Amy Green's Blog

Welcome, intrepid scavenger hunters! Glad you’ve made it this far. (I told Brock we should try to weed out the less committed ones by putting up obstacles–a game, three tricky riddles, maybe a boring YouTube video about the migratory patterns of cranes–but he didn’t think that was a good idea.)

The clue for this stop is hidden (not really) at the end of this post, so then you can go on to the next stop. If you’ve missed a stop or if you are a victorious hunter and want to enter the full phrase for your chance to win an iPad Mini and 32 books, head on over HERE.

Today, I’m excited to be hosting Christopher Miller of the Miller brothers for some questions-and-answers.

Christopher is the one with the sunglasses.

Let’s start with some fun questions.

Why not? I like fun.

If we came to your house for dinner, what would you prepare for us?

I make a mean mac and cheese. But I like to eat my mac and cheese with mustard in it. Seriously, you should try it. It gives a little kick to the Kraft cheese powder.

What is your go-to beverage of choice?

Pepsi Throwback for cold beverages, Salted Caramel Mocha for hot. I MUST have coffee in some form in the morning to survive. Anything with caffeine will keep me alive. It doesn’t have to taste good.

Pick two celebrities to be your parents.

Mary & Joseph. I mean, how awesome would it be to be Jesus’ brother? Although, now that I think about it, that might be a rough place to be. Hard to blame something on him. All he has to do is pull the “I’m the Son of God card” on you and you’re toast.

Yeah, in retrospect, that would be a bad choice. I guess I would go with Ronald Reagan and Paula Dean. Ronald because his ability to lead was pretty darn awesome, and Paula Dean because…well, who wouldn’t want to grow up on her cooking?

Jeff Bezos walks into your office and says you can have a million dollars to launch your best entrepreneurial idea. What is it?

Already working on it. BookJolt.com, it’s like Youtube for Books – a free-to-read, shareable and embeddable book reader. Ads would support paying for the books so the books are free and the author still gets paid on a per page read instead of per book sold. If you want to donate to the idea I’ll be launching a kickstarter for it soon. LOL.

What kind of animal would you be and why?

A bald eagle.

Why?

Have you seen my head?

You guys grew up in Alaska, what was that like?

Cold and dark. But seriously, Alaska was a pretty magical place to grow up. We lived in a few houses in the eleven years I was up there. One of them was on a campground called Camp Liwa which served as inspiration for a couple of scenes in our books. The thing I liked most about Alaska was the independence we had as kids to explore big spaces and have adventures. I also loved seeing the Northern Lights. If you’ve never seen them in real life, you have no idea how amazing the night can be.

Another thing Allan (my brother) and I liked about growing up in Alaska was the time we spent in our parents bookstore. I loved stocking the shelves with new product and seeing the newest books that were coming out.

Speaking of brothers, what is it like writing with your brother? I mean, don’t you guys fight a lot about your writing decisions?

I get asked this a bunch. Truth is, we’ve always worked really well together. We think a lot alike. That’s not to say we don’t have our differences, but I truly believe that we are better writing together than we are apart. Proverbs says “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” I’ve found that to be true in our relationship as well.

But you’re brothers, surely you must have disagreed about something. What was the most epic argument you had about?

I gave my brother’s chips away. I’m not sure why or how they ended up in my lunch bag but I gave them away to somebody else at school and he found out. He wanted to tackle me and ended up with a pencil jabbed into his head. I don’t think I meant it to happen, but I do remember he was pretty upset about it. He still has a grey mark in the side of his head where the pencil lead punctured his skin. The moral of the story is don’t touch my brother’s chips. LOL. I think the pencil lead gave him magical writing powers, so it’s all good.

You can watch a video interview about our creative differences here.

Maybe so. The two of you have managed to write very well together. Tell us a little about your books.

We’ve written and illustrated two picture books, four novels and have one in the works that refuses to let us finish it. :-) I’m probably most proud of the Codebearers trilogy (published by Warner Press).

The first book Hunter Brown and the Secret of the Shadow was a major accomplishment for us. It was the first novel we had ever attempted to write and was pursued for publication by two publishers even before it was finished. We were so blessed to have a great publisher like Warner Press who believed in us enough to make our books a hit in the CBA bookstore marketplace. Each Codebearer book is written in the first person by a teenage boy named Hunter Brown who discovers an ancient book that allows him to see beyond the words, into the story it tells. After reading the book, he learns there are creatures known as the Shadow who have entered his world in search of something they believe he has that belongs to them. With the help of a new friend he enters the story of the ancient book and the stakes are raised…

Rather than explain it all here, why don’t you check out this awesome teaser trailer we produced for the book series.

Tell me about a project or accomplishment that you consider to be the most significant in your career?

It has to be our third book in the Codebearers series, Hunter Brown and the Eye of Ends. It was probably one of the most difficult books I’ve ever written to date. I’m really proud of it.  Although I’ve also helped to write a storyline for a Stargate video game that just came out on the iPad which was pretty fun too.

What can you tell us about the new book you are writing?

It’s called Codebearers Continuum, and it’s the launch of a new spin off series from our Codebearers trilogy. We’re working slowly on it. We want this book to be really great, and we just haven’t had enough time to really make it the story we want it to be yet. The story takes place long after the first trilogy and currently follows an episodic interweaving storyline of several characters including a deaf boy who can hear things others can’t, a blind orphan who is more than what she seems, and a brilliant young physicist who believes he is on the verge of opening a wormhole to distant worlds.

We’ve recently posted a sneak peek at an opening chapter from the book for those fans who haven’t found it on our website yet. For those familiar with the series it will certainly be an intriguing addition to the previous stories, but it is the perfect entry point for new fans as well. Check it out here: http://www.codebearers.com/forum/topics/sneak-peek-a-special-gift-to-our-patient-fans

Where can readers get a copy of your books?

We’ve listed them all on our blog at TheMillerBrothers.com, but you can get them from Barnes and Noble, Books A Million, your local Christian bookstore and pretty much anywhere books are sold.

That’s great! Thanks for sharing, Christopher. I’ll have to check out that sneak peek myself. But first, a reward for our loyal scavenger hunters. Here’s the next part of the clue: of your.

For the next stop, you’ll be heading over to Christopher’s blog for stop 15!

But, while you’re here, I just couldn’t get enough of giving away free things. Enter this giveaway, and you could win all four books in the Amarias Adventure series. I’ll even autograph them for you. Thanks for stopping by, everyone!

Enter the Amarias Adventures Giveaway

Well. NaNoWriMo, for me at least, is over.

Actually, it was over for me on Saturday, but I didn’t write a blog post about it because I could not bear to type another word.

I was expecting an explosion of confetti from the screen. At least applause. I was disappointed. 

Why finish a week early, you ask? Well, two reasons. One, I was convinced by my twin sister (who also wheedled me into the romantic comedy, if you recall) to come home for Thanksgiving. So my window of time to write shrunk drastically. Second, fellow NaNo participant (and winner) Chandler Birch promised a candy bar to the first one to 50,000 words. Chocolate and competition proved to be extremely motivating.

The 50,000 word picture to prove to Chandler that I earned the candy.

Here was my starting synopsis: “A newcomer tries to shut down a tourist trap Wild West town, not realizing the lengths its residents will go to save it. Probably involves a guy who thinks he has Sherlock Holmes instincts, fake gold nuggets, an extremely cheesy Western hoedown musical, and jr. high dioramas where everyone makes trees out of broccoli.”

Well, as it turned out the newcomer ended up trying to save the Wild West town…by lying and planting fake “plot twists” for a documentary being made about the place. There were no Sherlock Holmes types or fake gold nuggets. There was an extremely cheesy Western hoedown musical that, I’m sure, would be quite painful in real life. And the dioramas with the broccoli trees—and all of the high school flashback scenes in general—were probably my favorite part of the story.

The slogan of NaNoWriMo used to be “Thirty days and nights of literary abandon,” until (I’m guessing) they realized that was a little pretentious. What they changed it to was the simpler, more inspirational: “The world needs your novel.”

And I’m here to say, very emphatically, that no. The world does not need my novel. The world will never need this novel, and even my immediate family members who love me and would say nice things about it will probably never see this novel.

That is a very good thing for everyone concerned, and especially for my pride. Because, by starting out with absolutely no plot outlining or character development, I ended up with 50,000 words of plot-less story and flat characters.

And yet, it was completely worth it. Why? Because I wrote stuff. Because, next time, I won’t be quite as terrible. Because I needed to fail at something, and fail miserably. Because romantic comedy is probably not my genre. Because unless I occasionally tried something where I am not guaranteed success, I will never grow.

(And also because, to accomplish that last one, I don’t want to try skydiving or brain surgery. Because the consequences of failure there are a bit more drastic.)

So, what’s next? NoNaNoWriTriMo. That is, Not-National Novel Writing Tri-Month. Meaning, my next writing goal is to complete 50,000 words by the end of February. Because, for all of the drivel I churned out this month, I realized that I was capable of putting words and sentences and paragraphs and chapters together little by little. (Except for those last two days where I wrote 10,000 word to get the chocolate. That was madness and will not be repeated.)

I will keep writing because I can. The world does not need my novel. I don’t even really need my novel (and wish it would crawl into my Recycle Bin and die there). But I do need to write.

And so I will.

I’ve decided that if NaNo had a blacklist, I’d be on it. Three times. Because, hooray, I’ve broken all three basic rules of NaNo! To give you an idea of how bad this was, here was my original outline:

First, I didn’t start from scratch on a new project. I worked sporadically on two other half-finished novels after becoming terrified because the first two chapters of the Wild West romantic comedy were the worst things I’d ever written. Here’s the one page from it, a flashback from the point of view of a freed slave who became a cowboy, that made me decide to give it a second chance.

Second, you’re supposed to just write. No revising. No editing. Get those words on the page. And I understand that…really, I do.

But, sometimes, if you’re going in the totally wrong direction, it doesn’t matter how far you’ve traveled…you’re still not going to end up in the right place. As of last weekend, I had 15,000 words, 9,000 of which I wrote in one day to beat my fellow writing majors to a checkpoint that involved candy and also bragging rights. (I did it mainly for the bragging rights. Ate oatmeal for all my meals so I could keep writing. Basically tied myself to my chair. You know. A little extreme.) Here’s the triumphant photo I posted at that point as proof of my word count.

Then, the next day, I deleted 13,000 of those words and basically started over. Because it was awful and not going anywhere at all.

And things got a little better. I’m including some high school scenes from the POV of my female protagonist to explore her judgmental tenancies a little more, which has been a lot of fun. And makes the story work better too.

Third, you’re supposed to focus on one main project. As I mentioned before, I did not do that. At all. And it cost me some time and a lot of words. But, it turns out, writing a chapter or two of those old projects gave me the confidence I needed to try something completely new…my first (and hopefully worst) romantic comedy. They were a way for me to remember, “Oh yeah, I can write some stuff that isn’t awful.” And then I could switch to writing a novel that’s mostly awful without feeling too bad about myself.

I was cheered greatly by one of NaNo’s pep talks, where Patrick Rothfuss addressed all three of those rules…and said we had permission to break them. He replaced them instead with these general commandments: You don’t have to start entirely from scratch, revise sometimes, and follow your enthusiasm.

Why, thank you, Mr. Rothfuss. I think I will.

Here’s the page where I am right now, at a tidy 19,987 words. So far, I’ve worked with a rogue chicken, mistaken identity, a wannabe bank robber, an old lady with a shotgun, and Legos splattered with spaghetti sauce. It’s been fun.

Still more to come. But I am going to beat this thing.

Also, bonus: I managed to work bacon into the story. I’m still trying to find a place for the word “flamethrower.” We’ll see how that goes.

It’s NaNoWriMo Time! After admitting on my blog that I didn’t know what I was writing, voting on the two options took place. After giving the matter deep and careful consideration, I have decided to spend the entire month of November working tirelessly on:

Untitled Western Romantic Comedy!

Here was my legitimate reasoning for this:

As you can see, even if you can’t read most of the blurry writing, my dear twin sister Erika’s vote gets a disproportionate amount of weight here. What’re you gonna do? When I said “this isn’t exactly a democracy,” what I was actually thinking was that I’d hope Erika sided with the majority so I could make everything look like a democracy.

But, also, there’s something to that challenge bit. The downside? What I write is most likely going to be perfectly awful, since it’s the first thing I’ve written in this genre. But NaNoWriMo is about learning. That is the whole point. It’s supposed to stretch you, and while many people harbor dreams that the novel they create in the caffeine-laced hours of the morning will be publishable, that’s not my goal. My goal is to try something new. And next time I will be better.

In other news, I wrote most of my blog posts for the month. And bought plastic silverware, bowls, and cups so I don’t have to do dishes this month. And also stocked up on groceries, the goal being not needing to go to the store until December. Seeing as I can’t quit my job, that seemed like the logical thing to do to free up my time.

I feel like it’s Christmas Eve! Seriously, this is exciting. Occasionally I’ll post here with updates that show me getting progressively more frustrated with myself and my story…but for now, it’s good to be writing fiction again.

As you may have noticed, it’s been pretty quiet on this blog lately. That’s because I got a new job and am moving nine hours away, trying to set up my own apartment and learn how to do taxes and sign lots of paperwork and boring stuff like that. The next few months will probably be a little crazy, so I won’t be doing much posting (or writing, for that matter). Check out the archives, and hopefully I’ll talk to you later.

(The conclusion to a series of bonus fiction. Check the blog archives to read the whole story.)

“Rae! You won’t believe what I found!”

Rae groaned. Only Owen could be that lively just after dawn, while the rest of the Guard was getting ready to leave the camp. Sure enough, the boy ran over to their area of the supply ward, almost bouncing with excitement. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

“You’re supposed to be with your squad,” Rae said, never looking up from the tent she was folding. Parvel looked amused, but it was clear from the expression on Silas’s face that he didn’t appreciate the interruption.

“My squad probably doesn’t even want me around,” Owen said, and the fact didn’t seem to bother him one bit. “Rae, you’ve got to see this. You’ve just got to.”

“The only thing she’s ‘got to’ do is pack,” Silas interrupted, putting a firm hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Now leave.”

“I give my own orders, thank you,” Rae said, glaring at Silas. She turned to Owen, her voice turning sickly sweet. “I would be delighted to follow you, Owen.” She glanced over her shoulder at Silas, who was silently fuming. “And I’ll be back whenever I choose.”

Parvel, their captain, looked like he might stop her, but then he pulled back. “Don’t be long, though, Rae,” he said, tying up one of their packs.

She didn’t quite catch what Silas muttered as she left. I probably wouldn’t want to.

Of course, Owen led her to the garden maze. “It’s always about the ghost with you, isn’t it?” Rae said.

“You’ll never believe what I found!” Owen said, so excited that he nearly tripped over an ornamental flower pot.

It must be the mask. Rae had left it, just in case Theseus came back for it. After all, it looked like it had taken several hours of work to create.

But Owen didn’t stop by the fountain. He kept going to the center of the maze, a statue of King Marias.

There, around the base of the statue, was a small heap of somewhat-familiar items. A brightly colored woven bag that Rae had seen someone at the camp wearing. A book of poetry. A few coin purses. And…

“Lyra’s bone knife,” Owen said, grinning, and holding it above his head like a trophy. “Don’t you get it? We found our thief! And it wasn’t even me!”

My dagger. Where is it? She shoved the items aside, looking for the familiar ivory handle.

Then she looked up. There, in the hand of the statue was her dagger. He was pointing it at his chest, and someone had drawn a heart on his stone breastplate in coal dust.

“Clever, Theseus,” Rae muttered, taking the dagger and wiping away the heart, before Owen could see it.

“This is going to make the best story ever!” Owen said, sweeping up the items. He struggled to hold them all in his cloak. It bulged out unnaturally. “Do you think it was your ghost? I bet it was!”

“Aren’t people going to think you stole all those things if you bring them back like that?” Rae asked, ignoring his question.

“I sure hope so,” Owen said gleefully. “I mean, we’re heading out today, so it’s not like anyone can get back at me. And some of the older ones deserve more than a little pickpocketing….” He frowned. “Unless you tell them the truth.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” Anything to avoid more questions about the ghost.

He ran off into the maze, whistling a bright, off-key tune. Rae stood there for a minute, looking at the statue. Giving the dead back their possessions, is that it, Theseus?

“Come on, Rae! If we want to leave on schedule, we have to finishing packing our supplies.”

It was Silas’s voice. Always the one with the schedule, always wanting to double-check everything. Rae rolled her eyes as he rounded the corner of the maze.

“Did you follow me?” Rae demanded. “I’m not a child who needs a nanny, Silas.”

“No, you’re a squad member who’s late,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, bending down, as if she needed to re-tie her boots. Silas sighed loudly, but left her alone.

She stood. “The first round goes to you, Theseus,” Rae said, to the statue, as if it could hear her. “But when we meet again, the next one belongs to me.” She sheathed her dagger and smiled. “See you soon.”

(The third part of a fiction series taking place before the start of Quest for the Scorpion’s Jewel. Read Part One and Two here. Watch next week for the conclusion of the story.)

This time, Rae had no one to blame but herself.

Of course she was in the garden maze again. She had to be. It wasn’t the dagger—if the talking gargoyle wanted it, he could have it. But she had to know if he was real, to prove to herself that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing, or fallen asleep and dreamed it.

And maybe she wanted to hear him sing again.

She sat leaning against the cold marble rim of a fountain near where she had heard the voice the night before. There was no sound, no wind, even, and Rae found her eyes starting to shut. No. I can’t sleep. Then I’ll never know.

So she started to sing, not a story-song, but one of the forest calls her mother had taught her, ancient, wordless tunes. According to legend, they were the songs the stars sang when the world was born.

The song came easily, note following note in a way that made her feel safe, that reminded her of home.

“That was beautiful,” a voice said quietly. His voice. It was coming from the other side of the hedge beside her.

Rae jumped a little, then tried to pretend she had just been shifting her weight.

“Please don’t get up and try to see me,” he said. “I know this maze better than me. I could get away easily.” Rae was trying to move to her feet silently anyway, when he added, “And I’d like to talk to you. If it’s all the same to you.”

Without really knowing why, she leaned back. This time, the voice didn’t sound nearly as frightening. It wasn’t changing locations, for one. And it’s not coming out of a hideous gargoyle.

“What are you doing in my gardens?” the voice asked.

“Sleepwalking,” Rae said. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she had first come on a dare to find a ghost.

“Sleepwalking? Interesting. I’m walking because I can’t sleep.” The ghost laughed. “You’re lucky I don’t mind a trespasser in my gardens. A well-placed letter to the training captain would have been all it would take.”

“Informant,” Rae accused.

“I didn’t do it, did I?”

There was an easy, lighthearted tone to his voice that made Rae want to smile in spite of herself. She scowled instead. “Who are you?”

“A garden ghost,” he said. The bushes moved, and a hand pushed something through at her feet. Rae almost grabbed the wrist, instinctively, but then she saw what the object was. A mask, made of flaky, stiff paper painted gray, horns twisting out the top, eyes narrowed in hate, and a gaping mouth.

“I wear it just in case they ever find me. Even if they aren’t scared away, they’ll think I just wander the grounds as a joke, trying to frighten Guard members.” His voice was almost sad. “I’ve never been caught before. I guess no one really cares.”

“It’s not bad,” Rae admitted, fingering the sculpting on the mask’s face. “Close up, you can see it’s a mask, but it was good enough to scare me last night.”

“That’s the idea,” the ghost said amiably. He paused. “You can call me Theseus.”

“What kind of a name is that?”

“He was a real person, a long time ago. A hero. He liked mazes.”

“Why won’t you tell me your real name? Let me see who you are? Because you don’t trust me?”

“Because I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Me neither.”

Theseus laughed a little. “You probably don’t understand exactly how much I’m not supposed to be here.”

Now there was a longer silence, and Rae was afraid Theseus had disappeared into the dark without saying goodbye. But then he said, “I’m surprised you came. With the departure for the Festival tomorrow.”

“I’m surprised I came too, to be honest.”

“Are you afraid?”

It was a simple question, a natural one to ask a departing Youth Guard member. Everyone know of their missions, the death-defying quests given to them by the king to the land’s bravest young people. “Of course not,” Rae said, and it almost wasn’t a lie. She tried to think of the mission as little as possible. “Why should I be?”

“Because they all die. Every one of them.”

Rae shuddered a little. “You say that like it’s nothing.”

“To me, it isn’t. Ghosts can’t cry. It’s not in their nature.”

“You’re not a real ghost.”

Theseus’s voice was barely audible now. “I might as well be.”

Rae didn’t respond. She just stared into the dark, wondering who among the hundred trainees would return alive.

Ninety-nine. Aleiah’s already gone. Her death had taken much of the excitement out of the training camp. It made the missions—and the possibility of death—seem real.

“This is the third group of Youth Guard members I’ve seen pass through the camp,” Theseus went on. “None of them ever come back.”

“I will. I have to.”

“In all the great classical epics, a character has a greater chance of survival if he or she is named.”

It was a hint, and not a particularly subtle one. Rae shook her head. “Sorry. Can’t help you there.”

“You pierce me to the heart! I could find out on my own, you know.”

“Then go ahead. I’ll take that risk. Any other way to increase my chances?”

“Well, it also helps if the character is in love.” His voice became thoughtful. “Either that, or they’re more likely to die a tragic death. It all depends.”

Rae gritted her teeth. “This will not be a tragedy. I will accomplish my mission.”

“It’s odd…I almost hope you do. Although a tragic death would also make a good song. But I’d rather you be alive to hear it.”

“I won’t disagree with that one.”

There was a stirring on the other side of the hedge, as if the ghost was standing again. “Goodbye, singing maiden, finder of ghosts, and seeker of mysteries. I wish you all the best in your mission. And do come find me again if you come back.”

“When I come back.”

But there was no reply. The very softest whisper of movement told Rae that Theseus had gone.

She was alone, in the garden, at night, and suddenly the darkness was filled with hundreds of ghosts, the ghosts of the dead Youth Guard members of the past, the ones who hadn’t completed their mission, but had died trying.

They swirled around in her mind, laced into their armor, weapons out, determination in their eyes. Determination giving way to…fear. Panic. Pain. And then they fell, their eyes shut forever. That could be me.

“No,” she whispered, her hands in fists. “No, it won’t. I will come back. You’ll see. I promise you’ll see.”

(Part Two of a bonus fiction story featuring Rae. You can read Part One here.)

“…and then it disappeared,” Rae finished, glaring at the small, red-haired Guard member staring at her with wide eyes. He’d better not tell me I’m crazy. I know what I saw.

“That,” Owen said, clapping, “was brilliant. Low-hanging fog. A voice that mysteriously changes places. A moving statue. And the ending had perfect dramatic timing.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” Rae said flatly, ignoring the applause. “Once I got out of the maze, I realized my dagger was gone.”

Owen’s eyes got even wider, something Rae had been sure was impossible. “The ghost has a weapon?”

“That’s not the point. The point is, I stole something from the armory, and it disappeared. And it’s your fault.”

“You’re the one that took the dare,” Owen retorted, shrugging.

Rae started to answer, then shut her mouth. He’s right about that. Sort of. “Well, anyway, you’d better not tell anyone about this.”

“Or what?”

“Do I need to list the number of ways I’ve learned to kill people over the past month?” The list would take a while. Rae was a favorite of the weapons training masters, though she had needed to work hard to prove herself in the early days of training. People might dismiss her once, but never twice.

Now Owen switched to begging. “Oh, come on, Rae! It’s the perfect dramatic story. People will know you were just making it up. I won’t even use your name.”

“I don’t know how to be dramatic,” Rae snapped. “That’s what really happened. I remember it perfectly. Especially what he said.” She squinted out at the gardens beyond the courtyard’s stone arches. “He had a beautiful voice….”

Instantly, Owen’s face was warped by a silly grin. “Rae’s in love with a ghost!”

“What? No!”

Now Owen batted his eyelashes dramatically and spoke in a high-pitched voice. “My heart flutters at the very sound of his melodious moaning.”

For some reason, even though what Owen was saying was ridiculous, Rae couldn’t help but be a little bit flustered. “I told you, he wasn’t moaning. He was singing.” She frowned. “And I don’t sound like that.”

“OWEN!” someone hollered. It was Lyra, another Youth Guard member, and one of Rae’s personal rivals, a square-shouldered girl with short blonde hair. Today she didn’t seem to be directing her well-known temper toward Rae, though. She stomped across the courtyard toward them.

Rae was almost glad for the interruption. I’ll kill you if you say anything to her, she thought, directing the message to Owen with a glare. Not that Lyra would believe it anyway. She didn’t seem like the type to put much stock in ghost stories.

As soon as Lyra reached Owen, she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him like a dog playing with a toy. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” Owen asked, the picture of innocence.

“My bone knife. It’s gone from my training locker, and you’re the one who took it.” She looked ready to slam him into the stone wall.

“Lyra, calm down,” Rae said. Not that Owen was her favorite person at the moment, but even he didn’t deserve a broken neck. “How do you know he did it? Did you see him?”

“Everyone knows he likes to start trouble. Well, this time he started it with the wrong person.” She redirected her fuming glare at Owen. “I need that knife, and I need it before we head out for the Festival tomorrow. You give it back now, and I’ll only maim you instead of killing you.”

“As much as I enjoy avoiding death, I really don’t have it Lyra,” Owen said smoothly. “Why would I risk making you angry the day before the Festival? If I was going to steal anything, I’d do it right before we left the camp tomorrow morning.”

“Besides,” Rae said, “I was with him after training yesterday until dinner.” Listening to ghost stories. She didn’t add that part. “That’s when it would be easiest to steal something from a locker. No one with half a brain is going to sneak out there after curfew and risk getting kicked out on the last day of training.”

Rae heard Owen give a strangled laugh at that one, but she just glared at him. I’m defending you. Don’t ruin it for yourself.

Rae could tell that Lyra was thinking over their arguments, because she frowned, then grunted. “Fine,” she said, releasing Owen. “But I’d better get it back.” She stormed off, probably to find more victims to interrogate.

“Well, she’s sure in a good mood,” Owen said, rubbing his shoulder where Lyra’s hand had gripped it.

“You’d better not have taken that bone knife,” Rae said.

“I was telling the truth,” Owen said. “For once. I hope she never finds the dumb thing. I think it’s creepy. Even though it’s probably not real bone. Or at least real human bone like she says….”

“I don’t have time for this,” Rae said, turning away.

Owen scrambled to catch up with her. “So, are you going back to meet your true undead love at midnight? In the gardens?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rae said, keeping an even pace. “I’m not going back. There is no way I’m going to risk losing my dream of being in the Youth Guard just to see some ghost that probably isn’t really a ghost.”

“You did once.”

“Because you dared me to!” Rae gritted her teeth. It was annoying how easily the boy could get a rise out of her. She sighed. “You know, it’s a good thing for you that the Festival is tomorrow and I won’t have to see you ever again.”

Owen laughed a little. “So, who isn’t going to survive the mission, you or me?”

It was supposed to be a joke, Rae knew. But that’s what she had meant. She wouldn’t see Owen again because he would die.

Or both of them would.

I wrote most of Quest for the Scorpion’s Jewel during Christmas break my senior year, and during the three snow days we had in January. I would wrap myself up in a blanket and type right in front of the fireplace. Sometimes while drinking hot chocolate. It was like a postcard or something.

(It’s been a while since I posted, because I was working on this! Rae won the bonus fiction poll by a landslide, so she’ll be the main character of this first short story, taking place before the start of the Amarias Adventures. Enjoy!)

There was not a ghost in the garden maze.

That was something Rae knew for sure. Ghosts didn’t exist. And, besides, even if they did, they would have the sense not to get stuck haunting a garden for the rest of their lives. Or…the rest of their non-lives.

She couldn’t imagine how dull that would be, even for a ghost. Wandering back and forth, up and down the neatly trimmed aisles, always at night. Passing the same orderly flower beds, with only stone statues for company. No one to talk to, because after curfew, no one was supposed to go outside, not even Youth Guard trainees.

“Trapped,” Owen had said in a dramatic, low tone. The younger boy’s face had been perfectly serious as he told the story. “Someone should let him out.”

“Why can’t this ghost of yours just leave by the entrance or exit like everyone else?” Rae had pointed out.

He gave her a look like she was the biggest idiot the Youth Guard training camp had ever seen. “Because there’s a magical ghost-eater guard posted there.”

“Ah. That explains it.”

It had seemed so silly then. The dare to sneak out after curfew and prove once and for all that there was no ghost in the garden.

But now….

Of course it’s still silly. It’s also just…eerie.

The garden was a very natural kind of eerie, though, almost beautiful, with the low-lying fog hovering above the ground and the wind moving the tree branches at contorted angles. Every now and then, the shadowed faces of grimacing gargoyles poked through the greenery, like monsters set free from someone’s nightmare.

Rae stopped, everything in her tensing slightly. “What was that?” she whispered.

Someone was singing. A nice, warm baritone—nothing ghostly at all. It was some District One song with a ridiculously simple melody, the kind of song that’s really just a story set to music.

“They say the master Trent Avard was sprung up from the sea. A mighty captain of the helm, a stormchaser was he.”

Rae gripped her dagger, smuggled out of the weaponry, just in case. Not a ghost. Not a ghost.

“Who’s there?” she demanded loudly.

There was a turn in the maze right in front of her, so she couldn’t see the mysterious singer. Somehow, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

“Don’t you know it’s after curfew?” she continued, when there was no answer.

The singing stopped. Then a few seconds later, the reply, cocky and half-laughing: “Don’t you?”

The voice was suddenly coming from a bush to her left, much closer. Rae stepped back, nearly falling into a fountain, bubbling merrily like it was a lovely, sunny day for a garden stroll.

She tried to think of an excuse, in case the singer was one of the training masters. Getting caught outside of the dormitories after curfew…she could get expelled from the Guard. Inside, she cursed little Owen and his foolish schemes, that mischievous, grinning freckled face that made it impossible to turn down dares.

All she could think of was, “I heard someone singing.”

“That was me,” the voice said cheerfully, as if she couldn’t have figured that out. That wasn’t the strange part. This time, the voice seemed to be much more distant, toward the entrance of the maze.

But the path can’t go that way. He couldn’t have gotten there so quickly. Not without crashing through the hedge.

The bushes near her parted, and she gave a short, sharp cry as a twisted gargoyle face popped out of the hedge, a leaf comically stuck to one of its horns.

Then the statue spoke, its stone lips somehow moving.

“I suggest,” it said, “that you leave. Now.”