Realm Lovejoy's illustration of Billycan!

Realm is a fantastic writer and illustrator, represented by Joanna Stampfel-Volpe. She did an incredible illustration of my wicked, white rat Billycan and I want to give her a big hug for doing such an amazing job and then go hide under my covers because I'm scared of my own character!!

Realm, thanks so much! He is perfect, creepy, and downright terrifying! Yikes!

Here is the link to her interview with me and evil Billycan!!! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!!

http://realmlovejoy.blogspot.com/2009/09/author-interview-hilary-wagner.html

xoxo -- GG

Teaser Tuesday -- EDWIN COPPERPOT

Here is another excerpt from my book of the dead, Edwin Copperpot, which is nearly complete. This is an unusual scene. Our hero, Edwin Copperpot, is nowhere to be found, at least not yet, and everyone is very much alive, for now that is!

xoxo -- Hilary

Pulling down the peaked cap over his ears and thrusting hands in pockets, the man walked briskly down the alleyway. He was eager, excited, his heart racing like a rabbit's. Food, he thought, you must eat first. Last time you went out on an empty stomach, you nearly got pinched.

He took a sharp left out of the alley, onto a street lined with ramshackle houses. Men and women lurked in clusters, their numbers growing as he neared the city square, cackling, drinking, laughing, cursing, all swathed in soiled, tattered attire, ripped shawls and patched trousers, none of them seeming to mind the cold drizzle, all comfortably numb on gin and beer.

One of the women called to the man as he trudged past the front steps of her boarding house. "Looking for a bit a company? You're a sailor, aren’t you? I like your kind, I do." She paraded her figure, spinning in a circle on the stoop, but he kept walking. Her girlfriends pushed her playfully, laughing giddily. "Me and my sister share a room, but it can be ours for the night if you be changing your mind later on. Long Liz, ask for me," she called as he disappeared from view. No, he thought, too risky with a sister creeping about. He liked her though, Long Liz. Her size, close to what he preferred.

Two streets later, he arrived at the market district. Music skirled from the public houses, loud voices bouncing off the pubs and cracked cobbles, the air flushed with flickering gaslights. Working girls, beggars and street vendors lingered about, quack doctors selling cure-all oils and elixirs, costermongers selling scarcely edible fruits and greens. Even children, a shrill and boisterous group, scrounged for farthings, a scrap of bread, pick pocketing drunkards, too far gone to look after their change.

The man cringed, forced to knock arms and shoulders with the grimy populace as he made his way to a public house. Ah, finally, he thought, The Five Angels. He stared at a woman, blocking the doors. She smiled back at him with a chocolate toothed grin. By his stoic mug, it was plain he wasn't interested. She slowly sauntered out of his way, flashing her cockeyed teeth at another prospective customer.

He headed inside, again rubbing against the masses as he pushed his way to the back. He made his way to a small table by the back door. A wobbly old gentleman approached the table at the same moment as he. They swapped glances. The swaying man stared an extra moment, took his glass of whatever spirits he'd had far too much of and left.

Settling into a chair, the man pulled down his scarf from around his mouth and pulled down his cap a little more, shadowing his eyes entirely.

A portly man in an oil stained apron came to the table. "Ah, back again, eh? You must really love my stew. You're the only one!" He laughed jovially. "Same as last time then?"

Unbuttoning the top buttons of his pea jacket, the man nodded at the pub owner, who jaunted off to the kitchen. Stew tastes like entrails, thought the man, probably serving up the customers, snatching them up as they keel over on their pickled feet.

He scanned the room. Not a soul seemed sober, everyone half in the jar or nearly there. He spotted a woman, men swarming around her, different from the other trash that marred the place, looked to be about twenty or so, maybe less. She teetered on her stool, laughing excessively at the jokes of her adoring horde. He studied her, watching as she inspected her perspective suitors. She seemed to have her eye on a particularly inebriated fellow with a nice pocket watch, as she surely wasn't infatuated by his oversized belly or rotting teeth. Greedy tart, thought the man.

The proprietor came back, plunking down a bowl of reeking stew and a glass of gin. The man grabbed his arm, pulling him close. "Who's that?"

Looking over his shoulder, the pub owner snickered. "That there is Bonnie. A sweet one, isn't she? Goes by Bee, but I call her Busy Bee if you know what I mean!" The pub owner laughed again, the man did not. "Me and Bee, we help each other out, both with a business to run, so to speak. You got more than a pocket full of halfpence she can be yours. That's for sure." He tipped his head towards her, raising an eyebrow. "With a little persuasion, I might be inclined to put in a good word for you. Treats her customers real nice, that one."

The man reached into his pocket, slapping down two paper bills on the table. The pub owner looked around suspiciously, quickly snatching them up. His eyes widened. "Stay here then, eat your stew. She'll be yours tonight."

The man smiled.

Teaser Tuesday -- THE TRASHLINGS

This excerpt is from my new manuscript THE TRASHLINGS. Our hero, Reese Knightling, stumbled upon a strange bluish creature the night prior, a grunting, snorting thing that looked and sounded a lot like a--pig.

BTW: I just put up my website for this book, if you want to take a quick peek!
www.thetrashlings.com

xoxo -- Hilary

"C'mon, lazy bones, time to get up!" called Reese's father from the other side of the door. "I'm making my world renowned pancakes in honor of our first breakfast in the new house, so get a move on! You start your new school tomorrow kiddo, so we need to get unpacked today."

Joseph Knightling sent his son to bed last night, hoping a good night's sleep would cure him from his visions of imaginary blue swine in junkyards.

Reese insisted what he saw, or at least what he thought he saw was real, but by the time his father calmed him down, even he thought maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. What if the flash of bright lights had skewed his vision, changing the beast's color to a blotchy blue, making an oversized raccoon or possum, shriek away in a panic? The vast woods of Funks Grove were teeming with wildlife. It could have been anything.

For now, Reese decided he'd forget about his otherworld encounter. Today he'd get his computer set up and email his friends about their new house. He decided he'd leave out the part about the technicolor pig. He didn’t want it to get around his old school that he’d already gone nutty, confined one night in the backwoods town.

He climbed out of bed and went to his window. He sat on the sill and looked down at the hazy yard, still weighed down with fog. It looked different in the daylight, faintly benign. He saw the boat--the one the pig thing disappeared into last night. He looked for the tire it left behind. It had vanished.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reese joined his father and sister at the kitchen table.

"There he is," said Reese's father cheerily. He plopped a heavy plate of pancakes in front of him. "I gave you a tall stack, since you didn't have dinner last night. You must be starving."

Famished, Reese drained his orange juice in three noisy swigs and assaulted his pancakes, cramming his mouth with an oversized bite.

Smiling slyly, Darby eyed Reese as he ravenously stuffed his mouth. "Dad, could you please tell Reese not to eat like such a...pig?" she asked.

Joseph warned his daughter. "Darby Knightling, that's enough."

"How does she know?" Reese looked at his dad, hurt. "You told her?"

Darby cut in before her father could answer. "Dad didn't have to tell me anything. I could hear you all the way down the hall last night, freaking out about your blue pig. Speaking of pigs, could you please pass the bacon?" She giggled, delighted at her own cleverness.

Holding up the plate of bacon, Reese looked ready to hurl it at her. "Whatever I saw out there exists! I didn't imagine it! What would you know anyway? You still sleep with a nightlight, hugging your stupid plastic horses!"

Joseph slammed his fist on the table, rattling his plate. "Now, that's enough!" he shouted. "Darby, your behavior is completely uncalled for. Reese, put that plate down--now! I wanted us to have a nice breakfast, not a wrestling match. Darby, apologize to your brother!"

Clenching her chin stiffly, Darby sulked for a moment, but begrudgingly obeyed her father. She looked directly at Reese, hoping he might actually listen to her for once. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm just tired of you pouting all the time. I like it here and I want you to like it too." She smiled weakly. "Mom would have liked it."

Joseph hadn't yelled like that in a long time. Reese knew he'd been impossible the last few weeks. He deserved his sister's teasing, acting like a spoiled brat to her and everyone else. He smiled back at her. "You're right, she would have."

Joseph looked fondly at his children, thankful to see the two agree on something. "That's better, and you're both right, your mother would have loved this place. She had wanted to get away from the city for years. I'm sure she's happy that we're here." He got up from the table with his mug of coffee. "Now, I need to start unpacking. You two clean up the dishes, alright?"

"C'mon dad," said Reese. "I thought you wanted to clean up as part of our first breakfast celebration."

Joseph chuckled. "Good try son. Do you see pigs flying now too?" Even he had to throw in a pig joke.

Grabbing his glass and plate, Reese headed towards the sink. He peered out the kitchen window. Thick October clouds loomed over the junkyard. "Not yet," he replied.

My Shiny New Editor--Julie Amper of Holiday House!

So, I spoke with my editor from Holiday House, Julie Amper, for the first time today! I was a little nervous, not knowing what to expect, but she immediately put me at ease. We had a fantastic talk and all her suggestions for NIGHTSHADE CITY I totally agree with. I'm so excited to start editing. Looks like we will have a release date of Fall 2010. My rats will finally cut loose during Halloween, yay, perfect timing for the little buggers, nice and creepy!

Speaking of creepy, I'm over half way through with Edwin Copperpot, my YA novel about the dead, and now I'm deciding where I'm going to take the ending. My friend suggested I throw some flesh eating zombies in, since they are the current fad, but they move too slow, the novel would be 500 pages long! Anyway, zombies just aren't my bag, too sluggish and the dialogue would just be a bunch of moans and groans and "I wanna eat your brains" nonsense...my dead folk have far more character than that, they're funny too! See for yourself! http://www.nightshadecity.com/EdwinExcerpt.html

So, lesson learned: Don't be scared of your new editor, flesh eating zombies yes, editors no!

xoxo -- Hilary

Teaser Tuesday -- THE TRASHLINGS

This is from my new manuscript, THE TRASHLINGS, already in the hands of a few editors. It's a middle-grade fantasy. Our hero, Reese Knightling, is investigating the junkyard, where he had an eerie encounter with the pig creature, just the night before...

xoxo -- Hilary

It was going on two o'clock. Since most of their things were in a Chicago storage unit, Reese didn't have much unpacking to do. His dad sat in the family room, doing the bills on his laptop, while Darby busied herself in her room, arranging her massive collection of stuffed animals and plastic horses.

Reese grabbed his coat and quietly headed outside. The incessant fog webbed through the yard, its spidery plumes ferreting their way into every piece of wreckage, knitting them strangely together. Its vapors blanching the whole lot the color of bone. An ideal setting, thought Reese, surveying the metal cemetery of vehicles--perfect for Halloween, barely two weeks away.

A few yards to the right of the house, stood a rickety staircase leading down to the junkyard. He walked down the stairs and stood on the ground. He felt odd standing in the junkyard after what happened, but not scared anymore, at least not in the light of day.

He walked over to the old car where the pig thing had been last night. He stuck his head in through the missing door. The car looked as if it had been gutted. The dashboard demolished, smashed to a fine powder. The front seats flattened, presumably by the weight of whatever had bounced all over the inside. The upholstery was now missing, as if the seats had been skinned alive. The same rancid goo that the creature left on Reese's hand coated the bulk of the car's interior. He recoiled as the gummy balm's aroma hit his nostrils.

The scent reminded Reese of his dad's Chinese cooking fiasco, wherein he managed to ignite an entire frying pan of oil, nearly burning down their Chicago brownstone. The house stank for weeks. "At least he sticks with pancakes now," said Reese. He pulled his head back outside and took a deep breath, escaping the heady odor.

He turned in a circle, surveying the entirety of the expansive yard. His father was right. There was a lot to explore. There were cars, appliances and random junk dating back to the fifties or earlier for all he knew, a story behind every item. He maneuvered through the mountains of scrap. The lower the scrap, the older it was, eras on top of eras.

His eyes caught sight of an odd van. Not odd for any other reason, other than oddly out of place. Like the rest of the vehicles in the yard, it donned extensive damage, its innards torn out, dents galore, and all four tires missing. It had all the earmarks necessary for labeling it scrap, but with one distinction. It looked brand new. The blue paintjob shined in perfect condition, no rust or corrosion to speak of. Clearly modern, it couldn't have been more than a year or two old.

Reese examined the driver's side. A yellow logo covered the door, along with a company name, Langley Geophysical Services. Reese opened the door, revealing a barren shell. At first Reese thought maybe car thieves had stolen it and stripped it for parts. That happened in the city, so why not here? Upon closer inspection, he quickly changed his mind. Deep gashes trailed down the van's naked floor, some cut clean through, revealing the ground below. Reese couldn't figure out what type of equipment could slice metal like that. The jagged gouges looked more like claw marks than something manmade.

Reese reached for a piece of paper stuck under the driver's seat. It appeared to be some kind of Langley work order, dated only a few months back, in August. It gave the junkyard's address and listed its purpose as GPR services. Reese's brow creased, none of this made sense. Why would this van, purposely sent to the junkyard, suddenly end up as its scrap? What had gone on here?

The wind hissed, whipping madly through smashed car windows and hubcaps. Reese climbed into the van for warmth. He sat in the driver's seat, the only seat left. He spied something colorful sticking out from under the brake pedal. It was a clump of hair, thick and wiry like steel wool, a purplish color. It looked phony, like the kind on his sister's stuffed animals. Strange gold flecks stippled each individual hair. The tuft had a metallic smell intermingled with some kind of animal stench, like a rusty tin can jumbled with the ape house at the Chicago zoo. "Gross," said Reese. He shoved the Langley work order and the clump of hair into his pocket. In spite of its offensive smell, the purple tuft demanded a second look. He would check it out later. Right now, he had one more stop to make.

It’s official!! NIGHTSHADE CITY to be published by Holiday House Books!

Finally, I can give my news! NIGHTSHADE CITY, my first manuscript, has been sold to Holiday House Books! I'm so excited to be a part of this house! They've been in the business of children's literature since 1935! Julie Amper, who I've heard loads of great things about, will be my editor and I can't wait to get started!

I want to give a special thanks to my agent, Marietta Zacker. She has been instrumental in making this happen. She is not just an agent, but my biggest supporter and a real friend (and shrink too)!! So many, many thanks Marietta! I'd also like to thank Nancy Gallt, who stood behind my work and of course Craig Virden. If he had not taken a chance on my work, none of this would have been possible. I've said this before, I will forever regret never being able to meet him. Someday, though...

Thanks to everyone involved and a huge thank you to my husband, Eric, who read this manuscript about 20 odd times and was my free freelance editor! He listened to me talk about it endlessly (more like whine) and still stayed married to me!! Now that's a great man!!

xoxo -- Hilary

My First Official Interview or Are You Sure You Want to Interview ME??

So, on Thursday of next week, I will be having my first official interview with a graduate student from Northwestern University's prestigious Medill School of Journalism in Chicago. We will be talking about how I fell into writing (almost literally) and how my artistic vision transfers to writing. Uhhh...good question! After all, I did manage to get a degree in painting and art history and now I'm writing about rats and dead people. Wha? Exactly! How did that happen??

I can't speak of non-fiction writers, but there are a plethora of us fiction guys and gals who write and do some form of visual art as well. I think they go hand in hand, creative writing and visual art--Author & Illustrator. Whether it's on paper (or your laptop these days) or on canvas or mashed into clay. It's that spark, you know? That thing that drives us to keep going and keep making and molding and of course creating bold new ideas.

Enough said! I'm excited about this interview! I thought, you want to interview me? Huh? Are you sure you have the right person? I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted she had the right Hilary Wagner! Ha, ha! So, I'm meeting my lovely interviewer on Thursday at Starbucks and hoping I don't put her to sleep in her latte. That could be rather messy and dangerously hot. Hopefully she'll go for an iced coffee! ;)

I'll let you know how it goes! BTW: Happy Friday!!

P.S. I have big news, but per my wise agent can't say what it is yet!! ACK!!

xoxo -- Hilary

New Teaser from NIGHTSHADE CITY - Billycan

A few people have been asking for a bit more of NIGHTSHADE CITY, so here it is! This is a favorite excerpt of mine, all about Billycan, the most depraved rat in all of the Catacombs. In other words, not a nice guy! It's hard to believe some day this angry fellow will be in print. Yikes! All comments welcome!

xoxo -- Hilary

Billycan ambled down the corridor of Sector 337 with a deviant leer. He had come to collect the Ministry Stipend. His red eyes flashed against the flickering torch light, making his appearance more maniacal than usual. Parading down the corridor, he swung his beloved billy club, as he yelled raucously for the High Ministry's weekly Stipend.

The towering, snow white rat had the vexing habit of sporadically speaking in the third person in a grating, irregular tone. "Billycan thinks you should be more generous to your Ministry. Don't try my patience, Billycan wants the Stipend paid now!"

Billycan held the dual title of High Collector of Stipend and Commander of the Kill Army, dangerously clever and wicked to his very core; the white rat served his Ministry well. Catacomb citizens were hard pressed to find something about the albino rat that didn't strike them as unsettling. Especially sadistic, his depravity outreached even the most evil of creatures. His callous persecution of Catacomb rats harmonized with his cold, colorless exterior.

Citizens claimed Billycan to be possessed, supernatural--just not right. The old ones maintained he once drove a rat to stab himself, possessing him with his eyes. The rat lived through the ordeal, to this day claiming Billycan's eyes glowed like galvanized rubies, two glass bulbs filled with a red vapory substance, commanding the citizen to take his useless life.

The few rats that had dared to challenge the High Collector were either deceased or missing their tongues, a favorite among the appendages he enjoyed extracting. He had a raised, black scar running across his face, as a result of one such challenge during the Bloody Coup. The thick gash trailed from the corner of his left eye, over his long snout, finally tapering off at the opposing corner of his mouth. His opponent met a gristly fate. The Trilok Loyalist had briefly gotten the upper hand over Billycan, but not for long. Left bleeding out in the corridor, the fearless rat lay dying, one eye splattered against the corridor's dirt wall.

Rumors circulated through the Combs regarding Billycan's damaged brain. Everyone knew he served as a lab-rat at the Top Sider pharmaceutical company, the infamous Prince Laboratories. He alone survived the torturous experiments. No other white rats existed in the Catacombs or all of Trillium for that matter. Since his liberation from the lab, he'd never seen another of his kind, nor did the rats of the Catacomb's every produce one. Excluding Billycan, the albinos were gone forever.

A favorite topic, the citizens often debated as to what made Billycan so wicked. Some insisted the drugs given to him at the Top Sider lab had eaten away part of his brain, leaving only the corrupt portions intact. Others believed he was a demon rat, sent from the pit fires of the underworld, while others argued the eerie white was nothing more than a bad egg, plain and simple. Years of inbreeding, forced on the rats by the lab personnel, combined with the mind altering injections were most likely the culprits, but gossip propagated throughout the Combs.

The Top Siders' testing had caused Billycan's spine to grow coiled and elongated, obliging his neck and angled jaw to jut out far in front of his body. His milky coat disbanded at the base of his extended tail, which trailed behind him like a hairless garden snake, revealing his pale skin, a powdery, encrusted white, more reptilian than vermin.

The drugs from the lab cursed him with a nagging and insatiable hunger, still unappeasable no matter how much he gorged and gobbled. Forever eating, Billycan could not keep weight on his considerable bones, giving him a lean, cadaverous manifestation, like a farmer's scarecrow half stuffed.

Stipends were collected weekly. Eleven years back, Killdeer proclaimed each citizen must produce one Stipend a week, a tariff for enjoying the sanctuary of the Catacombs. Stipend consisted of items useable to the Ministry, such as food, weapons and tools. Food had to be edible. Attempting to disguise compost as Stipend incurred a fatal consequence. Once, a desperate rat tried to palm off a rotting pear as Stipend. As sentence, Billycan chained her to a post in the center of Catacomb Hall, leaving the rat to die of hunger for all citizens to see. Still a youth, the girl's parents wailed in misery as their daughter took in her final breath.

"Stipends for Killdeer!" shouted Billycan. "Stipends for Killdeer! Everyone to their doors, quickly, quickly, do not test Billycan's patience." With a piercing pitch, his voiced blasted through the corridors. "Billycan's time will not be wasted. Have them ready. Billycan does not like to wait--no, no, no!" The Collector sauntered down the corridor, followed by three hulking lieutenants and his Kill Army assistant, Senior Lieutenant Carn, all four pushing rusty wheelbarrows in a single file line.

Billycan walked with his hollow chest pushed out like an underfed rooster. He wore a crimson and navy blue sash, Kill Army colors, made specifically for his lanky frame by the High Mistress of the Robes. As he strolled, he swung his billy club from side to side, banging it on Catacomb doors, and scratching it against their flimsy planking with an uncanny resonance. Citizens knew the Stipend routine. Don't speak unless spoken to, have all items ready and above all things, don't look the High Collector in the eyes.

Exciting Stuff, I Tell Ya!

All I can say is I'm going to have some exciting news soon and I can't wait to share! Hard work really does pay off! Who knew??? Ha, ha!

My WIP, Edwin Copperpot, is coming along at a fevered pace, so if I can keep concentrating on that instead of mulling over all the "what if" scenarios about my "news", I may just get some more writing done! I had a eureka moment in the middle of the night last night (bit of an insomniac) and I know now exactly how this novel is going to end, spinning together all its unearthly twists and turns, so I've got a lot to get paper!

Happy almost Friday, everyone!

xoxo -- Hilary

Friday Teaser? Huh? EDWIN COPPERPOT

Yes, I know, I've lost my mind! I've had a lot going on lately and I'm hoping to have some exciting news soon, but I wanted to post something from EDWIN COPPERPOT, my WIP.

As you may have guessed, Edwin is our MC, a somewhat cynical, incredibly charming chap, who happens to be deceased. In this scene, our cadaverous hero, is on his way to the mysterious House of Warrants. They run the show in this booming necropolis.

Please enjoy and all comments welcome! And oh...happy Friday!!

xoxo -- Hilary

The carriage thundered down the streets, careening round corners as it neared the House of Warrants. Edwin sat inside, wondering why his withered entrails were feeling like watery knots. Phantom pains, he deduced, his own thoughts making him feel things he wasn't supposed to feel, at least not any longer.

The carriage came to an abrupt stop. He pitched forward, scarcely catching himself, almost smashing his face into the opposing wall of the coach. He chuckled. That would just be his luck, wouldn't it, a shredded face of pulverized bone and absent teeth, perfect first impression for the prestigious Warrants. Don't be so anxious, he told himself. You've nothing to fear.

He peered out the window. The carriage had stopped before towering iron gates. Beyond the gates awaited the House of Warrants, a colossal stone stronghold of pillared perfection, which loomed high over the deadened poplars, glaring down at its defunct populace with a flinty air of superiority.

The gates opened of their own will, cracking apart like an iron ribcage. The carriage slowly rolled inside, now at a snail's pace, as if ushering Edwin to his execution. He leaned forward surveying the grounds, lifeless as the rest of his surroundings, but quite manicured all the same, a deathly charm about them. A weary looking fellow raked up dead leaves, dumping them into a basket, while his grim associate, who was all but missing his entire back side, swept the never ending dust from the cobbles.

Edwin noticed an entrance off to the side of the main gates. An endless line of the dead waited single-file, only allowed entry when checked off a register by a bulky woman. She was clad in prickly charcoal skirts, with an iron chain of keys kept round her waist. Two uniformed men accompanied her; both dressed in the same sooty gray. Why did he receive such particular treatment, an escort, a carriage? Surely it wasn't his noble status, what would that matter now?

The carriage stopped directly before the steep front steps of the House of Warrants. Without time for him to have descended from his perch above the stallions, the mustached man materialized at the carriage door, opening it. "Sir," he said.

Edwin climbed out. He watched the lengthy stream of deceased waiting in their snaky line at the far west entrance of the building, like servants having to skulk in through kitchen door, their lowliness too unpleasant to be seen by their esteemed employers. His curiosity got the better of him. "Why did you come for me in the carriage? Why am I not waiting in line over there, with the others?"

"Maybe you're special, sir." The man smirked for a split second, swiftly shifting back to his unbending sobriety. Edwin didn't care for his caustic tone, but didn't think it wise to take notice of it just the same. The man evaporated. The front doors of the manor opened from the inside. Again, the man appeared. "This way, sir."

So used to the utter dinginess of all things since his reckoning, Edwin stood with his mouth gaping as he scanned the interior of the majestic House of Warrants. With high vaulted ceilings, it hung with ornate chandeliers of crystal, each one twirling with blue smoke. Stark white busts, lined the walls on stone pillars, the Warrants, he assumed. Even the deadened flowers were exquisite, painstakingly preserved in their hand painted vases. Impeccably clean, nothing broken, no random bones or parts lying about, it was like stepping into a reoccurring dream, that familiar echo of a once beautiful life, as if at last being heralded through Heaven's proverbial gates.

Edwin didn't anticipate a useful answer, but couldn't help but ask. "How is everything kept so pristine? I've tried for an eternity to keep our manor house in some sort of order, but to no avail, almost as if the more I tidy up, the more mess manifests."

The man began to walk, Edwin followed, his buckled shoes clacking on the marble floor. "I know not the secrets of the Warrants," was all the man had to say on the matter. Edwin presumed the miniature man knew much more than he'd ever let on, but he seemed the type who'd never reveal the time of day, let alone well guarded secrets. He imagined the man must have been a spy before his reckoning or more likely a butler, to himself keeping all the peculiar secrets of the well-to-do.

Wednesday Teaser! THE TRASHLINGS

So, I'm busy-busy working on a my WIP, EDWIN COPPERPOT and another (secret) project, but I really, really wanted to post a Tuesday Teaser, late though it may be!! This excerpt is from my new MS on sub, THE TRASHLINGS. Our three teenage heroes are looking for the man who encountered the same horrible creature they did. This is a scene from the mental hospital, bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!! All comments welcome! Thanks guys!

xoxo -- Hilary

A cardboard sign perched on an unmanned front desk, leaning precariously against a candy dish filled with petrified jellybeans. The hand-writing read, 'Ring for Service', with a red arrow pointing downward to a tarnished bell.

Bruno tapped on the bell. They waited for a few minutes. No one came out.

Ritchie leaned lazily against the desk, resting his elbows on it, already disinterested. "Aw, c'mon people," he grumbled. He beat on the bell. "Hey, I gotta life to lead. Can we get some service?"

"Ritchie!" barked Bruno. "What's the matter with you?"

Ritchie sluggishly looked up at the ceiling, unmoved by his brother's scolding. "Whatever," he moaned. "Why are we here, just for your stupid homework assignment?"

"No, to find out information," said Reese. "Trust us, it's important."

The door behind the desk opened with an indignant groan. A bony woman, bordering on ancient, scuttled out in a stiff white uniform, scrunching up her prickly features, visibly bothered. Her lips stretched in displeasure, making them nonexistent as she scrutinized her late night visitors. Her voice chortled with a gravelly timbre. "What do you want?"

Ritchie opened his mouth and raised his eyebrows, about to answer, probably with something sarcastic. Bruno swiftly kicked him in the ankle before he could talk; quite sure the old biddy didn't need further prodding by his blockheaded brother.

"Hey, what'd you do that for?" muttered Ritchie.

Bruno ignored him. "Yes, ma'am," he said in his most polite young man demeanor. "We're here to see Victor Zimmerman."

The woman eyed them circumspectly. "Aren't you children out rather late?"

Bruno misplaced his voice, suddenly becoming lost in the woman's cavernous wrinkles, highlighted by the ruthless lighting, everything about her thorny and hard.

Reese jumped in. "Uh, yes, ma'am, " he motioned to Ritchie. "Our older brother's boss made him stay after hours, but we raced here anyway, hoping to see our Uncle Victor before you locked up." Reese spotted her name tag, Nurse Honeysuckle. Nothing sweet about her, he thought. "Nurse Honeysuckle, we know it's late, but it's been so long since we've seen him."

"Is that right?" She popped her angled chin over the edge of the desk and gave Ritchie a firm inspection. "So, you’re the oldest?"

Ritchie's eyes locked with hers, memorized by her cataract, a vaporous white. He stammered, only managing to spit out an, "Uh..." This time, Reese kicked him in the ankle, knocking him out of his daze.

"Everybody quit kicking me," Ritchie grumbled under his breath. He stiffened his back and sucked in his stomach, trying to appear as tall as possible. "Uh--yeah, I mean, yes ma'am--I'm eighteen, the oldest. As you can see, I'm a full grown adult."

The nurse snorted. "Full grown, eh, I'd say you were downright stunted for an eighteen year old."

Bruno stifled a laugh.

Ritchie's mouth dropped open, duly offended by the disparaging comment. "Hey," he said, "I'm not stunted, I'm a late bloomer and by the way that's a pretty rude--"

Nurse Honeysuckle cut him off abruptly. "Give me your id."

Ritchie huffed as he rifled through the many pockets of his cargo shorts. "Oh, wait a minute." He bent at the knees and retrieved his driver's license from inside the toe of his sandal. "Eureka! Here it is." He proudly displayed the id.

"You keep your id in your sandal--a smelly shoe?" asked Bruno.

"It's the safest place," said Ritchie.

Bruno nodded his head, amazed at his brother's reoccurring lack of logic. "Ritchie, it's a sandal. It's full of holes. Don't you get that it could have fallen out?"

Ritchie grinned with satisfaction. "But you're wrong, genius. The sweat from my foot keeps it stuck in place. It's been there all day. It can't fall out."

"Uh, gross," said Reese.

Ritchie held out his license to Nurse Honeysuckle, who cringed at the germ ridden laminate. She fished a crumpled tissue from her pocket and reached for his id with skeletal fingers.

"Richard Black," she said, reading the license. "Very well, you can see him." The nurse grinned devilishly. "Mr. Zimmerman is one of our most interesting patients. I simply don't know what we would do around here without his constant repartee." Reese could tell from her tone she plainly did not like Victor Zimmerman.

Nurse Honeysuckle primly handed Ritchie back his license and pushed over a musty leather bound book, tapping a yellowed fingernail on a blank line. "Sign right there--by the coffee ring." Ritchie scribbled on the ledger.

Nurse Honeysuckle pushed forward over the desk and glowered at all three boys. "You have thirty minutes until visiting hours are over, not one second longer. You will do as you're told or you'll have me to contend with and I'm not one to be trifled with. Am I clear?" The boys nodded.

She curled a knobby finger, beckoning them round the desk. She turned and opened the door leading to the wards. "Follow me."

New EDWIN COPPERPOT excerpt for Teaser Tuesday!

Here is another excerpt from my WIP, EDWIN COPPERPOT. My YA novel about the deceased and their many trials and tribulations. I hope you enjoy the read and all comments welcome!
xoxo -- Hilary

Maura stared listlessly at her tea. Edwin had been gone far too long. From what she could see though the fog, the high moon had come and gone at least three times, and she was beginning to worry. Perhaps Edwin's assumptions were correct and he was being punished for his living misdeeds.

Beatrix Black or Bunny as she preferred, simply couldn't tolerate it further. She rolled her eyes and rapped her moldered fingers on the table. Apparently, before her reckoning, Miss Black's beauty knew no bounds, or so she claimed, but now she donned a face reminiscent of a shriveled turnip, and at the moment it was an especially irritated shriveled turnip. "Maura, really, your doldrums are becoming tiresome."

A flighty young lady, death by drowning, Bunny Black had no patience for the sorry sort. Rich and spoiled in life, she did not see the need to consider such things in death. To her deficit, had she taken it upon herself to consider such things, she might not have drowned that fateful night. She may have realized skinny dipping, in late October, while intoxicated was not a well formed idea, especially when one couldn't swim.

"I'm sorry," said Maura. "Things just don't feel right. What if he's in trouble?"

Bunny snickered wickedly, which came out as a piggish snort after pushing through her shrunken sinuses. "I wouldn't worry. I'm sure Mr. Copperpot knows trouble quite well."

Maura smiled dimly. "Bunny, you're horrible. You know Edwin's not like that."

With a crimped finger, Bunny fished a gnat from her tea. "Don't be so juvenile, dear. Every man's like that. Besides, Charlie Redgrave told me a thing or two about your dear friend, Edwin Copperpot."

Maura looked up from her tea. "What did Charlie tell you?"

Bunny leaned in, all too happy to reveal her confidential conversations. "Charlie told me he and Edwin traveled in the same circles in their living years, frequently in each other's company at social gatherings and formal occasions."

"Edwin never mentioned knowing Charlie before his reckoning. He would have told me."

"He would not have told you. He didn't know himself!" Bunny batted her eyes for no apparent reason. "Far too busy admiring himself and pursuing the ladies, most of which, according to Charlie, needed very little pursuing--shameful harlots--Edwin never took notice of Charlie, too wrapped up in his cavorting and scurrilous activities."

Maura acted unaffected by Bunny's juicy assertion. "I'll never understand it."

Displeased with the lack of reaction, Bunny frowned like a sickly baby. "Understand what?"

"Why the dead still care so much about the details of the living. Edwin Copperpot could have murdered someone during the course of his life and I'd still call him my friend. He's never once given me a reason not to."

Forcing her rigid lips into an exceedingly dismal frown, Bunny reached out a wilted hand and rested it on Maura's sleeve.

"What is it?" asked Maura.

"Oh, dearest, don't waste your time."

"Don't waste my time on what?"

"On him."