Another TRANCE Snippet

I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I haven't posted to the League since June. I had a very good excuse in July, as the 13th was the day I woke up in serious tendonitis-related wrist pain, so blogging was just not on my mind. August...well, I remember spending the day away from the computer, so we'll leave it at that.

I wasn't sure what to post today, though, until I realized that it's TEASER TUESDAY out in the Blog-O-sphere. And since I have a new release next month, I thought I'd post a snippet for y'all.



TRANCE is the first is a new series with Pocket about a group of twenty-something adults who lost their superpowers when they were children, only to get back suddenly fifteen years later. They live in a world that was brought to the brink of disaster due to superpowered battles, and citizens aren't exactly excited to see them back.

In the snippet I've chosen from Chapter 4, our heroine Trance has just met up with hero Gage at a truck stop in California. They're on their way south to the old HQ to find the rest of their teammates, and have stopped at a motel for the night.

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I nearly fell out of bed at a sudden, thunderous pounding of fists against the motel door and a female shriek for help. I lurched to my feet and stumbled toward the door to the beat of the erratic knocking, adrenaline warming my hands and urging me to use my newfound power to help this terrified person. I peered through the peep hole and saw the blond woman from next door, her hair askew and matted red. Blood streamed down the side of her face. "Oh, God." I wrapped my hand around the knob and twisted.

"Trance, don't!" Gage said.

I turned my head to ask why not, as the center of the door exploded. The blast tossed me to the floor, peppering my neck and hair with shards of wood and glass. I rolled to the side, instinct propelling me out of the line of fire, and I came up in a crouch next to the table.

The rest of the door blasted in with the second shotgun report. I screamed, startled by the sheer volume of sound it created, and brought both hands up to my sides, creating twin orbs, each the size of a grapefruit. A quick glance to my right found Gage on his feet by the corner of the bed.

The blonde entered, her eyes radiating a garish, sickly shade of yellow. She eyed me, then Gage as she reloaded the shotgun. The odor of burned wood filled the room. Fresh blood continued to run down the side of her face, and with chilling certainty, I understood. I had seen this before. In training videos. That day in Central Park. In my nightmares.

The possessed woman snapped the barrel back into place.

"Gage, duck!" I shouted.

He dove behind the bed just as she fired. The shot struck the wall, blasting through the thin plaster to create a hole two feet wide.

I threw the twin orbs at the woman. She moved faster than she should have been able to. One missed and blasted a hole through the wall, straight into her adjoining room. The second clipped her shoulder and spun her around. The gun belched an erratic shot that took out the room's front window in a shower of glass and wood.

"Trance?" Gage said.

"I'm fine, stay down!"

I called up two more orbs, smaller this time, and released them both straight at the convulsing woman's midsection. She screamed and the yellow light faded from her eyes. Her body jerked once, twice, and then lay still. I stood on shaky feet, ignoring the screaming cuts on my face and arms.

"Tell me that wasn't who I thought it was," Gage said.

I wished I could. "Specter." Even saying the name chilled me, like calling on the Bogeyman.

Gage made a choking sound. "But how?"

"I don't know."

I nudged the dead woman's hand with my bare toes. The third finger had two rings on it, one a very large (and probably fake) diamond. My first thought was to wonder how much a pawnbroker would give me for that ring. My second—and much more pressing—concern was about the man who had probably given the rings to her.

"Where's the other guy?" I asked.

A looming shadow filled the door, still dressed in the same jeans and flannel. I looked up, right into a pair of yellow eyes and a sawed-off shotgun. No time to duck, nowhere to go.

"Say hi to your father for me," he sneered, his voice a queer blend of the man's and someone else's. Monstrous and terrifying.

Enraged, I clapped my hands together with no real idea what would happen, and he fired immediately after. The buckshot struck a haze of violet energy and ricocheted, like a thousand ping pong balls. Blood and gore splattered the open doorway and walls.

I had little time to be nauseated by the sight. The kinetic energy of the shotgun blast reacted to the force field I'd instinctively created. The feedback struck me like a speeding truck and tossed me backward onto my ass. The gunman wailed and gurgled in someone else's voice. The voice of a man not quite human, full of anger and pain and frustration, filled my ears. I lay on my back, too stunned to care if he was dead. My nerves burned. I couldn't feel my feet.

Gage's face loomed over mine. "Trance? Jesus, are you all right?"

My head throbbed. My tongue felt thick and dried out. I swallowed and tasted blood. I'd bitten into my lower lip. Every single joint in my arms and legs ached.

"Him?" I hissed though the pain settling into my bones.

"He's dead. If Specter was possessing them, he's gone now. We need to get out of here."

"Hurts."

"I know. Damn it, the entire motel must have heard us. I'm going to sit you up, and then get our stuff together, okay?"

I nodded. Stopped smiling when my lip twinged. He looped an arm around my shoulders and hauled me up into a sitting position. The room spun in loopy circles; I tilted sideways. Gage caught me and helped me lean back against the foot of the bed.

"It's already starting," I said.

"What is?"

I caught his gaze and held it, feeling a little drunk. And not the good kind of drunk. "Banes trying to kill us."