Please welcome today Teal Ceagh also known as Tracy Cooper-Posey. Her new book, Carson's night, was released this month and she is here to talk about why she chose Gargoyles to play an important rule in this book. She also has a little surprise for you at the end so stay tuned. Give Tracy a warm welcome
Gargoyles as heroes? Werewolves are bad enough.
I tried very hard to give the furry ones a fair go. I invited a lot of lycanthrope-inclined authors to guest with me and try to explain why fuzz was better than fangs. Tielle St. Claire and Katie Allen stepped up to the challenge, but I confess I’ve never seen the appeal.
Lately there’s been murmurings that vampires must just finally wither and die in the popularity stakes. My agent nearly fell off her chair when an editor said she wasn’t taking any more urban fantasy on board for just now, recently. That’s almost scandalous. Is this a hint that the time of vampires is coming to an end?
The more interesting question is, if it is, what would we vampire authors all write about, if they were to die out at last?
I put this question to my husband when we were idly sitting about musing over the fanged creatures who have supplied so much material for my books in the last couple of years. As Carson’s Night is about 1) vampires, 2) demon hunters and 3) gargoyles, and the gargoyles were his idea in the first place, he suggested, with his chest puffing up, that I use gargoyles as my next fantasy heroes.
Ugh. Eeewwww. I mean, gruesome.
He just blinked at me while I dry heaved. He didn’t get it at all. He pointed out that there was a really, really good series that had been done in the early eighties where the gargoyles had been the good guys. True, it had been animated, but I was writing novels, so that wasn’t a problem. The series had had character stars like Jonathan Frakes and Marina Sirtis from Star Trek: The Next Generation supplying the voices, even.
And while I stared at him, he rattled on enthusiastically about how these really cool gargoyles had gone around save the world as we know it, and how I should write these books using gargoyles as good guys and heroes…
Have you ever really looked at gargoyles? There’s no way you can pretty them up to even look pettable, let alone sexy. I write erotic romance. I’m good, but I’m not that good. There’s no way I could pull off a story about a human and a gargoyle that would even begin to sound convincing.
There’s a reason I haven’t tackled a werewolf story yet…I don’t think I could write one that would ring true. The thing about erotic romance is, if the author isn’t one hundred percent authentic it shows immediately. In normal romances, you get away with a certain amount of tongue-in-cheek because you’re not that intimate with the reader. But in erotic romance, you’re right up there, with no clothes to hide behind, so you’d better be open, honest and unquestionably the real deal, or you’ll hit the wall inside three paragraphs.
So while I’m sure there’s a really, really smart and creative author out there who will figure out one day how gargoyles can be used as the next generation’s romantic hero, I don’t think it’s going to be me.
But I do wonder what we’re all going to write about when vampires are finally persona non grata. What do you think will be the next big thing in fantasy?
It’s August 1977 in New York City and the weird sculptor Moss Alex Meinhardt lies dead at the foot of an ugly gargoyle he’s half-completed. Natalia Grey’s demon hunter father is also dead, and his new partner, the astonishingly sexy Carson Connors, can’t remember how it happened.
Carson isn’t sure what role he has played in Natalia’s father’s death, but after one look at Natalia, he does know that guilty or not, he’s doomed.
Natalia must take up her father’s sword and her heritage as a demon hunter and figure out what happened this night, for the gargoyles Meinhardt carved have life they should not have without the help of dark forces she and Carson must defeat—once the gargoyles have risen, of course. But the night is hours away yet…
Carson Connors heard the murmur and flicker of light that meant the return of the vampires and stretched his shoulders and neck. They ached from being held in the same position for so long, forced that way by his wrists, which were bound by rope that was secured to a wall strut. The rope wasn’t cruelly tight, but firm enough to keep him contained at this end of the warehouse. He didn’t blame Sherwood for such a precaution. If it had been him, Carson would have done the same because under these circumstances he was a risk. Perhaps now they could sort this out. He glanced over to approximately where Peter Grey lay, a black shadow in the dark and unformed guilt touched him again.
What had happened here tonight?
No matter how he probed or tried to recall the events of the night, nothing came. No memories formed. There was simply nothing there, no associations to provoke the next event in the chain. He’d broken sweat trying to bring forth the memories and…nothing.
That produced sweat of its own.
He watched the light draw closer. So who was it the two vampires had rushed out to bring in as a consultant on this? Some heavyweight hunter? Peter James Grey had been one of the best and Carson himself was no slouch—he’d been building his reputation in the field, anyway—and couldn’t think who Nicholas Sherwood would be able to scare up in the greater New York area in late August at a moment’s notice that would be able to help the great Nick Sherwood figure this out.
The two reached him and Carson could feel his heart seize and his cock stir. Sweet Jesus, his mind murmured as he stared at her. She was quite simply beautiful, with perfect symmetry. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes a stunning sea green with dark lashes and strong dark brows, and pillow-soft lips the color of apricots. Her skin was flawless. He had the insane urge to taste it, to slide his tongue along those cheekbones and nibble the corner of her jawline and that slender neck rising out of the Dark Side of the Moon tee shirt. Full breasts lifted the tee shirt and the belt pulled the jeans in around a waist that looked like he could put his hands around it. Indecently long legs hid beneath flared jeans. He’d have those off her. Very soon.
Then he realized with an almost painful start of awareness exactly where his thoughts and gaze were. He dragged, pummeled, tore his gaze back up to her face. Licked his lips.
She was staring at him. Her lips were parted softly and she was breathing quickly. Knowledge…awareness…it was there in her face. She saw exactly what he was thinking. It was as clear as if she had spoken. And she was not offended. She wanted it.
His excitement spiked again. He clenched his fists, feeling the rope chafe and his cock and balls throb painfully. He was suddenly hot, way too hot. He’d do anything to be able to take off his coat, the coat of his trade.
He made himself look at Nicholas Sherwood. “I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t cause Peter Grey’s death.”
She flinched and suddenly he realized who she was. Grey’s daughter. The genetic traits were there, once you looked past her beauty. Grey’s strength was there in her stubborn jawline, her clear-sighted way of looking. And her green eyes. This was why Sherwood had brought her in. The inherited business. He looked at her. “You must believe me,” he told her.
“We’ll find out,” she assured him.
He was impressed. It would have been easy enough for her to simply believe him, to trust her instinctive reaction to him, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do that. She would trust only evidence because she knew she was vulnerable right now.
She hefted the sword on her shoulder and let the point drop to the concrete to rest. “Do you know who Moss Alex Meinhardt is?” she asked.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “He’s that weird sculptor nut who carves giant gargoyles.” “Gargoyles,” Nicholas breathed. He looked up at the roof. “And it’s dawn.” He put the lantern down abruptly and reached into his coat. “And the demon brings them to life.”
“What demon?” Carson asked.
There was a low, reverberating swoosh overhead. Then another.
He pulled out a knife and sawed through Carson’s bonds, freeing his hands. “No time.”
“I’ll get Damian,” the girl said.
“No, I’ll get him. I have no need of light. You take Connors and the lamp. Get your father’s body. Take all of them back to my apartment. It’s warded against the demon.” And abruptly Sherwood was gone, leaving the girl and her long sword apparently in charge.
There was another low swoosh overhead, then a more alarming sound, the crash and tinkle of glass and wood breaking as a roof caved in.
“Come with me,” the girl said. She picked up the lantern and began to run.
Carson threw off the last of the rope and followed and despite the knowledge that there were giant gargoyles pouring into the building, that his partner lay dead and he didn’t know why or how, that a demon was on the loose and bent on mischief and that two vampires were seriously pissed at him for all of the above, he only seemed to be able to focus on the sweet sway of her ass as she ran and how much he want to cup his hands around each cheek.
He knew that no matter how tonight’s events played out, he was doomed anyway.