Deadly Ever After

Archive for the tag “ellie di julio”

March Madness: Reason & Love Keep Little Company by Ellie Di Julio

TODAY’S BREW: It’s so Fancee, I feel like I’m betraying it by telling you.

By Julie

Ellie Di Julio is a firecracker and the fact that she let me pick THIS picture for her to base her March Madness entry on says volumes about her.

Vintage Mardi Gras - Waiters with animal masks

REASON AND LOVE KEEP LITTLE COMPANY

By Ellie Di Julio

Snare drum brushstrokes and muted brass from the New Orleans jazz band at the front of the packed-out banquet hall carries to the rear kitchen without losing volume or tone, the blood-alcohol content of the crowd the only thing higher than the tempo. A score of waiters in crisp white coats ride waves of music back and forth from the service window through the press of humanity, drawing attention less for the steaming delectables they carry than for their grotesque papier-mâché animal heads.

Donkey impatiently queues behind Parrot, Frankie, and Ibis, thumping his empty tray against his thigh. When he agreed to this gig, the boss promised the night of his life, a Mardi Gras party like none other, the apex of hedonism. He’d conveniently skirted around the all-important detail that he’d be serving the pricey booze to women in low-cut dresses instead of sipping it from their navels. He’d’ve bolted when they handed him the getup, but he’ll be damned if he turns down a cool grand in cash.

The line to receive another round of hoity-toity foodstuffs moves up a rank, then another. And then it stops. A pair of arms pinwheel wildly for balance as Ibis staggers under the weight of his own head, his tray abandoned to gravity with a crash of glass and silver.

But Donkey’s dreaming of a pulp-fiction escape involving a smoke, a dame, and a martini he didn’t make. He doesn’t notice Ibis’ distress until it’s too late. Their heads collide with a hollow thunk, toppling Donkey like a domino that sends an entire zoo’s worth of costumed waiters crashing to the floor behind him.

Between angry waiters and broken glass, he’s the last to get vertical. He tries to reassert his place in the service line once it’s clear, but as Ibis has vanished, blame for the incident falls squarely on him. He quickly finds himself muscled out, standing in the ravenous mob with an empty tray in his hand and a shoeprint on the front of his coat.

As he jostles towards the end of the line, a guest knocks into his side. A primal scream forms in his throat. He’s had enough. He reels around, winds up to deliver a blistering diatribe, sees the perpetrator, then chokes on his rage as it fizzles.

Despite the peacock mask hiding half her face, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

“I’m sorry!” she shouts. The effort of yelling over the music makes the dark curls around her face and the heavy bosom not quite covered by gold ruffles bob dramatically. “I saw you fall! Are you okay?”

Donkey nods. The ill-fitting head slides around his neck. He’ll have a rash tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” She smiles with teeth so white inside ruby lips. “It seems like you could use a drink!”

Donkey considers this. He certainly could use a drink. And he can think of lots of ways he could use the company. Maybe he doesn’t have to escape the party after all. Maybe he can make this the night it was supposed to be.

He nods again. She smiles brighter and takes his arm.

“I’m Titania!” she shouts as they wade across the hall. Her name is even more lovely than the rest of her.

She shoulders into a gap at the crowded par and orders two gin martinis, one with a straw, one without, both with olives. They clink glasses. Donkey drains his with a long, grateful slurp. The liquor burns going down and warms his chest. She laughs and tips the contents of her own glass down her elegant neck, comes up coughing but still laughing, which warms him elsewhere.

The bartender asks if they want another. She says yes. Donkey waves no. She stares at him, or rather at one of his papier-mâché eyes, with scrutiny as she sips the second martini. He watches, entranced. Each movement of her lips, her fingers, her eyebrows inch him toward bravery. But the mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes and the blue-nailed finger she crooks at him after she slides her empty glass across the bar relieve him of the need to speak. She leads him away without asking.

The coat closet is packed, the final space between racks of fur and wool now occupied by their bodies. The spaces between their clothes and their skin now occupied by each other’s hands. The muffled, slow song outside is a perfect accompaniment for the languorous way she unbuttons his white coat and slides open his belt, the trembling way he removes her mask and unzips her gown.

She presses to him with her face turned up. Her eyes shine with desire and gin, asking without speaking for the thing he feared she would. He tenderly brushes her rouged cheek with his thumb, fearing it’s their last touch. Then he closes his eyes, lowers his head, and does as she’s asked.

The absurd donkey mask lands softly among the coats. He waits for the screams, the slamming of the door, the rough hands, the questions. The song outside comes to a crescendo and the audience claps. In the silence between numbers, he is afraid.

There’s a touch on his face. He flinches and looks up with alarm. Her hand is out, her eyes are wide. But she’s…smiling. At him?

Yes. She’s smiling at him.

She reaches out again, timidly at first but growing bolder. He lets her run a smooth hand along the bridge of his nose, his broad cheek, his long ears, down his neck, past the hollow at his throat where brown fur turns to pale flesh.

He holds his breath.

She tucks herself into his arms, the crown of her head nestled beneath his muzzle. “You are so beautiful,” she whispers.

Donkey exhales a ragged breath and hugs her fiercely.

Finally.

About the Author

Ellie Di Julio with Cora Riley cover painting (5)

Ellie Di Julio currently lives in Hamilton, Ontario with her Robert Downey, Jr. lookalike husband and their two cats. Between nerd activities like playing Final Fantasy or watching Top Gear, she enthusiastically destroys the kitchen and tries to figure out what it’s all about, when you really get down to it. She also writes urban fantasy novels riddled with pop culture references and sexy secret agents.

You can find Ellie’s books on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, and the lady herself on EllieDi.com, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads. For bonus good karma, join Team Patreon to support her evil schemes writing adventures.

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Ellie Di Julio Doesn’t Pull Punches

TODAY’S BREW: Nantucket Something or Other Breakfast Blend

By Julie

I’m taking a breather from my war on the acceptance of antiheroines, and letting someone else talk today. It won’t last. Today you get to hear the brutal and distressing honesty of my good friend Ellie Di Julio, author of THE TRANSMIGRATION OF CORA RILEY and it’s spanking new sequel, SWORD OF SOULS.

You’ve said that SWORD OF SOULS has been your hardest novel to write. Tell us a little about what troubled you. *expects you to lie down on leather couch*

Okay, honesty time.

I have never hated a book like I’ve hated this one. It wasn’t just a complicated storyline or an uncooperative muse; it was real existential pain. Between the explosion in my personal life, this being my first true sequel, being away from home for two months, the grand failure of Cora Riley’s launch, and general author-growing pains, I felt like a hack. I nearly quit three times. I cried so much. If it was so hard, maybe I wasn’t cut out to write novels. If it was so hard, maybe there was something wrong with me. I just couldn’t fathom how to continue.

Thank God for Stephen Blackmoore and Karina Cooper, though. I didn’t know either of them before I started writing Sword of Souls, but I stalked them (in a good way) on Twitter long enough that we got to know each other. They talked me down from so many trees, shared my pain, encouraged me, and kicked my ass. Having them to run to when I was in writerly crisis and needed mentorship was/is incredible, and I’m deeply grateful to both of them.

How will we see Cora grow in SWORD OF SOULS from THE TRANSMIGRATION OF CORA RILEY?

She’s more confident in herself. Where she started as this unsure, distressed girl in Cora Riley, Sword of Souls has her finding her feet, learning what she’s truly capable of, and coming to terms with her powers and their ramifications. She’s always had that tenacity and strength, but only now that she’s out of her small town and able to make real change in the world is it coming to the surface where she can use it.

Sequels are hard, yo. If you could give a word of advice to new authors writing sequels, what would you say?

DON’T DO IT.

Uh… I mean…

Make sure you know your story. Like, re-read the previous book(s) to reacquaint yourself. You probably think you’ve got all the details stored up in your memory banks, but you don’t – not like your readers do. As a writer, you’re thinking ahead all the time, not behind. Having a “plot bible” or running organization system for your characters, events, settings, and storylines is invaluable and of prime importance when doing a multi-book series. I sure wish I had one…

I’ll do to you what you did to me. What’s the message in this book? Has it changed since the first FORGOTTEN RELICS novel?

Joke’s on you: I have an answer!

Sword of Souls is all about not letting your past define you. Jack confronts the woman who enchanted and enslaved him as a young man; Cora learns her true heritage, and it’s not awesome; Sofi has to release her best friend’s death. Everyone’s got skeletons in their closet, and if you let them keep their bony fingers around your wrists, you’ll never be able to move forward.

As for how it differs from Cora Riley, I’m not sure it does (or should) by much. That book’s message was essentially “you’re special, you just need to find out how,” but every book in this series has an underlying theme of hope – you can overcome, you will make a difference, you are stronger than you think.

Aw, man, I made myself all mushy. Excuse me, I have something in my eye…

SOS-Cover-500

Second chance at life? Check.

a-rare magic powers? Check.

BadUltrass new job? Check.

Saved world from evil goddess? Not so check.

Cora Riley assumed when she joined the FBI’s Supernatural Cases Division that she’d be dismantling Otherworld treachery alongside Jack Alexander, the storied Agent 97 who guided her through the underworld. Instead, she’s filing reports for Sofi Strella, a smart-mouthed agent ten years her junior.

When Jack finally does make contact, it’s not for sidestepper training, a quiet drink, or even an apology; it’s to investigate a magical narcotic that’s boosting supernatural belief to dangerous levels.

The case leads to the realm of Faerie, where Jack encounters an old flame and an even older enemy, both demanding his allegiance. As he battles the entanglements of his past, Cora continues the mission, ultimately facing the eerily-familiar Queen Mab, who wields a legendary blade in the name of Eris, the mad goddess of chaos.

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