Daemon is on its way

Well, here we go again. Book 2 of the Angel Blade series is getting closer and closer. Working on the edits right now. The cover is getting processed as we speak. It's an exciting time. So for any fans out there, I wanted to give you a special gift from the depths of my heart.

I know so many of you have been hanging on with white-knuckle grip to see what happens with Nikka after the events of Angel Blade. So, behold, I give you Chapter 1 of Daemon, the thrilling sequel to Angel Blade (don't say I never gave you anything).

Also, I plan on keeping you updated about release dates and stay tuned for a COVER REVEAL! That's one of the most exciting parts when anticipating these things.








SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT
(this means if you haven't finished Angel Blade, you may not want to proceed quiet yet; that means, caution, here there be monsters!)

What to expect in Daemon:

Abaddon has fallen and Nikka and Jason go into hiding as the rest of the world makes sense of the chaos that had occurred in the battle. But as Nikka struggles to face the impact of the events that took Gideon from her, she receives a disturbing vision about the end of the world.

Now, with Jason at her side, she must find another ally foretold in her vision and fight to stop the demon horde from bringing about the final Apocalypse.

Chapter 1

Jason

A

t first he only heard the sound of rocks crumbling around him, one after another. The smell of fire and char made him open his eyes, but everything was so blurry, like he was caught just under the surface of a murky pond.

He forced his hand to move, to try and clear his eyes, and that was the moment he realized that he could do it himself. For months, he had no control of his own body. But now, his arm moved at his command. The other voice was no longer present, whispering those vile and disgusting things into his brain.

He blinked his eyes, and the murk cleared just a bit, but only for a moment. Everything around him was so dark.

But then he saw an angel. At least, that's what he thought, because there was no other way to explain the woman before him. Her face was perfect. He had seen her before in a painting or a book or something. He couldn't remember where. He only knew that he longed to look at her and never turn away.

The angel's lips moved, but she made no sound. There was only the muffled noise of a voice in water. Why couldn't he hear her?

Jason blinked again, and her face grew clearer. Then the pain of a dozen bruises pulsed and ached throughout his body.

The angel still looked at him, but her eyebrows creased together in concern. Her eyes glistened with the reflection of a blazing fire somewhere around him.

And he realized she had no hair on her bare scalp. He had definitely seen her before.

She was no angel, but she might as well have been one.

"I know you," he said; the words felt like hot tar in his throat. He could hear his own voice now. "You're real."

"Yeah," she said. Her voice was no longer lost in murky water, but clear and crisp, and it was a voice he recognized. He had heard it so many times before through his hijacked ears.

No. He was sure she was no angel now. An angel never saved his life, but this woman did. He remembered the pain of it as her hand plunged into his chest, burning white light tearing into his soul. When it happened, he thought that he was going to die. But then she freed him. She took that spirit—or whatever it was—right out of him. After that, everything was just dark smoke and haze. For weeks he had prayed to the thought of her in his memory, begging her to not let him die. And she must have heard his prayer.

"I remember you," he said. He felt his lips moving and words pouring from his mouth as though he couldn't stop himself. His head cleared just enough to hear himself say, "I think I was in love with you."

Shit. Why did he just say that?

Her hand grasped his. She was small, but definitely not a waif. Her grip was strong as she helped him to his feet.

He wasn't sure that he was quite ready to stand, but he opened his eyes again. Every sound came sharp and crisp to him as his ears cleared from the dull and muffled noise that he had first heard. He now saw the source of the smoky smell, and turned to face the crumbling walls of the monastery.

He had done this. All this destruction had come through his hands.

No. Not his. Abaddon. He hadn't actually done any of this, but he distinctly remembered being there when it happened and feeling helpless to stop it.

Jason glanced back to the woman that had saved him. Nikka. Yes, that was her name. She stood strong before him, her face and arms dusted with a layer of ash and blood.

Well, that's it for now, Bladers. Keep checking back here and on the website (carriemerrill729.wix.com/author) for more details. 

And, as always
Stay Evil!

"Stay true to the story" or "Why Deadpool worked"

It has been a busy couple of months since Angel Blade was released. Very exciting stuff. A northwest book tour with a stop at Emerald City Comicon and Lilac City Comicon was totally fun and I got to meet so many wonderful people. And I just love cosplay! I can't say it enough!

Today's post is mostly based on some comments I received during some of my appearances. Upon telling people what my book is about, so many have stated, "that would be a great movie!". I agree, but then somebody said "sometimes it's better if just left as a book".

I have said it before: I am not a book purist. Even as an author, I understand that there are certain liberties and interpretations that must be made when a book is turned into a screenplay and then into a final film. And if the author is happy with the final product, then I'm okay with that.

Up to a certain point.

I bring you exhibit A. The Harry Potter books were so popular for a reason, and the movies brought out what was so special about the books. Sure, there were some changes. Remember, I said that certain liberties and interpretations must be made. You can't expect to see the same exact thing, word for word and action for action, otherwise the movie would be like 4 hours long! Nobody is willing to sit through that (unless it was a Star Wars remake by JJ Abrams; I would sit through that!). The film makers for the Harry Potter series understood the elements of the books that readers loved, and thus it was successful and memorable.

Now, exhibit B. I loved the book "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter". The movie was, to say the least . . . meh. Why? Because the film makers made a completely different story. They changed too much of it, and the final product was only a vague reflection of what the readers had enjoyed about the original material.

And finally, exhibit C. DEADPOOL. Granted, this film was based on a series of comic books, but the philosophy still holds. To understand this concept, we must go back and discuss the first Wolverine film. Now, I really liked this movie (don't hate, I know so many didn't). This is where I am not a book purist, because as a stand-alone film, I felt that it worked and told a good story. But the haters have a point: they hated it because it had completely changed the source material. This was also the first feature-length adaptation where me get to see Deadpool for the first time. As a fan of the Deadpool comics, I have to say that what they did with the character in that film was despicable. Fans of the character saw nothing of the original creation in that film.

So, enter Ryan Reynolds, an actor who truly understood the real character and its literary history. Reynolds believed in the "true to story" concept so much that he campaigned hard for a Deadpool stand-alone film. And, viola, we have the movie. To the date of this post, it has grossed over $700 million worldwide, was #1 all-time for opening weekends in February, #1 grossing for all X-men movies, blah blah more statistics. Why? Because it was true to the story of Deadpool. This was an accurate depiction of the character in every way. Reynolds understood that and had his hands deep into the production enough to keep it that way.

When will film production companies get the hint? Keep as true to the original material as possible and you won't piss off your core audience. If you want to make the box office rumble and keep doing those sequels, listen to me!!!

As always,
How about a crisp High Five!

Oh, the hauntings you will see

Welcome back to the Lair!

Another year has started, which also means more opportunities out there for some paranormal investigations.  With my book coming out, it warranted some research into belief systems of the supernatural throughout history and across the globe. So here I would like to give you some insight into the various kinds of known hauntings that investigators have witnessed as well as those documented through the ages. This if, of course, not an exhaustive list, but some of the most common. And most importantly, this isn't a list of explanations of why these things happen.  Here we go.

1) Residual Haunting: this is a fairly common type of haunting. It is best described as a manifestation of an entity going about some kind of task that gets replayed over and over again. It is often linked to a specific location where an event occurred.  The haunting might be as simple as just seeing someone walk up the stairs and then disappear.  The entity will not acknowledge the presence of any of the living around it. These are common around old buildings, and the entity may continue with the recurrent activity long after the location has been altered. One example of this is seeing a spirit walk down a hall and then turn to disappear directly into a wall. Upon investigating the history of the location, you may find that the area had been remodeled and there might have been a door there at one time.

2) Intelligent Haunting: another kind of haunting, and one that many paranormal shows try to capitalize on.  This type of haunt is characterized by very specific and intelligent interaction between an entity and the living. Spirit voices caught on tape or the feeling of being shoved when walking down an empty hallway are some examples. As an investigator, you can distinguish this from a residual by simply asking questions, but provide the spirit a way to answer.  Ask for a knock or a flash of a light on a K2 meter or your own flashlight.  Always keep a digital voice recorder ready for these interactions, because some of them won't be discovered until you research your evidence at a later date.

3) Poltergeist: literally translated as "noisy ghost", this type of haunting is characterized by frequent, and sometimes violent, displacement of objects.  There is often no physical entity seen and no intelligent interaction that occurs. This is the only haunting listed here where there has been plenty of scientific research to indicate that it may be caused by physical energy manifested by the living. It is not unusual to link this kind of activity to a home that has had some form of psychological upheaval (ie physical/sexual/mental abuse, one or more of the inhabitants entering puberty, high stress environments). There is still a lot of research that needs to be done on this kind of haunting.

4) Demonic: a haunting caused by a very specific and disembodied evil entity. I list this one last due to its rarity. I often have to add this clause when I perform investigations: just because a haunting may scare you does not make it demonic and it doesn't necessarily make it evil. Demonic hauntings are, thankfully, extremely rare despite what you may hear, but it doesn't make it any less possible either. These are caused by truly dark and evil entities that are usually called into being by one or more persons living at the property (and here is where I stand on my soapbox against the use of Ouija boards). The biggest problem with this type of haunting is that it is usually not the location, but rather the person that is haunted. It can be identified often with the feeling of extreme depression when around the entity, foul odors (like the smell of decaying meat), and the affected person will often begin to display significant physical or psychological changes. If history has taught us anything, it is to seek professional medical assistance for anyone that may demonstrate this kind of behavior before assuming it is spiritual in nature.

As with any haunted location, as an investigator, I always prepare myself ahead of time. Get a detailed description of the events that have happened, have the right equipment handy, and rely heavily on my religious beliefs to protect myself prior to entering any of these places. And that is why these things don't scare me.  I'm afraid of heights and ticks, but not ghosts.

BTW: get your copy of Angel Blade here! The fight between Heaven and Hell, and saving the world from demons.  http://christophermatthewspub.com/angel-blade/

Thanks for reading!

And, as always,
Who you gonna call?

Angel Blade: A Preview for the Fans

It's official:  the book page is up and ready!  The publisher has announced that pre-orders are now available for hardcopy and e-book, ready to be released in March. Just click the link (or copy and paste to your browser) and get ready!
http://christophermatthewspub.com/angel-blade/

And check out and like the publisher's facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/Soul-Fire-Press-205447136173714/

But some of you just can't wait long enough, so I am giving you an early present:  a preview of the story, starting with Chapter One.
Don't say I never gave you anything.

Chapter 1

S

HE WAS NO LONGER AFRAID OF DEATH.

There was a time when she wouldn't have thought that, but things had changed so much, and now, she was here.

She couldn't move; that made the pain so much worse. Only small, quick respirations would do for now since taking in a deeper breath caused a piercing pain through her ribs. Because the pain affected her ability to breathe, the nurse had affixed an oxygen mask to her face with a flimsy elastic band that wrapped around her neck. The air drifted across her nose and lips in a continuous breeze that dried every bit of moisture in her mouth.

And these were just the few minutes of consciousness she remembered today.

It was too difficult to keep her eyes open anymore; not with all the morphine running through her veins. Nikka let them drift closed, but she could still hear the low whispers in the room. It was her mother's voice speaking to another woman, probably the nurse, but it was too difficult to tell.

"The oxygen is there to keep her comfortable," the nurse spoke, barely loud enough to hear over the flow of the air. "But if she has another episode, we will have to talk seriously about your other options."

"Options?"  It was her mother's voice. "You mean a ventilator?"

"I'm afraid so."

"But Dr. Taylor said that if she was put on a ventilator, then she may never get off of it," her mother said with a slight crack in her voice.

Silence. Nikka could envision the nurse nodding her head.

"I . . . I can't do this right now. I need to speak with my husband first. He'll be back soon. He just ran home to take a shower and he said he would be right back."

"Of course. I'll call Dr. Taylor," the nurse said.

Nikka forced her eyes open when she sensed her mother approaching the bedside and settle into a chair. Mom grasped her hand; the flesh of her palm so warm against her skin. Nikka turned her head and gazed at her over the oxygen mask. There were tears sparkling in her eyes, illuminated by the gray shaft of light that shone through the window.

The daylight seemed unnecessarily harsh, and it was times like these that she missed her eyelashes. Something as simple as eyelashes could make such a difference in light like this.

Her mother placed a hand on top of her head and forced a smile. Nikka could feel her skin against her smooth, bald scalp. Normally she would have a bandana or a stocking cap on her head to help maintain her body temperature, but the nurse had removed it when placing the oxygen mask on her. It must have been interfering with the elastic band, or she had forgotten to replace it.

It wasn't long ago that she would have taken these things for granted. Even a year before, she would never have thought she would be in this situation.

She was seventeen years old when she first got the diagnosis of leukemia. Everything had been going well up until that point. Senior year had just started and she was looking forward to the prom when one day she just didn't feel well. Two weeks later, what she and her parents thought was mono became much worse. A year of doctor visits, chemotherapy and radiation therapy turned into hair loss and plenty of vomiting. After several setbacks, the doctors recommended a bone marrow transplant, but even that didn't seem to work.

And now, a year later, she withered away, a mere 82 pounds of atrophic muscle and thin skin stretched over bones, trying her best to breathe and to stay conscious, and even that was becoming quite difficult.

All those chemotherapy sessions and the nausea that ensued, her mother would often cry to her father about how difficult this was for all of them. They didn't realize it, but she could hear them through the walls of her bedroom.

"Why did this have to happen?" her mother would say to him.

It doesn't matter why, Nikka remembered thinking. It happened. That's all. You can't go back and change it.

People always seemed to wonder about the why of everything. You will never really know why something happens to you. She now realized that, in the end, it is how you deal with it. Sure, everyone will have their struggles, fighting against the inevitable. Heaven knows that she was frustrated with the vomiting, the pain, and the fatigue. But the course was set all along. She understood that now.

Her eyelids grew too heavy to keep open any longer, and she let them drift closed once again. This time she would sleep; she knew it. The combination of the painkillers and the other injectable medications into her IV line were too powerful to fight against. No matter how much she fought to stay awake, there was no winning against the pharmaceuticals.

But there was the problem of the dreams that seemed to plague her sleep now. She didn't know if it was a side effect of the medication or progression of the cancer, but the images in her mind grew more terrifying each time she slept. Sometimes she saw fire that burned the flesh off her bones. At other times she found herself in a vast, cold, empty darkness where she could sense a thousand eyes staring at her as if they were waiting in anticipation. And with each dream, she was naked— not the kind of naked where you think you forgot to wear clothes to school. No. It was the kind where you are cold and helpless and shivering. And she still had no hair; not a single strand anywhere on her body. Naked and hairless, standing in the dark while something sinister watched from the shadows.

This time she could see a chilling fog that surrounded her in a gray blanket. The moisture adhered to her skin. Something moved in the dense cloud, slithering and creeping over the uneven ground. Every time she attempted to move, the fog would thicken, wrapping around her legs and arms to hold her in place.

The thing continued to circle her, its body scraping against rocks or  twigs in the soil. A low growl rumbled through the fog. She could feel it in the center of her abdomen as it reverberated back into the haze.

A faint, orange-red glow began to show through the fog. Was the cloud thinning? She wasn't sure, but the hold it had on her seemed to slip. The glow became stronger, and she realized it was a pair of eyes gazing at her. The growl came again, and this time she could smell its rancid breath, like the decay of an animal on the roadside in the summer heat.

Then its voice rumbled toward her. "I will find you."

When she awoke, she felt her father's hands against her arms as he called her name.

"Nikka," he said, a hint of fear in his voice. "Honey, you're okay."

She had tried to scream in her dream but now she realized that she had merely grunted and thrashed around on the bed. This was enough to startle her parents and the nursing staff to try to intervene.

The nurse lifted Nikka's eyelids and shone a bright light into her pupils. Then she checked the monitor.

Nikka opened her eyes again and saw the wave of relief pass over the nurse's face.

"It . . . was . . . just a dream," she spoke, but her tongue felt so dry.

The nurse nodded. "Well, your oxygen saturation is stabilizing for now. We need to keep an eye on that blood pressure. It's still a bit low."

Why was she telling her this? There was nothing she could do about it anyway. But then Nikka realized the nurse really didn't know what else to say. Honestly, what could anybody say in that moment that would make this any better? Wow, you about died there. Good thing you didn't. Well, keep trucking on.

She caught a glimpse of her mother's face, still lit by the gray light in the window. There was deep worry etched into the lines above her eyes and around her mouth. And it was because of this look that she didn't tell her mother about the dreams.

"Hey, kiddo," her father said and planted a kiss on her forehead. He was the only one that didn't always treat her like she was about to break in two. "I picked up the next issue of X-men for you."

Graphic novels and comic books: her guilty pleasure. Even her closest friends didn't know that she was such a freak over these simple books. It was something that she had shared with her father ever since she could remember. When she was little and still couldn't read, she sat on his lap while he read through each panel of The Amazing Spiderman or The Hulk.

While her friends were all talking about which guy was cuter or where they wanted to go to college, she could only think of being a graphic novel artist. And she had been serious about it. Serious enough that she had been accepted into the Art Institute of Chicago. But then the cancer struck, and she was lying here instead of attending her first semester. Just another of so many things that she had to let go, and she always knew she would never get them back.

He withdrew the latest X-men issue from his bag and slipped off the clear sleeve. With his chair sidled up next to her bed, he opened the book and started to read. She could barely see the panels, but it didn't matter. Just hearing him speak in Dr. Xavier's voice was enough.

Wolverine had just come across the source of a powerful evil when another voice echoed from the doorway of her ICU room. Her father stopped reading, and she could hear him rise from his chair.

"Mr. Connors," the voice said. It was Dr. Taylor. He shook her dad's hand and turned to her mother. 

"Mrs. Connors. How are we doing today?"

We? He had nothing to do with them in that sense. The doctor was not involved in the we of this situation.

"Things are about the same," her mother spoke in almost a whisper.

"Blood pressure has been unstable," the nurse said, "but O2 sats in the 80's as long as we keep the face mask on her."

There was a moment of silence between the four of them as the doctor reviewed the graph of her vital signs. Nikka forced her eyes open again to see him escorting her parents out of the room and to the hallway, where she could still see them through the window. Great. More adult talk that we can't let the child hear. But they didn't know that she could hear some of the conversation from where they stood in the hall.

"Well, I think it is time to discuss some difficult options," Dr. Taylor started. "Her blood work is—well, frankly, it's not good. Her numbers keep decreasing. Her body is just shutting down."

Her mother took in a small breath. "But what about another round of chemo . . ."

"That would only suppress her numbers further. It could kill her outright."

Her shoulders slumped. "What else can we do?"

There was a pause that seemed to last longer than it should have. "Well, it's time to start thinking of comfort measures."

"Comfort measures?" her father's voice echoed into the room.

Ah, there it was. That phrase. Comfort measures. The two words that are at the end of every brochure and book you read about having cancer. The thing you talk about when there is nothing left to talk about. She figured it was coming, especially the way the nurse had been behaving over the last several days, always looking away when Nikka tried to speak to her.

"Yes. You need to decide soon how aggressive you would like to be with her care from this point on. If we place her on a ventilator again, she may never come off of it. We can supply her with morphine for the pain, but she's not able to eat much anymore. There is always the possibility of a feeding tube, but . . ."

"But, you're saying that we need to think about how long we want to prolong her suffering," her father whispered, but she could hear every word.

Dr. Taylor slowly nodded his head. "Morphine and oxygen can keep her comfortable throughout this stage. Have you looked into hospice care?"

"A little." Her mother's voice cracked.

"I can have someone come and discuss hospice with you in the morning. At least that way she can be in the comfort of her own home."

Her father nodded. "Thank you."

Dr. Taylor forced a smile and placed a hand on her mother's shoulder just before he walked away to the nursing station. Her parents didn't return immediately, though. Under heavy eyelids, she could see them in a quiet embrace in the hallway.

She wanted so much to say something to them right now, but there was nothing she could say that would make this any better. But the thought of it continued to rattle through her drug-addled brain: It's okay. I'm not afraid to die anymore.

Alright, Bladers!  There you go!  Just a taste of what's to come.  

And, as always,

I wan't one million dollars!

Dr. Evil

(aka Carrie Merrill)

Angel Blade is getting closer

A world haunted by demons, possessing the living.  One woman has the chance to stop them.

Angel Blade is the story of Nikka, a young woman dying of cancer in the hospital until a stranger offers her a cure in exchange for becoming a demon hunter.

What would you do if you were offered the chance to live, but everything in your world would change forever? No family. No friends. Only the one imperative:  stop the demon horde that has come to earth.

The debut novel in a series, Angel Blade is a story that came to be while I was recovering from extensive foot surgery that left me unable to walk for the better part of 18 months, and yes there were probably some pain killers involved in the initial stages of everything.  With a lot of down-time, my mind began to spark with imagination and poof:  Angel Blade was born.  It is inspired by my love for graphic novels, especially the Hellblazer series (which became Constantine when it changed publishing houses) and the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series by Joss Whedon.

But, most importantly, the initial idea first ignited when I was sitting in a movie theater shortly after my first foot surgery, waiting for the movie to start.  It was during the holiday season and we always see the initial commercials start before the movie trailers even begin.  Of course, the St. Jude's Children's Hospital ad began to play.  These are always such beautiful commercials, showing us the brave children that fight cancer every day.  And then the first idea came to me: I wanted a heroine who fought that same battle.  She would know what it felt like to fight and to live at the brink of death, long before anything supernatural came charging toward her.

And that was the beginning of a great story.  Through revisions and editing (and much thanks to my Beta readers who have helped in that endeavor), Angel Blade is coming and you will soon learn about the seraph, and the differences between drones, lieutenants and generals among the legions of demons.  I 've seen the initial format and layouts and I am so excited.  I can't wait until it is ready to unveil. It will be available in ebook and hardcopy formats, through everything from Kindle to Amazon to Barnes and Noble.  The cover art is currently in production and when it's ready, I will debut it here.

Shortly, I will be giving everyone a sneak peak of the first chapter, so stay tuned!

And as always,
I want one million dollars!
Dr. Evil (aka Carrie Merrill, author)