.” He gestured toward the basket. “Brietta makes a particularly good apple pie, I think you’ll find. I promise when things start looking up in the spring, I’ll bring along a proper payment.”

Wiley Petersen and the Bull Riding Witch

As I mentioned in last week's post, Rodeo and Research (http://jamie-marchant.blogspot.com/2017/02/rodeo-and-research.html), my best source on Bull Riding and rodeo in general came when I found the website, http://bullridercoach.com/. First, the site itself has a ton of information, including instructional videos on everything to do with bull riding from how to rosin your rope (something I wasn't even aware they did) to what to do if you get hung up.

They also sell an ebook titled Bull Riding Basics, which was enormously helpful. These things offered me a lot of technical knowledge. I put too much of the technical details into early drafts of the novel, which I then edited out of subsequent drafts. This is always a danger when doing research. Not everything you learn adds to the story, but the more you know, the more you can make sure that the details you do include are accurate and don't throw your reader out of the story.

Despite how helpful this site was, I was still left with a ton of questions that weren't covered. Things like: "How do you find out which bull you’ve drawn?" (the bull they are to ride that night) and "Is there any general attitude among bull riders about other participants in the rodeo (ropers, barrel riders, etc.)? Do the other participants in the rodeo have any general attitude about bull riders?" Questions that only a participant would generally be concerned about, but would affect certain scenes in the novel.

This is where Wiley Petersen came in. Since I don't know any bull riders, I use the "contact us" tab on bullridercoash.com. I introduced myself as a fiction writer setting my novel in the world of bull riding and asked if they had anyone who would be willing to answer some questions. Wiley responded that he'd be happy to answer my questions, which he did in a thorough and friendly fashion. He thought some of them were weird, such as when I asked if they could touch the bulls. I wanted to know because Daulphina needed some of the bull's hair to perform a spell. This was his answer: "We don't really try to touch the bulls. We just go look at them and try to find the one we've drawn by looking at them in the back pens. Most bulls don't really want to be touched." I could hear him in my head, saying, "Bull aren't pets, you know? We don't get all warm and cozy with them." I had to ask a follow up question to clarify why I needed to know, and it turns out it wouldn't be a problem out. Just wait until the bull turns his back and grab a few. He answered my initial questions and any follow up questions that I had. 

Only later did I learn that Wiley was one of the country's top bull riders. He is #16 in the Professional Bull Riders all time money winners. But he couldn't have been nicer or more helpful.

So the moral of the story is, if you don't know something that effects your story, ask. Most experts are happy to share their knowledge and like it when writer try to get the details right. 

One last video of Wiley in action to demonstrate why he will forever remain my bull riding expert:

Rodeo and Research

You may rightly wonder how a college teacher of literature and all round city girl knows enough about rodeo to set her novel in that world, especially when she views rodeo as a fascinating anachronism. (See last week's post http://jamie-marchant.blogspot.com/2017/02/inspiration-for-bull-riding-witch.html).

After I attended that rodeo discussed last week, I kept attending more as the idea for The Bull Riding Witch simmered in my head. The incredible skill combined with the complete uselessness of such skill in the modern world continued to work on my imagination. When I was read to start writing the book, having attended a hand full of rodeos was hardly sufficient knowledge of the world of rodeo.

I tried to find a book on bull riding. There are a ton of romance novels starring bull riders.

But I couldn't find a "how-to" book. The best I could come up with was Fried Twinkies, Buckle Bunnies, & Bull Riders: A Year Inside the Professional Bull Riders Tour.

I read it. It taught me some things. In case you are wondering, the flank strap does not go around the bull's testicles. It would be impossible to put it there even if they wanted to. It is an irritant, but the bull isn't in real pain. I also learned that buckle bunnies, rodeo groupies, will ask bull riders to sign their breasts. (That detail didn't end up in my book). But it didn't tell me what I really needed to know, especially Joshua Killenyen, my bull rider is distinctly small time. 

I did some internet research. While the bulls don't often get hurt, the riders do. Injuries, often serious ones, are ridiculously common. This article from the LA Times sums it up with examples from one bull rider:

Bulls ripped open his chin, blackened his eyes and broke his nose, ribs and legs — the right leg three times.

But that all paled in comparison to what happened about a year and a half ago, when Beau Schroeder climbed on a snorting, bucking 1,800-pound monster called 800 Night Moves.

The bull threw him into the red dirt of the arena in Fort Mojave, Ariz. Its massive hooves trampled his chest, punctured his lungs and tore open his throat.

He couldn't walk. He couldn't talk. He could barely breathe.

Bull riders can even be killed or paralyzed. As bull riders like to say, "It's not whether they'll get hurt, it's when." Bull riders are crazy about it, too. The rider in the above story was back riding only two months after almost being killed. And that's considered normal in bull riding.

I hit pay dirt when I cam across bullridercoach.com. More on that and Wiley Peterson next week.

Inspiration for The Bull Riding Witch

You may wonder why a college English teacher and overall fantasy fan decided to write a novel set in the rodeo. The inspiration for The Bull Riding Witch came when I went to a rodeo to help my husband sell concessions to raise money for a nonprofit he ran at the time. I hadn't been to a rodeo since I was a young child and had no interest in doing so.

But as I watched this rodeo, I found in fascinating, in a they-still-do-this-thing way. In The Bull Riding Witch, I talk about the Holy Trinity of Rodeo: "America, God, and Ford trucks." The announcer discuss each aspect of the Holy Trinity with equal gravity and seriousness; so much so, it seemed almost a parody of itself. I won't talk about the trucks, but believe, they were equally serious about them. I may have gotten the order of some of the following mixed up, but not the earnestness with which they are pursued.

They began the rodeo with an over-the-top patriotic display. While it is fairly typical to sing the national anthem at sporting events, none of the rest of what rodeo does is. None of the videos in this post are from a rodeo I attended because I've never taken one, but they are typical of what I've witnessed and demonstrate how seriously rodeo takes the Holy Trinity. They have a single rider holding a huge flag ride around the arena when playing a patriotic country song. Although the riders I've seen have always been women, this is otherwise typical, as is the announcement beforehand honoring veterans and asking them to stand to be recognized.

And since one big flag isn't enough, then comes the rodeo drill team in which all members carry smaller flags while riding in patterns, and patriotic country music still playing.

After the patriotic display, the announcer begins the rodeo with a prayer and a reminder that rodeo is the only sport to still start by giving praise and thanks to God. I wish I could remember the words of the prayer because it struck me as nearly ludicrous the seriousness he prayed for the rodeo performers and their bravery as well as extremely self-congratulatory that rodeo is dedicated to God. You can't make this stuff up.

The Holy Trinity did fascinate me, but it was the rest of the rodeo out of which Daulphina, the bull riding witch, was born.What impressed me was the incredible skill of the participants combined with the pointlessness of developing such a skill. This was particularly notable in the team roping event, in which one rider has to rope the head of the calf and the other the heel. Watch some of them doing it:

Think how incredibly difficult that would be to do and the hours and hours of practice and dedication needed to perfect this skill, but at the same time, why? What makes it worthwhile to stretch a calf out like that? I know sports don't have a practical purpose, but these seemed to harken back to an era that died 100 years ago.

Most fascinating of all was the bull riding, which always comes last in the rodeo. When you watch someone who's good at it, like Wiley Petersen, it may not seem so difficult. Wiley was my consultant on all things rodeo, but I'll talk more about him tomorrow.

You only have to stay on for 8 seconds, which may not seem like a lot, but at the first rodeo I went to as an adult, not a single one of the riders did it. As I've learned since, there is a lot more skill in staying on the bull than it appears to a novice. These are more typical of what I saw than Wiley's ride.

When you get bucked off these bulls, you have a 2000 pound animal crashing its hooves down around you. That weight coming down on a rider has killed far more than one bull rider. Notice also how often they get hung up with their hand stuck in the rope while the bull throws them around like a rag doll. Trying something like this is insane. The list of injuries bull riders get is impressively long, and they all get hurt. They say it isn't a matter of whether you get hurt, but when you get hurt. Often the injuries are extremely serious, and if it doesn't kill you, it can paralyze you. I couldn't imagine why anyone would subject themselves to this, especially for the few hundred dollars they could win at the rodeo I attended, and if you don't win, you don't get a dime. (At the PBR championships, you can win a lot more than a few hundred, but not at these local small time ones.) 

While I was watching the bull riding, Daulphina was born. I thought someone has to set a fantasy book in this world. This setting is just too good to ignore, and I've never seen a fantasy book set in rodeo. If you know of one, tells us about in the comments below. It took a few years for her story to take shape because I was working on other projects at the time, but The Bull Riding Witch will be available soon.

Remember, I am giving away two signed print copies and two ebooks of The Bull Riding Witch when it is released. I have added a grand prize of a $25 Amazon gift card. To enter the contest, subscribe to my newsletter (see the sidebar) or comment on any of the posts in my blog. Each comment equals one entry, and you can enter as many times as you like.

Tell us about your experience with rodeo or the inspiration for your latest book.

Samantha and Robrek's First Kiss

Valentine's Day is a day to celebrate love. In honor of this holiday, I'm posting Samantha and Robrek's first kiss from The Goddess's Choice. The expanded edition is coming soon.

Robrek was warm and comfortable and didn’t want to wake. He listened to the voices around him. There was a mutter of several male voices and two women. The first was Myst. The familiar scent of drying herbs confirmed he was in her cottage. He knew who the second woman sounded like, but it meant he had to be dreaming. He shut his eyes tighter to hold onto her voice, but then she laughed, and Robrek knew it was no dream.

He opened his eyes. She sat at the table. “Milady!” he cried, sitting up. The blanket dropped from his shoulders, and Robrek realized he was naked. He hurriedly covered himself.

“Robbie!” She smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “I was hoping you’d wake soon. You must be terribly hungry.” She picked up a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread and brought them to him.

Her hands touched his as she handed him the food. They were as warm and calloused as he remembered. “How is it you’re here, Milady?”

“You saved my mare’s life.” She smiled again, and Robrek’s entire body started to glow.

He grinned shyly. “I thought she seemed familiar. Are you okay, Milady? You must have taken quite a fall.”

“Just a slight bump on the head.” She pulled back her hair to reveal a red lump.

“Oh, Milady." He reached up, but drew back as he realized the impropriety of touching her, especially when he was naked.

The lady let her hair fall back over the lump. “I had quite a headache, but mistress’s tea worked wonders.”

“Mistress Myst is a rare healer.”

“And a very good cook, too. Eat up before it gets cold.” The lady fetched her own food and joined him on the hearthrug, sitting so close he could touch her hair if he dared. Holy Sulis, she’s beautiful!

He heard a grunt and looked up to see the other inhabitants of the cottage. There was the herb witch and two armed men--the archer who’d shot him and the scarred-face man from the horse fair. Just as at the horse fair, Scarface was glowering at him. Robrek pulled the blanket more closely around himself and couldn’t help wishing for his staff. He looked out the window to avoid the man’s gaze and noticed the gathering darkness. He swore softly. Remembering whose presence he was in, hestammered, “Forgive me, Milady.” He tried to get to his feet without exposing himself. “My father will be angry. I must go.”

“Your father’s been taken care of,” Milady said, and put out her hand to prevent him from rising. He settled back down. Her touch on his arm sent heat through his body and made him very aware of his own nakedness.

The second man at the table grunted; he at least fifteen years younger than the scarred man, but he was large and well-armed. He seemed nearly as dangerous. “I brought him word. A right unpleasant fellow, your father. Downright rude, in fact.”

“Bearach!” the scarred man snapped. “You forget yourself!”

“It’s okay, Milord,” Robrek assured him. “My father is rude.”

“It’s not ‘okay’ to insult someone’s kin in front of them, and I’m no one’s lord.” Robrek paled under the hostility in the man’s eyes.

“Look, Captain, I’m just saying I don’t know why he’d put up with him. My own father was only about half that bad, and I took off when I was fourteen, and I’m no damned amihealer. What he did with Milady’s horse was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. There’s not a lord in the land that wouldn’t take him. I’m sure he’d even be welcomed at the king’s stables, and to stay . . .”

“Enough!” the scarred man shouted, seeming far angrier than the occasion warranted.

Robrek stared at the archer who called him an amihealer. It shocked him to realize the man respected him, but what he said about the king’s stables had to be fantasy. Robrek looked away from the men and leaned back against the hearth to eat his soup and bread. His hand shook slightly, and he spilled a little soup on the blanket. The lady sat her own food down. “Myst told me how much energy healing takes. Let me help you.” She reached for his bowl. Her smile made his body respond in ways he feared would get him killed. He was glad the blanket completely hid his reaction.

She scooted closer until her thigh touched his. Only her dress and the blanket separated them. She held out a spoonful of soup, and they both laughed when she spilled far more of it on the blanket than he had. When she brought up a second spoonful, she was shaking so hard with suppressed laughter she spilled it all on him.

Feigning outrage, he reached for the bowl. “Let me take that. I’ll starve to death with you feeding me.”

“We can’t have that, or who would help with my horse problems?” She relinquished the bowl, but she kept her thigh pressed against his.

Even without seeing her for a year, Robrek felt as comfortable with her as he had when they’d danced together. “I guess I’ll have to hope you have a lot of horse problems,” he said, taking a spoonful and smiling when he didn’t spill a drop.

“Is your Horsetad here?” she asked.

Robrek felt for Wild Thing’s presence. “Yes, Wild Thing’s hanging around outside, not too far away. She wants to know if Apple Lady has any more apples.”

“Apple Lady? I wish I did. She is magnificent,” the lady sighed. “It’s too bad Roberta broke her leg.”

Robrek froze with the spoon half-way to his mouth. Roberta? Could Milady have named her horse after me?

The lady blushed when she noticed his reaction. “If you hadn’t been there, Darhour would have stuck me with another lady’s mare. I’m still amazed at how perfectly you understood her. Roberta flies across the fields. No horse in my father’s stable is her match. I would have loved to see how she could hold up in a race against a Horsetad.”

“I’m afraid Wild Thing would leave her in the dust.”

The lady hit him lightly on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Men. I wish I could make you either prove or eat those words.”

“I’d be happy to prove them any time you like. Give Roberta two or three weeks to make sure her leg’s strong enough, and you know where to find me.” Robrek was shocked at his own daring.

The lady laughed and then sighed sadly. “You don’t know how I wish I could. I’ve never had more fun than I did with you at the horse fair.” The lady reached over and pulled the ribbon she’d given him out from under the blanket. “I see you haven’t forgotten it either.”

He leaned closer, wanting to wrap his arms around her and touch her as he had when they’d danced together. “It was the best day of my life.”

A knock on the door interrupted the moment. Robrek jerked away from the lady, as the archer, with his hand on his sword, rose to answer it. Scarface was glaring at Robrek murderously. Robrek couldn’t believe that for a moment he’d forgotten the two men were there. When the door opened, another of Milady’s guards entered. This man was slightly smaller than the others, but he moved with the quick grace Robrek associated with Brazen’s illusions. Robrek glanced at the man’s sword, wondering how good he was with it.

“Your . . .” the man began, but stopped abruptly. “Milady, your horse is outside. She awoke, so I walked her down. She seems tired, but steady.”

The lady jumped to her feet. “Come with me, Robbie. I want to see her.” She reached out to help him to his feet.

Robrek blushed. “Perhaps I should get . . . .” He looked up at his clothes.

“Oh.” The lady blushed and put her hand over her mouth. “I guess that would be best. Hurry up, though.” She left the cottage, followed by her men.

Robrek got up, trying to keep the blanket around him. As he reached for his clothes, Myst frowned at him. “I should check on the horse, Mistress,” he said.

“Is it the horse or the lady you’re checking on?”

Robrek didn’t answer as he put his trousers on and reached for his shirt, which was ripped where the arrow had grazed him. Only Wild Thing’s sudden movement had kept that arrow from hitting his heart.

“My child, I’m worried . . . .”

“I’m not your child, and I can take care of myself.” He pulled the shirt over his head, pulled on his boots, and went outside into the early spring night. The white mare was near the garden wall to the right of Myst’s cabin. Milady was petting the horse’s nose and talking softly to her. Cold Eyes was standing between him and Milady as if daring him to approach. Milady turned and reached for him. Forcing Cold Eyes to move aside, she drew Robrek toward the horse.

“I can’t thank you enough for saving her. She means the world to me,” Milady said, seemingly oblivious to her men’s hostility. “I’m so sorry Bearach shot you,” she said, looking at his shoulder.

“It’s little more than a scratch, Milady.” Holy Sulis, I love you. Why do you have to be a lady? Bearach, Cold Eyes, and Scarface had surrounded them, wearing decidedly unfriendly expressions. He was relatively certain if he did what he wanted to, these men would see it as suspicious enough to merit a death sentence. He backed away and sat on the garden wall some distance from her, trying to control the beating of his heart and the part of his body that threatened to reveal his interest all too clearly now that he had no blanket to hide it.

The lady joined him on the wall, sitting entirely too close for his comfort. The men followed her, their hands resting on their sword hilts. Still, she seemed unaware of them. To break the tension, he asked her what she was doing in the Valley.

“I’m hurrying back to my father. I’ve had word he may be dying. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.” The lady’s eyes filled with tears.

“Milady, I’m sorry.” He couldn’t resist the urge to touch her arm. “You must love him dearly to risk travel at this time of year.”

She nodded, taking his hand and intertwining her fingers with his; heat passed through her fingers and traveled up his arm. “The herb witch seems to be an amazing woman,” Milady said, evidently not wanting to talk about her dying father. “Has she been your friend long?”

“She was a friend of my mother’s, but I didn’t know her until she healed me last spring.” He paused. “You see, I had . . . an accident . . . .”

Milady put her other hand on his thigh. “I’m so sorry. I never imagined someone would object to my dancing with you.”

Robrek tensed. “She told you?” He hadn’t wanted the lady to know how his brother had humiliated him. He glanced at her bodyguards. How can she want anything to do with me when men like these surround her?

The lady took his hand in both of hers. "I don’t want to be responsible for anything else happening to you. Myst warned me to leave you alone, and I’m sure I should.”

He grasped her hand tightly. "I wouldn’t want that, Milady.”

“I wouldn’t want it, either.” The lady smiled and looked away. She noticed for the first time how close her guards were. “I’m in no danger,” she told them. “Back away.”

“Milady,” Scarface said. “We know little of this boy, except that he’s powerful enough to be a threat even without a weapon.”

“You can’t think I’d harm her!” Robrek protested.

Milady silenced him with a touch. “I’m perfectly safe. You will back off and watch for real threats.”

The man didn’t look happy, but he nodded to the other two, and they moved a short distance away. They were still watching him rather closely.

The lady turned back to him. “It’s amazing you could heal Roberta’s leg. When I met you last spring, I didn’t realize you were that powerful.”

 “I wasn’t. He wasn’t accustomed to admiration from anyone, but from Milady, the woman he loved, it was enough to send his soul flying high into the star-filled sky. “Myst only recently took me as her apprentice. She’s taught me how to see my energy, so I can use it more effectively. I can’t see it all yet. Just the barest edges of it. Myst says something’s blocking me, but she doesn’t know what. Our gifts aren’t the same. Maybe I need another amihealer to teach me.”

The lady shook her head. “I’m not certain where you’d find one. I’ve never known of anyone who can heal as you do, even in Murtaghan.”

Her lips were turned toward him, and he wondered if kissing her would cost him his life. He decided a kiss from her might be worth dying for.

* * *

Samantha felt the heat of the boy’s leg next to her own. She stared into his eyes and saw the sadness of his life reflected in their emerald-green depths. What can it hurt? None of his people are nearby. She leaned toward him and pressed her lips into his. He responded greedily, hungrily. “Ah, Robbie,” she breathed as she ran her lips along his cheek. She nibbled on his ear, and he buried his mouth in her neck. Who will it hurt to take him now? Do I have to save my maidenhead for a man I don’t love? She allowed her hands to roam freely.

Robbie kissed his way down her neck, and her body throbbed against his. His hand moved up her side and brushed her breast. “Yes, Robbie,” she whispered.

But he broke abruptly away and jumped off the wall. “I’m sorry, Milady. I don’t know what came over me.”

She jumped down and followed him. “It’s okay. I want you, Robbie.” She touched his face gently and leaned toward his lips. But he glanced at her men.

"Milady, I can’t.” He whirled away and ran into the darkness.

“Robbie, no, don’t go!” Samantha shouted. She heard a whistle, and then a horse galloping away. Please, don’t go! I need you! D

Two Reminders

Reminder #1:

The expanded edition of The Goddess's Choice will be released in April when my contract with Reliquary Press expires. The Reliquary Kindle edition for $2.99. This is a price set by the publisher and lower than the typical cost for a book of this length. When the expanded edition is released, I will be selling it for $5.99. Between now and then, I am offering a special. Buy the original edition of the ebook any time before the release of the expanded edition, and I will send you the expanded edition for free as soon as it is available. Just forward your order email from Amazon to jamie-marchant@jamie-marchant.com. This way you will get the expanded edition for only $2.99, a savings of $3. Quite the deal, eh? Just click the link below to order.

The cool link won't show on Chrome, so if you use Chrome, you can use this link instead: https://www.amazon.com/Goddesss-Choice-Jamie-Marchant-ebook/dp/B007VPA9R6

Reminder #2

I am giving away two signed print copies and two ebooks of The Bull Riding Witch when it is released. I have added a grand prize of a $25 Amazon gift card. To enter the contest, subscribe to my newsletter (see the sidebar) or comment on any of the posts in my blog. Each comment equals one entry, and you can enter as many times as you like.

The Bull Riding Witch Contest and Blurb

Two weeks ago, I posted the short story, which I expanded into the novel, The Bull Riding Witch. (See previous blog post for the story.) Today I am announcing a contest to win the novel when it is released. I will be awarding two signed print copies and two ebooks. To enter the contest, subscribe to my newsletter (see the sidebar) or comment on any of the posts in my blog. Each comment equals one entry, and you can enter as many times as you like.

Just what is The Bull Riding Witch about? I'm glad you asked.

As the crown princess of Asteria, Daulphina has always thought life would have been easier if she had been born a man. One morning, she wakes up to find her wish has come true, in a way. She has been transported to the parallel realm of Earth and into the body of Joshua Killenyen, a good ol’ boy in small town, Alabama. To keep from starving and find her way home, she must choose between Joshua’s two professions: shoveling horse manure and riding rodeo bulls.

 In The Bull Riding Witch, a novel that mixes urban and high fantasy, Daulphina finds herself caught in a world she doesn’t understand, one ruled by technology rather than magic. Although she figures out how to use her magic to master the bulls she must ride, her problems only multiply. Joshua, in her body, insists to the king that he isn’t a princess and that he “ain’t wearing no dress.” Because of Joshua’s bizarre actions, the king threatens to disinherit Daulphina and make Fitzrigh, her bastard brother, heir. Daulphina is desperate to return home to prevent this. To make matters worse, someone starts using magic to make her fall of the bulls. Since she believes no magic exists on Earth, she is certain a witch has followed her from Asteria to finish her off. Can she find the witch and force the witch to tell her not only how to get home, but back into her own body? Or will the witch succeed in killing her, leaving her bastard brother as heir to the throne?

The Bull Riding Witch

I've scheduled a release date for The Bull Riding Witch, my new urban fantasy. It will be coming out on May 15. It is quite different from my epic fantasy series, The Kronicles of Korthlundia, both funner and lighter, but being who I am, I couldn't help torturing Daulphina a bit.

I just got the art for the cover done, and I think the artist did an amazing job. In the comments, tell me what you think.

The Goddess's Choice Expanded Edition Blurb

Here's the blurb for The Goddess's Choice along with my niece cool design again.

The crown princess Samantha fears she’s mad; no one but she sees colors glowing around people. The peasant Robrek Angusstamm believes he’s a demon; animals speak to him, and his healing powers far outstrip those of his village’s priests. Despite their fears, their combined powers make them the goddess’s choice to rule the kingdom of Korthlundia. Samantha’s ability enables her to discern a person’s character through their multi-colored aura, and Robrek’s makes him the strongest healer the kingdom has seen in centuries. But their gifts also endanger their lives. Royals scheme to usurp the throne by marrying or killing Samantha, and priests plot to burn Robrek at the stake. Robrek escapes the priests only to be captured by Samantha’s arch-enemy, Duke Argblutal; Argblutal intends to force the princess to marry him by exploiting Robrek’s powers. To save their own lives and stop the realm from sinking into civil war, Robrek and Samantha must consolidate their powers and unite the people behind them.

If you've read The Goddess's Choice, tell me what you think in the comments. Anything you noticed that I should fix for the expanded edition?

The Goddess's Choice Expanded Edition

My contract with Reliquary Press for my first novel, The Goddess's Choice, expires in April, and at the beginning of May, I will be bringing out an expanded edition that includes some of the material I had to cut for length. (The original manuscript was 323,000 words. I cut it to 178,000 words for the Reliquary Press edition.) In addition, I'll be cleaning up and strengthening the language.

The Reliquary Kindle edition for $2.99. This is a price set by the publisher and lower than the typical cost for a book of this length. When the expanded edition is released, I will be selling it for $5.99. Between now and then, I am offering a special. Buy the original edition of the ebook any time before the release of the expanded edition, and I will send you the expanded edition for free as soon as it is available. Just forward your order email from Amazon to jamie-marchant@jamie-marchant.com. This way you will get the expanded edition for only $2.99, a savings of $3. Quite the deal, eh? Just click the link below to order.

The cool link won't show on Chrome, so if you use Chrome, you can use this link instead: https://www.amazon.com/Goddesss-Choice-Jamie-Marchant-ebook/dp/B007VPA9R6 

The expanded edition will have a new cover. My favorite niece (don't feel badly my other niece; she made me say that) is an amazing artist. See her art below and tell me you don't agree:

Because of her uber skills, I asked her to do the cover art for me. Here is the rough sketch of her design so far side by side with the original cover.

When she gets it finished, I think it will be a much cooler cover. In the comments let me know what you think.

The Bull Riding Witch

I've had the novel, The Bull Riding Witch, finished for quite some time, but I had been uncertain how I should go about publishing it. I tried agents for awhile, but it has the opposite problem that The Goddess's Choice had; it is too short for traditional publishers. I hate these arbitrary lengths that one has to conform to to get a traditional publisher. A novel should be as long as it needs to be to tell the story, so I have now decided to bring The Bull Riding Witch out myself.  My editor has a two-month waiting list before she can get to it, so it will be a little while. To get you in the mood for it, here is the short story of the same title I wrote first. Changes have been made between the story and the novel, but it should give you a taste for what's coming.

The Bull Riding Witch

Author's Note: "The Bull Riding Witch" was originally published in Short-Story.me. January 2011. It was reprinted in Urban Fantasy (KYStory, 2013) and my short story collection, Blood Cursed and Other Tales of the Fantasy. Get an ecopy of these collection for free by signing up for my newsletter. Form is to the left.

I remember little of my life before I woke up with a raging hangover and inside a body I knew wasn’t mine. But you try explaining to people that you’re a woman trapped in a man’s body. See how far that gets you, especially when you’re a bull rider.

I have a rodeo in Lafayette tonight, so I’m trying to get ready. Not an easy feat if you’ve ever seen my trailer. I find my western shirt and jeans easily enough, but my belt is buried somewhere in the goddess awful mess. You’d think with its huge buckle I could find it, but everything that isn’t covered by frozen pizza boxes and empty beer cans is stacked two feet to three feet high with books—Jim Butcher, Barbara Hambly, Mercedes Lackey, Parallel Universes, Guide to the Supernatural for Dummies. Unfortunately, the books have proven about as useful as the pizza boxes in explaining what happened to me. But somebody, somewhere has to be able to tell me how I got stuck in Josh Killenyen’s body and, more importantly, how to get back into my own.

There is a knock on my trailer door, and I open it. Mr. McGillihan is standing there. In exchange for odd jobs, Uncle Gilly—as everyone calls him, although to my knowledge he’s nobody’s uncle—lets me keep my trailer on his land and pays me a pittance. About enough to keep the insurance current on my truck. Insurance for myself is impossibly expensive since my profession tends to include a lot of injuries.

“Horse. Colic.” Uncle Gilly nods toward the barn. He rarely speaks an entire sentence.

I follow Uncle Gilly into the nearby barn. When I enter, I feel a crushing pain in my gut. Wild Girl is rolling her eyes, snorting and groaning. Her gut feels just like mine, and let me tell you, it isn’t pleasant. Colic is one of the most painful and dangerous things that can happen to a horse. I approach carefully because a colicky horse doesn’t pay much attention to its surroundings and can step on you without even realizing you’re there. I touch her, and she instantly calms. I kneel next to her and put my hands on her gut. I close my eyes and reach inside Wild Girl’s intestines with my magic. They’re blocked all right. Uncle Gilly must have bought a finer grade of grain because it’s packed her insides up tight. I work on loosening it up and moving it along the intestines. Wild Girl lets out an immense fart and then poops out a huge pile of . . . well, you know.

I straighten, both my guts and Wild Girl’s feeling a ton better. “She’s fine now, Boss,” I tell Uncle Gilly.

“Good.” He nods and walks away. Neither of us has ever said the word aloud, but Uncle Gilly knows about my magic. He figured it out about a year ago when one of the barn cats got hit by his truck. Nothing human could’ve saved the poor thing, but I did. Ever since then, he comes to me every time one of his animals has a problem. With all I save him in vet bills, you’d think he could pay me a little more.

It’s probably because of my magic that someone didn’t want me around, and they could hardly have picked a bigger loser to put me inside. At twenty-three Josh has never had a job, except occasional farm work and bull riding. Good thing he was decent at it, and I’m better than he was.

As I clean up after Wild Girl, I try for the thousandth time to think who might have done this to me, but I can’t even remember my own name. I do remember that things are different where I come from. There are no trucks or computers or electric can openers. But magic and magical creatures—like dragons and trolls—are common. I think it’s one of these parallel realms things that Hamby and some of the others write about, except they got it wrong. According to their theories, my magic shouldn’t work in this world, but it does. I got the skills of my own body and Josh’s as well. I didn’t need to learn how to drive a truck or read, write, and speak English. Most of Josh’s memories came with his body, too, but few of my own. Does Josh have my magic in my body? Have my enemies completely eliminated him, and I have no body to go back to? Being stuck inside Josh Killenyen forever isn’t a pleasant thought.

I go back to my trailer and finally find my belt under Dragon Riders of Pern and Spells for the Clueless and Inept. I grab my new hat, which I bought with last week’s prize money. Cost me pretty near all of it, but a proper cowboy needs a proper hat. Sometimes I find myself thinking like Josh Killenyen, and it scares me.

I get in my truck with its camper shell on back and start the three-hour drive from Hamilton on the west side of Alabama to Lafayette on the east. I’ll sleep in the back tonight like I usually do for the two-day rodeos; I can’t afford the price of a motel.

* * *

At the rodeo grounds in Lafayette, I drink in the scents of roasting corn, chicken-on-a-stick, and cotton candy. It’s exhilarating because it means shortly I’ll be having a brief, but wild ride. Nothing compares to the adrenaline rush of being on the back of a bucking bull. I wonder if in my other body I was addicted to adrenaline or if that came with Josh’s body as well. On my way to the arena, I pass a booth that sells T-shirts. I spot one that says, “Cowboys make bad lovers. They think 8-seconds is a long ride.” I laugh. Whoever wrote that has never been on the back of a bucking bull. Eight seconds is a long ride.

When I get to the staging area, I check what bull Josh has drawn—Man Killer. I smile; Man Killer is about the fiercest bucker on the circuit, and if I’m going to win tonight, I need a good bull. After all, half my score is based on just how hard a time the bull gives me.

From the staging area, I watch the rodeo. Fortunately, I came late enough that I missed the girls riding around with their flags to the sound of patriotic music while the announcer talks about God, America, and Dodge trucks. Rodeo people seem to worship all three with equal reverence. While I watch, I attune myself to my magic so I can be ready to ride.

Finally, it’s time for the bull riding. I climb onto the launch chute, then onto Man Killer’s back. He snorts, and I don’t try to calm him. That was the mistake I made when I first became Josh. Instead, I reach into him until I become one with the bull, making it possible for me to match all the bull’s movements like I was born on the back of a bucking bull.

I nod, and the chute opens. Man Killer roars into the arena. We’re giving them quite a show when something hits my hand and I suddenly let go. I fly off and hit the ground, knocking the wind out of me. The bull’s hoofs crash down inches from my head before the rodeo clowns are able to distract the beast. I run for the fence, vault over it, and stand there panting.

“What happened, man?” Dan, the closest thing to a friend Josh has, asks.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head, but I do know. Someone just used magic to try and kill me. I turn every which way looking for the witch, but of course, there’s no one wearing a pointy black hat. I close my eyes and reach out with my magic, and I feel something, across the arena in the third set of bleachers. I tear off. Halfway there I come to my senses and stop. Charging down an unknown witch wouldn’t be the brightest thing Josh ever did. Before I can decide what to do, I lose the witch’s scent. I close my eyes to try to pick it up again, but I feel nothing. Still, I wait, and I only go into the back of my truck when the lights have been turned off and nobody’s wandering around.

When I curl up in my sleeping bag, I start shaking. I see again the bull’s hoofs coming down inches from my head. I feel the ground tremble underneath with the impact. I’m damned lucky to be alive. I don’t know if I dare ride tomorrow, but if I don’t, I’ll barely have gas money to get back to Hamilton, and I’ll have to beg Uncle Gilly for an advance on my wages to buy groceries.

What little sleep I get that night is full of dreams that nearly make me vomit. You picture the effect an 1800-pound bull would have on the human head. Not pretty, is it?

* * *

I spend all the next day prowling the rodeo grounds. I haven’t a clue what I’m searching for, and I don’t find any neon sign that says, “Witch will sit here tonight.” When the gates open, I stand near them with my eyes closed, trying to sense everyone who comes in. The sensations of that many minds about causes me to lose what few marbles the fall yesterday didn’t knock out of me, but I don’t sense any magic.

When it’s time for the bull riding, I decide to chance it. I really need the money, but tonight I’ve drawn a bull named He-man—you know, from that stupid Masters of the Universe cartoon—but he should probably be named Daisy-Muncher. I haven’t a chance to win on that bull unless everybody else falls off. Dan Foster scores an eighty-three, and Ben Walker, a man I can’t stand, scores an eighty-five and ends up with top prize money of eight hundred and seventy-five dollars. Nothing weird happens when I ride, but I score a whopping sixty-five and end with a whole sixty-six dollars in prize money. I guess I’ll live on ramen noodles for the next week. You can survive on that, but a man ought to have meat.

I freeze. I just thought of myself as a man again. Am I completely losing touch with who I am? I almost want to cry, but then I remember men don’t cry.

After a week on ramen noodles, I’m so mad I want to beat the living you-know-what out of the witch who made me lose. You might think that nearly dying should have aggravated me more than eating noodles, and yes, I still have nightmares about that bull’s hoofs. But I’m hungry for something different to eat. I’m nervous as hell about the upcoming rodeo in Robertsdale, down by Mobile, and that makes me mad, too. I nurse the anger all during the five-and-a-half hour drive, fantasizing about what I’ll do to the witch when I find her.

I win the bull riding in Friday night’s rodeo for a whopping $615. Robertsdale’s purse has always been a little on the small side. More importantly, nothing funny happens. Dan and me and some of the others go to celebrate at a sleazy bar called Hole in the Wall. The bar owner knows me and cashes my prize check. I open my fool mouth and say the first round’s on me.

I pack away more than a couple of beers, then in walks Ben Walker—did I mention I can’t stand him?—with a blonde wearing a ponytail, a short skirt, and a low-cut blouse. She’s hanging all over Ben. The skirt and blouse don’t catch my attention—although they do catch the attention of every man in the place—but what comes with her does—the distinctive odor of magic. It was her. The witch who tried to kill me.

Mad and drunk, I storm right up to the blonde, grab her arm, and shout, “Why in the hell did you try to kill me?”

Ben tells me to get my filthy hands off his woman, and I tell him where he can stuff it and his mother. He punches me in the gut. Now, Josh is big, but he must never have learned how to fight worth a hill of beans.

When I can’t get up any more, Ben grabs the witch’s hand. “Come on, Eileen. They let any old trash drink in this place.”

* * *

I have no idea how I end up back at the rodeo grounds in the back of my truck, but I hope I didn’t drive. I have a whole $75 in my pocket and a note that the bar owner took the rest to pay for damages. Why should I have to pay? It isn’t like I wanted my head to break the bar stool.

The next day I’m in no condition to ride, and Ben wins the top prize money again, which pisses me off even more. Eileen isn’t in the staging area like some riders’ women, and I can’t sense her anywhere else in the arena. But the pain in my gut is taking most of my attention, and she could be ten feet from me and I might not feel her.

* * *

Because of my magic, I heal fast, so by Tuesday I’m feeling mostly alive. I’m more than determined to find this Eileen and get the truth out of her by any means necessary. Ben is from Auburn. Thinks he’s all high and mighty because he goes to the university there, and I figure Eileen is some sorority chick. So I go to the Hamilton public library where they’ve got computers, and I google Ben to get his address. I borrow Uncle Gilly’s truck because Ben knows mine, and no, I don’t ask, but I leave a note and the extra key to my truck. That should be enough for any reasonable person, especially considering how much I save him in vet bills.

I get to Ben’s apartment complex at about three in the afternoon. He comes home about four with one of those university-student book bags, wearing khakis and a polo shirt. He isn’t even wearing boots. Some cowboy.

About an hour later he comes back out and gets in his truck. At least he has a truck and not some fancy-assed BMW. I follow him, and as I hope, he drives over to another apartment complex and picks up Eileen. Now that I know where she lives, I lean back in Uncle Gilly’s truck and wait.

About two hours later Ben’s truck squeals into the lot. Eileen flings the door open almost before the truck has a chance to stop. She jumps out and screams, “I hope I never see you again,” then slams the door and stalks off to her apartment. Ben squeals out of the parking lot. I can’t help smiling. Anything that makes Ben unhappy is mighty fine with me.

I give Eileen a minute to get settled. Then I knock, and she opens the door. Before she can recognize me, I push my way in and grab her arm. I’m about to ask her again why she tried to kill me when I’m hit with what feels like a sledge hammer.

When I wake up, I’m on the floor with my hands and feet tied. Eileen’s sitting on the couch across from me. I’m starting not to like Eileen. Now, you might be wondering why I don’t magic my way out of the rope. My magic only affects living things, and even with living things, I have to be touching them, so I’m pretty much stuck. You might also be wondering why I didn’t use magic on Ben the other night. Well, I was so mad and drunk I didn’t think about it.

I try to stall Eileen while I work at untying the ropes. “You have me where you want me. Before you kill me could you at least tell me why?”

She snorts. “What witch would ever dare kill? Don’t you know that whatever magic of ill-intent we do comes back on us four-fold? A death curse is suicide for a witch.”

I have to keep her talking because I’m not having any luck with the ropes. “You expect me to believe there is another witch around here?”

She rolls her eyes like I’m the stupidest dumb ass she’s ever had the misfortune to meet. “Of course there are other witches. My coven has five members, but I promise you it wasn’t one of them. If it was a witch, she would need something of yours—hair, fingernail clippings, blood—to work any magic against you.”

“Huh?” I know, brilliant comeback, but my head is reeling. “If you have a whole coven, how come I’ve never run into any of you?”

Eileen rolls her eyes again. “We don’t exactly advertise. Alabama isn’t friendly to witches. You know, Exodus 22:18: ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’”

I have to admit she has a point. I don’t “exactly advertise” my skills either. “Well, how many witches are there around here?”

She shrugs. “Probably less than a dozen, but there might be more. The more powerful ones can shield themselves so I can’t feel them. I can feel you though, but I don’t know what you are.”

Maybe I’m stupid, but I believe her when she says she didn’t try to kill me. Mostly because if she wanted me dead, I’d be dead by now, so I decide to tell her the truth. “I’m a witch. I heal things, make them better.” Well, truth be told, I can make them worse, too.

“A witch?” she says like I’m speaking Chinese. “Men aren’t witches.”

“I’m not a man. I’m a woman trapped in a man’s body.” She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Look, can you untie me? I’ll tell you everything.” I’ve just about given up getting the ropes off.

“I’m waiting for the rest of my coven. When they get here, you’ll tell us everything, then we’ll decide whether to untie you or kill you.”

“I thought you said witches don’t kill.”

“If we do it as a coven, the feedback is diffused enough that we can handle it. It isn’t pleasant though.”

I gulp, wondering just how many times her coven has killed people, and start working harder on the ropes. Eileen just sits there with her arms and legs crossed, swinging her foot and not looking at me. “You mad at me or Ben?” I ask, hoping her fight with Ben doesn’t get me killed.

“Don’t mention that jerk to me!” She snorts. “Can you believe he thinks I’m a liar? He doesn’t believe I’m a witch.”

“You told him?”

She glares at me. “Long story. None of your business.”

She looks away from me and doesn’t say another word until her coven shows up. The first to arrive is a pretty black woman with her hair shaved to a fine buzz. Eileen introduces her as Kinyisha. The other three eventually arrive. Sandy, Nadeen, and Susan are white, but only Eileen has that sorority chick look.

My hands are numb, and I wonder how I’m going to talk them out of killing me. I tell them about the attack and everything I know about my situation, which isn’t much. I think I’m a princess from some parallel realm. Then one day I wake up in Josh Killenyen’s body. I don’t know how I got here or how to get back where I belong.

When I finish, the witches sit there and look at each other for a while and then down at me and then back at each other. “I think he may be crazy,” Kinyisha says. “But I don’t think he’s dangerous to us.”

They debate my sanity for what feels like forever, and when I try to hurry them up, they threaten to gag me. Apparently, they don’t have a leader, so they have to come to a consensus before they do anything. Eventually, they reach the consensus that I’m either insane or a—I won’t say the word they use, but it’s foul—liar. I can’t convince them otherwise, especially since I can provide so few details and merely say, “I don’t remember” to most of their questions.

Finally, they decide I’m probably not dangerous and untie me, but they make me stay out of touching distance. Then they debate whether or not to help me. Kinyisha—I’m starting to like her—is all for helping me. “Isn’t that the purpose of a coven? To help those in need?”

“But he’s nuts!” says Nadeen. “He claims he’s a princess from a parallel universe. You ever hear of any parallel universes? Does he look like a princess?” I’m starting not to like Nadeen.

Still, they eventually decide that if there is some unknown witch working hostile magic in their territory, they need to know more about it. They agree that one of them should stick with me at every rodeo. Eileen doesn’t want any part of it because she’s mad at Ben and doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. When the other women ask her why, she won’t tell them anything. I figure she probably isn’t supposed to tell people she’s a witch. The other four agree to take turns, but Nadeen is far from happy.

* * *

Kinyisha comes with me to the next rodeo in Poplarville, Mississippi. She weaves some of my hair into a ring and charms it. She says it will block any curse aimed at my hand unless it’s thrown by a really powerful witch.

After making my ring, Kinyisha sits in the stands to try to feel for the presence of any witches. Nothing funny happens, and I score an eighty-five, which means that unless somebody gets real lucky tomorrow, I’ll walk off with the top prize money.

I offer to let Kinyisha sleep in the back of my truck with me.

She’s reluctant, but doesn’t want to pay for a motel room, and I don’t have the money for one. “If you try anything, I’ll curse your genitals”—she used a different word here—“and make them fall off.”

“Hey, I may look like a man, but I’m a woman. I’m not interested in you that way.”

She snorts, still thinking I’m crazy, but she climbs in the back with me and seems disappointed in the morning that I didn’t at least try to molest her.

Nobody uses magic against me on Saturday either, and nobody tops my score. I end up with $852 in prize money.

* * *

Nothing happens over the next few weeks, and I continue to win. The witches are starting to get tired of me, and frankly, I’m tired of them, especially Nadeen who always looks at me like some garbage she just stepped in. Meanwhile, Eileen makes up with Ben—apparently he apologized and bought her flowers and chocolates and who knows what else. She talks about how wonderful he is, and I just about lose my lunch on her sorority girl shoes. She comes with me—well, with Ben—to the rodeo in Millbrook, Alabama, just up the road from Montgomery. She makes me a ring like all of the other witches have done, and I get on my bull. It’s Man Killer again. We barely get out of the chute when something hits my hand, and I go flying off into the wall, breaking my arm. I’m in so much pain I can’t concentrate enough to look for witches. To my humiliation, I have to be taken away in the ambulance, and, of course, with me out of it, Ben wins the top prize money.

* * *

On Saturday I drive to Auburn to meet with the witches. Eileen says she didn’t feel anything, which scares the witches because only someone powerful could hide from them. Besides, Eileen’s ring should have stopped anything done by a less powerful witch. They wonder if they’re in over their heads and should take it to someone more powerful. They decide not to because they don’t trust the powerful and because it could be one of them behind it. Instead, the witches decide they’re all going to go to the next rodeo I’m fit to ride in.

* * *

I haven’t a clue how I’m going to pay the hospital bill, especially since my broken arm keeps me out of bull riding for a week, but as I said, I heal a lot faster than normal, so I’m ready to ride the week after that down in Panama City, Florida. The witches are excited because they can go to the beach between rodeos. At the rodeo ground, the witches spread out throughout the crowd to feel for witches. Nothing happens on Friday night, but I draw He-man again and only score in the sixties. Ben scores an eighty-two, which will be hard to beat on Saturday night.

Eileen goes off with Ben the next day, but I go with the rest of the witches to the beach. Nadeen seems disappointed that I don’t react to her in a bikini.

* * *

On Saturday I draw Kracken—he’s not quite as tough as Man Killer, but mighty close, and with all of the witches spread throughout the crowd I figure I’m safe enough. I’m not about to let Ben beat me again. I ride first, and for the first few seconds, I think everything’s going to be fine. Then the curse hits my hand, and I go flying off. This time when I hit the ground, I’m so mad that I don’t go over the closest fence like I’m supposed to. Instead, I ignore the danger of the bull and charge across the arena to the stands where I felt the curse coming from.

I gape in disbelief. Right in the middle of the stands sits Eileen. Kinyisha and the other three witches run up to me, and they gape at Eileen, too. When the crowd clears out, Eileen claims she didn’t do anything, and there must have been some other witch near her. The other witches don’t believe her, and I don’t either. They decide to take her off to a coven thing. I insist on coming with them, but the witches won’t have any outsider involved.

“Just try and stop me from coming,” I say, and Kinyisha hits me with one of those sledgehammers.

When I wake up, the witches are nowhere in sight. I go wait at my truck.

* * *

I fall asleep waiting, and about three in the morning, Kinyisha crawls in the back with me. From the sound of her voice, I can tell she’s been crying. “She finally admitted it. Breaking all our codes, she sent the curse against you. Ben provided her a few strands of your hair the first time. And you gave her plenty to use the other two times. If it helps any, she wasn’t trying to kill you, just make you fall off so Ben could win. She said you were using magic to win, and that wasn’t fair.”

“Well . . .” I start to defend myself, but I think she might have a point. I’m not about to admit it, though. Instead, I say, “So Ben believes she’s a witch.”

“She broke our vow of secrecy and told him. He didn’t believe her at first and just gave her your hair as a joke. He made fun of her when she told him that she made you fall off the bull. That’s why she was mad at him, but when you started winning again, he made up with her. She told him it was too dangerous for her to do it tonight with the rest of us here, but he bullied her into it, saying he needed the prize money for tuition.”

“Whether she meant to kill me or not, she came damn close. Just what do you plan to do about that?”

“She’ll be taken care of. You won’t have to worry about her again.”

“Taken care of? Just what does that mean?”

Kinyisha shakes her head, and no matter how many times I ask her, she won’t tell me. She does offer to introduce me to the more powerful witches she knows to see if any of them can help me with my body switching problem, even though I think she still believes I’m crazy.

I take her up on her offer. Maybe something good will come out of nearly having my head smashed open like a watermelon.