Good news! Clare Revell has written another book, entitled “Convergence”. Check it out!
Even as a teenager Yvetta Graham had vivid dreams. Ones she couldn’t tell from reality. Only now she’s almost thirty and beyond such things.
Only the new store manager is a dead ringer for the man from those dreams. Who is John Smyth? What is his reason for coming to Headley Cross? Is he really a time traveller?
As dreams and reality converge Yvetta is in a fight for both her sanity and soul.
Someone was following her. The steps were light, but audible on the large grey flagstones that lined the floor of the castle. It couldn’t be Blaize. He’d had to go out, fulfil his duty as sheriff and deal with something in the village.
Yvetta didn’t mind being alone. After all, as Blaize kept pointing out, with the amount of servants he had, she’d never be truly alone. What she objected to was being followed. She spun around, determined to have a go at whoever it was, but there was no one there. Shaking her head, she turned back to face the other way and crashed straight into a tall, black figure standing there.
‚I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,‛ she began.
The figure turned. The faceless, nameless one moved towards her. ‚Etta.‛
Terror filled her. She backed away. Her feet tangled in her floor length skirt, and she reached out, struggling to regain her balance.
Her outstretched palm caught the flame of the torch on the wall.
Pain seared as she fell.
Her arms flailed, legs kicked as she tumbled endlessly down, down, down.
Yvetta glanced at the clock as she stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. Three AM; or stupid o’clock as she preferred to call it. She couldn’t think, the music running through her mind made thought impossible. Her hands shook as she tossed a teabag into her favourite mug. Her hand hurt. She glanced down and ran her fingers over the vivid red mark across the palm. She winced. If she didn’t know better she’d say she’d burnt it while she slept, but she wouldn’t tell anyone it was happening again.
It was far safer not to.
The nightmare still floated on the corners of Yvetta’s mind. She hadn’t thought about him for years, never mind dreamed about him anymore—until tonight. But nothing had changed—not even the dream injuries transferring to reality. Music, dancing, the castle, and him.
Blaize—her Dancing Boy had grown to be a man. He was tall; easily over six feet now, but he’d towered over her even in her teens. He was a few years older than her, no more than five, but that hadn’t mattered. His piercing gaze had shot straight through her, almost as if he could see her innermost thoughts, which on reflection, maybe he did because he always knew what she was thinking; and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, either.
Sometimes he wore his long, blond hair spiked up, sometimes it flowed loosely across his shoulders, but tonight it had been tied back with a simple, black velvet ribbon.
He was slimly built, but with an athletic body encased in fawn, old fashioned breeches, dark brown knee length boots, and a navy blue frock coat, with gold buttons. He cut a dashing figure. His white shirt had a bunch of lace at his chin—like the highwaymen had in story books, but Blaize wasn’t a scoundrel or cad—he was one of the nicest people she knew. He was always accompanied by a monkey, a tiny, ugly thing with a penchant for wearing clothes.
How long had it been since he’d crossed her mind? Blaize that was, not the monkey. She’d been seventeen, so almost half a lifetime, since she’d last seen him. Why now?
Where to find your copy of Convergence:
CLARE REVELL is a British author. She lives in a small town just outside Reading, England with her husband, whom she married in 1992, their three children, and unfriendly mini-panther, aka Tilly the black cat. Clare is half English and half Welsh, which makes watching rugby interesting at times as it doesn’t matter who wins.
You can connect with Clare various ways: