A Summer for Love Blog Hop

Welcome to Angela Yseult's stop on the Summer for Love Blog Hop!

To celebrate the impending arrival of summer, I'd like to offer you a peek into my YA novella You Promised Me Two Years, as well as offer you the chance to win one of 3 ebooks, or one of the 6 giftcards in play with the Summer for Love Blog Hop! Keep reading for all the details!

In You Promised Me Two Years, Tyler is an interpreter, which means he deciphers the cryptic messages given by his Prophet and friend, Connor. As they spend the summer vacation together, Connor gives Tyler a very special birthday present...

~*~

By nightfall, at last, a black car came to pick up Tyler’s mother, Carol and Sophia, and took them to the airport. Tyler managed to maintain a smile as he waved goodbye, but not a second longer than that. Returning to the dining room where the cook had served them a veritable feast, he left the half-unwrapped pair of jeans on the table and served a generous portion of birthday cake onto the plate that had been set for Connor but that had remained unused. As he went up, he could hear muffled accords of violin, and his heart tightened a bit. How bad was it?

He knocked on the door almost hesitantly. Connor opened at once. His eyes seemed feverish, his hair mussed up from raking his fingers through it. For a brief instant, Tyler almost wanted to ask if he’d taken something, but already Connor was ushering him inside, taking the plate from him and setting it on the desk, perilously close to the edge.

“The clocks didn’t ring close enough,” he said, speaking very fast and sounding a little manic. Holding his violin and bow in one hand, he pushed and pulled Tyler to his bed with the other, making him sit down and then shoving a few pieces of paper into his hands. “Horses danced and still dance and waltzed but they stepped on their fingers.”

It made no sense for a moment, to the point that Tyler wondered if he’d lost his gift to interpret. And then Connor started playing, and everything became luminous.

Connor had forgotten about Tyler’s birthday, he said. How he—or Sophia—even knew about it, Tyler had no idea. Connor had forgotten, so he had no gift ready. So he’d written this piece of music. And it wasn’t very good—he said—but it was the best he could do on such short notice. And he’d written it down for Tyler, so even after Connor was gone, Tyler could still hold on to it.

The papers in Tyler’s hands were sheet music. Tyler had learned a bit of flute in his previous school, so he’d seen something like this before, but this was more intricate than anything he’d ever laid his eyes on, let alone played. He didn’t look at it long, though. How could he, when Connor was in front of him… playing was such an inadequate word for what he was doing right now.

It was like watching, hearing, feeling a universe come to life right in front of him; stars being born in myriads of colors, explosions that were true symphonies, heat like warm fingers curling over his heart. It lasted for hours, it seemed, but it was still much too short.

When Connor finally stopped, he was breathing hard. He blinked a few times, looked at Tyler, then frowned.

“Ty?” he breathed, and what he was asking in that small, pained voice was, Did you not like it at all? Is that why you’re crying?

Tyler hastily wiped his cheeks, feeling them heat up in embarrassment under his hands. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying.

“It was beautiful,” he said, even though ‘beautiful’ was so far from what he really meant. He just didn’t have a better word for it. “It’s the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. The most beautiful present I've ever been given. Thank you.”

Connor smiled, relief shining in his eyes. They shared the piece of cake that Tyler had brought up. And Tyler was oh, so glad that Connor couldn’t read anything beyond the surface of Tyler’s words, because he was pretty sure what he’d just said was, ‘I love you.’

 ~*~

ANGELA'S GIVEAWAY

To win your choice out of these 3 ebooks, just fill out the Rafflecopter giveaway. 

3 winners will be chosen. Good luck!

(you can click each cover to see what it is about)

. .

a Rafflecopter giveaway

~*~

GRAND PRIZES

(6) $50 Amazon or B&N Gift Cards

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You Promised Me Two Years - Parts 3 & 4

Another sample from my new novella, You Promised Me Two Years...

The classes were not what Tyler expected. Although he was only a few months older than Connor, he was a full year ahead of him school-wise, and he’d figured he’d have to sit through lessons he’d already learned. Not so. Students at the Academy made up their own schedule according to what they were interested in. Connor’s classes included the most advanced science courses the Academy offered. In three of them he wasn’t even following the same curriculum as the rest of the students but had his own advanced work and experiments set up in a corner.

Tyler also thought he’d need to interpret for the teachers, but he soon realized they’d worked up a system to teach and test Connor without him needing to say or write anything. Seeing how he sometimes went with no interpreter for months at a time, those multiple choice, fill-in-the-bubble sheets were essential. Or at least, the teachers pretended they were. In at least two classes, Tyler had a strong suspicion that Connor was doing work so advanced that the teachers didn’t fully understand it. Then again, neither did Tyler.

He had to work hard—very hard—to catch up with the rest of his peers, and he didn’t bother trying to catch up with Connor. It occurred to him that, with everything he learned here, he could easily get on track for a science career after…

After.

Two years seemed like forever, at times.

But mostly it felt like it’d be over in a flash.

The same day Tyler punched Stevenson, Connor talked to him at lunchtime. Usually, he kept his nose stuck in various advanced textbooks while munching on a piece of fruit, never bothering to even acknowledge that Tyler was sitting across from him at the otherwise empty table. Today, he looked up from his reading just long enough to meet Tyler’s eyes and say, “Counterstrike is a feminine word in French.”

Tyler blinked. He wasn’t sure what surprised him the most: that Connor had talked to him twice today, or that he’d bother giving Tyler a warning.

And it was a warning.

Caroline Martin would try to get him back for what he’d done to Stevenson.

“Why her?” he asked, frowning.

Connor rolled his eyes and returned to his reading.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Tyler shifted his shoulders and glanced at the table across the cafeteria where Stevenson sat with his clique, a mix of boys and girls. Martin sat on the other side of the table, although not directly across Stevenson. She was chatting with her girlfriends, but every so often she glanced at him. The way she looked at his discolored nose… Understanding came in a flash.

“Huh. They’re together?”

Without looking up, Connor snorted quietly. The Message was a very obvious, Of course they are. Are you blind?

“Hey, I’ve only been here four days and we only have one class with both of them. Not everyone can…”

Tyler trailed off when Connor’s eyes found his again over the edge of his book. He didn’t say a word, didn’t make a sound, but it was right there, in deep blue that looked more like a storm than a summer sky. This wasn’t the Prophet talking, only someone who had eyes and knew how to observe. After all, Tyler had figured it out too, hadn’t he?

“Point taken,” he said.

Connor shrugged and returned to his reading, taking another bite of his apple.

“Although that is a problem,” Tyler muttered, glancing across the room again. “Her coming at me, I mean. I don’t hit girls.”

Connor didn’t look up as he said, “The emperor doesn’t stare out of mirrors.”

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat. As far as Messages went, he wouldn’t have needed to be an interpreter to figure out this particular meaning. How did Connor know, though? Had someone told him about Tyler’s family? Was it something he’d Seen? Or was that something inscribed in Tyler’s very body, in the way he moved and looked around him, like Martin’s crush was laid out in the way she looked at Stevenson? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The least he thought about his father, the better.

“No,” he said, a little choked up. “I damn well hope I’m not like him.”

They ate in silence for a little while after that—well, Tyler ate at least, while Connor continued to nibble—but soon the Dean of Students approached their table, empty save for the two of them. It was always empty. Tyler strongly suspected that, before his arrival, Connor had been eating on his own every day.

“Hello, boys,” the Dean said affably as he sat down, setting a clipboard in front of him on the table. “I couldn’t help but notice you were having a little chat. Is there anything you want to share?”

He had phrased it as a question, but it was more a demand than a request. This was what Tyler was here for. Listen to Connor, interpret his Messages, and share them. It didn’t matter if it concerned the fate of the world or if it was something innocuous, Tyler had to divulge it. If he didn’t, his stint as an interpreter would end much faster than Connor had predicted.

He was starting to understand why Connor didn’t talk. They’d barely exchanged a few words before the Dean descended on them like a hawk on its prey. How tiring was it, really, not to be able to say two words before an adult asked to know your private thoughts?

Before Tyler could figure out what to tell the Dean, Connor spoke again, his eyes flicking toward the other end of the room where Martin was laughing rather shrilly.

“Warm baguette isn’t always blue.”

Tyler, who had reached for his glass of water to give himself a second to think, swallowed the wrong way and started to cough violently, his lungs burning. Connor raised an amused eyebrow at him over his book.

“Yes?” the Dean said before Tyler had caught his breath again.

“Caroline Martin,” Tyler said, still coughing a little. “She and Stevenson… Well, if she’s not pregnant yet, she will be soon.”

The Dean’s head snapped up, his smile disappearing instantly. He looked around the room, and his eyes narrowed when he found the right table.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood, and was already striding away before Tyler could decide if he was supposed to say something.

Tyler watched, bemused, as Martin and Stevenson followed the Dean out of the cafeteria, both of them looking rather stricken.

“La Marne won’t flood,” Connor commented absently.

Tyler nodded. “Apparently not, no. Thank you.”

Connor didn’t reply, but the same tiny smile from that morning made a fleeting reappearance.

You Promised Me Two Years - Part 2

A second sample from my new novella, You Promised Me Two Years...

The first few days at the Academy were cold, and it had nothing to do with the January weather.

Everyone in the school had been identified by a Prophet or seer as being important to the future of the world—and especially the future of the country—in some measurable way. Or rather, everyone was supposed to have an important role to play some day. On the other side, Tyler’s own importance was fully dependent on Connor’s. Quiet rumors also swirled through the hallways, as elusive as tendrils of fog, that a spot in the Academy could be bought. Apparently, parents only had to know the right people and pay the right price. Where did those rumors come from, though? Tyler couldn’t imagine that anyone who had been accepted in the Academy in this particular way would boast about it.

Whether they had an important destiny ahead of them or not, however, the hundred or so Academy students were at the moment no different from the ones in Tyler’s old school. They were immature, or lazy, or exuberant; others were shy, or fun, or a thousand other things that teenagers could be. And they were also cruel in a way that only teenagers could manage.

If it had been cruelty toward himself, Tyler would have shrugged it off. He’d had a lot of practice learning to let comments about his sister, his clothes, his preferences, every damn little thing about him, slide off like innocuous water drops he could just shake off. He couldn’t have kept taking a swing at every damn idiot who looked at him wrong, so he’d learned to ignore it.

But when vicious jabs were flung at Connor, it felt different. Very different indeed. Like mud rather than water, and it stained and it stank. It didn’t help that Connor never reacted. Whether in class, in the cafeteria, in the hallways, or even in their dorm room, whenever a hurtful word was thrown at him he always remained utterly still in a way that, to anyone else, might mean he didn’t care. Tyler heard it as the unending shout of pain and rage and despair that it was. In truth, what else could Connor do? Any verbal protest would be lost unless Tyler interpreted it, and even then being one step removed would take away the sting of whatever he might say. As for fighting, it didn’t seem like something Connor would do, as though it were simply beneath him.

Tyler couldn’t understand why the other students, or at least a large number of them, were so mean to Connor. It was just so perplexing to him. Connor was a Prophet. How could they disrespect him like this when they owed their very presence at this elite school to someone like him? Even seers, much more common than Prophets, were well regarded, even if they could only predict events on a much smaller scale, and less reliably than Prophets.

Someone finally clued him in. Prophets were honored and respected for the knowledge they imparted. How could Connor be a true Prophet when he never said anything to anyone? If he didn’t intend to play his role, the other students, or at least most of them, would make him pay for it.

By the fourth day, Tyler had had enough. He couldn’t actually believe he’d let it happen until now, and didn’t want to imagine how long Connor had been forced to endure it. When they woke up that morning in the four-bed dormitory and one of their peers said something idiotic toward Connor, something Tyler didn’t even want to remember after that day, Tyler stood from where he was putting on his socks at the foot of his bed. With one sock on and his shirt only half-buttoned and untucked, he crossed the room and punched Stevenson in the nose.

It didn’t break—Tyler knew from experience how much force it took to break a nose, and he had a small idea about how much he could get away with at the Academy. A broken nose was on the wrong side of the line, but damn if it wasn’t satisfying to look down at that idiot, sprawled on the floor and blinking wildly up at Tyler. Their other dorm mate, Dalton, seemed ready to intervene, but a hard look from Tyler and he wisely appeared to think better of it.

“You leave him the hell alone, you hear me?” Tyler said, ostensibly to Stevenson, but he had no doubt the message, his message, lower case and still very important thank you very much, would spread throughout the Academy. He might have to repeat it, but he was ready for it. “You leave him alone, or I’ll make you.”

When Stevenson did nothing more than blink, Tyler turned very calmly and went back to his abandoned sock. In no more than a handful of seconds, only he and Connor remained in the dormitory. Connor hadn’t moved a finger since Tyler had first stood from the bed. He was watching him with a slight frown and an expression Tyler couldn’t really place—but then, he was trying not to look at Connor, so it wasn’t all that easy to figure out what he was thinking.

“Snowfalls are stupid in the summer,” Connor finally said.

They were the first words Tyler had heard him utter since their first introduction. And he heard the Message behind them loud and clear.

That was completely unnecessary.

“You’re welcome,” he said, grinning.

Connor looked away, but not before Tyler could catch the smallest of smiles flickering on his lips.

You Promised Me Two Years - Part 1

Here is a sample from my new novella, You Promised Me Two Years...

When they first met, Connor stared at Tyler for the length of five heartbeats, his gaze flying from Tyler’s shoes to his shirt, his tie and ending on his face. The scrutiny felt unpleasant, and Tyler couldn’t help but wonder what Connor Saw when he observed him. His clothes were brand new but nothing special: a white button-up shirt, a dark blue tie with two white stripes to indicate he had two years to go after this one before graduation, black slacks and a black blazer with the Academy’s insignia, the stylized profile of a woman’s face, embroidered over his heart. Connor’s clothes were similar, although he wore a navy blue sweater instead of the blazer, and his tie merely peeked at the collar. Where Tyler’s short brown hair was carefully parted and combed, Connor’s blond locks stuck out at odd angles, as though he’d been raking his fingers through them.

Tyler tried to smile despite feeling a little intimidated. It was rather silly. He was a few months older than Connor and it wasn’t like meeting him should have fazed him, even if Connor was a couple of inches taller than him and looked at him like he was an insect to be examined and pulled apart. There was no denying that Tyler was nervous, though. It was the first time he’d met a Prophet. Even in his own head, he could all but feel the capital P. Not just any Prophet either, but the youngest of three in the United States at the moment. The most promising one in at least four generations, the people at the Department of the Future said—if only he was finally paired with the right interpreter. No need for the uppercase there. Some people thought interpreters were special, but Tyler knew what he could do; he knew his place.

He only hoped this could truly be his place.

Being enrolled in the Academy was already an amazing opportunity for him, and whatever happened with Connor, Tyler had been guaranteed he would be allowed to study here until he graduated. A diploma from the Academy would open many doors that would otherwise have remained closed to him. It was a chance too good to pass up. But if he ended up a washout as Connor’s interpreter, he would feel like a failure in his own eyes; he knew others, back home, would feel the same.

When his smile wasn’t returned, he offered his hand to shake. Connor had already been told his name, but Tyler supposed he might as well introduce himself properly.

“I’m Tyler. Or Ty, whichever. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Twin lambs,” Connor said, then turned away abruptly, never having shaken the hand Tyler proffered. He navigated around the desks toward the back of the room.

The three adults standing at Tyler’s side looked at him expectantly. Or rather, two of them did. The Secretary of the Future, a graying man with sharp eyes, had already made it clear that Tyler was to inform him in the best possible haste of anything of importance that Connor uttered.

“Even if you have to wake Miss Carrington in the middle of the night,” he’d said.

Miss Carrington, the Headmistress, had nodded at that as though it were completely normal. Even now, she looked as eager as the Secretary to hear what Connor had just said. Only the third person, a severe-looking woman in a crisp pantsuit and long wool coat kept her eyes on Connor. She’d been there during each of Tyler’s interviews and tests but had never said a word, and Tyler didn’t know her name although he thought she worked at the Department of the Future. Connor had stepped as far away from them as he could and he was now standing by the window, his forehead pressed to the fogged glass.

“Twin lambs?” the Headmistress repeated, a little breathless. “What does he mean?”

Tyler’s throat tightened. His first Message. Did it really have to be this one? There was no doubt in his mind that he was right. He could practically feel the meaning of Connor’s words as though it had been carved into his skin, could hear it like music composed for his ears only. His interpretation scores had been good, but he never dared hope it’d be so easy. Two words only, and already Tyler knew he and Connor were a great match.

And yet…

“He means I’ll be his interpreter for two years,” he said quietly.

The Headmistress and Secretary looked at each other, disappointment obvious in their matching frowns. Prophets and interpreters were usually paired up for life. Connor, however, was anything but usual. He’d run through five interpreters already since being identified at the age of ten, six years earlier. If Tyler lasted two years, it’d be twice as long as anyone else, but still not what he’d hoped for.

By the window, Connor huffed. That sound, too, Tyler could interpret, although he didn’t say anything.

That huff meant, “Either you’re another idiot who only understands half of it all, or you’re too scared to tell them what I actually meant.”

Tyler wasn’t scared of Connor or of the adults around them. But he was scared of this Message. He was scared he’d be there, right next to Connor in two years, watching and unable to do a damn thing when he died.

Because the true Message had been, “Don’t expect to make a career out of this interpreter thing. You’ll watch me die in two years.”

For the first time, Tyler wondered if taking the Cassandra Tests had been such a good idea.

Coming soon... You Promised Me Two Years

I'm excited to have a new novella released soon. I'm waiting for the custom art to be ready for the cover, and then You Promsised Me Two Years will be out. Here's a little bit about the story...

~

When Tyler became Connor’s interpreter, he thought all that entailed was translating the Prophet’s cryptic messages about future events.

However, it doesn’t take him long to realize Connor needs more than that. First and foremost, he needs a friend, someone who will stand up for him at the Academy, the elite school they both attend and where Connor, despite his talent, is far from popular. He also needs someone who understands that, for him, the talent of prophecy is a curse he would get rid of if he only could, a curse that pushes him toward substance abuse and oblivion.

It also doesn’t take Tyler very long before he starts seeing Connor as more than a friend, and he’s lucky enough to have Connor return his feelings. Just as things begin to settle down, however, the arrival of a new Prophet at the Academy threatens Connor’s hard-won and still-fragile peace of mind.

Through it all, Tyler is all too aware that every day brings Connor closer to being eighteen, the age of his prophesized death, two years after their first meeting.