I was hoping to be finished with THE SOUND OF SILENCE before now. I’m still plugging along, but that’s good for y’all because you get another snippet. The #1lineWed theme over on Twitter is **SHADOWS**. This is the moment that Roman decides to step out of the shadows… 😉
Roman stood at the window, a dark silhouette if anyone below chanced to look up. Early-morning fog swirled through Jackson Square, leaving the granite blocks and wooden benches with a silvery sheen as the first fingers of dawn poked through the gray miasma. Roman refused to count the number of times he’d stood here, waiting, watching for…something. He hadn’t known what until—
A bright swirl of color coalesced through the murk and the constricting pressure in his chest eased, a feeling he chose to ignore. She was early this morning, lugging her wagon with the folding chairs, market umbrella, rickety wooden table, and her satchel filled with the exotic paraphernalia of her trade. Her tousled curls were tamed today, severe in a long braid snaking over one shoulder. Fog swirled around her, lightened, leaving her poised like an island tinted by riotous hues.
He couldn’t remember when he’d first noticed the girl. Young woman, he corrected himself. Of course, she could be a crone of ninety and she’d still be little more than a child to him. He thought back, trying to pinpoint the moment the little gypsy had wormed her way into his psyche. Had she always been there, crouched down hiding behind all the memories of the before times? Perhaps she had.
Roman had found no peace since the first time he’d truly noticed her in front of the cathedral. Her smile tugged at his heart even as his senses warred with the knowledge of what—of who—she might be. Was she rogue? Or perhaps unaligned, though the witches guarded their bloodlines as closely as they did their Book of Shadows. The girl was an unknown. The Witches’ Council knew nothing of her that Roman could gleam from them. All magicks living or visiting in the city had to register with the Legates office and he had no record of a gypsy girl who told fortunes on Jackson Square. That was disturbing.
He didn’t know her name but this young woman with haunted shadows in her eyes and the fragile sheen of magic clinging to her skin like glitter drew him as inexorably as that proverbial moth. Would she singe his wings if he got too close? He was half tempted to find out.
The windows were open and the dank scent of the Mississippi—an odor of water and mud, of age and wisdom—swirled around him as the fog danced with her. She called to someone, her voice as musical as the birds who sang dawn awake. Something deep inside him stirred, something that had slumbered for hundreds of years. Desire.
Feel free to share any shadowy words you might have. In the meantime, I back at work because I am soooo ready to type THE END on this puppy!