Isla’s Inheritance: an excerptPosted: October 2, 2014
Well, it’s a week to go until Isla’s Inheritance hits the virtual bookstores. I’m experiencing a curious mixture of excitement that you will all be able to read my book soon and ABSOLUTE TERROR that you will all be able to read my book soon.
I’m assured by others who’ve done this before that that’s absolutely normal. Still: gulp.
Anyway, to celebrate the final countdown (*plays air guitar*), I thought you might like to read a little excerpt. But first, please humour me while I insert the obligatory links:
- Isla’s Inheritance is now available for preorder at Amazon.
- If Amazon isn’t your thing, you can also find the book at Smashwords, where you can add it to your library and preview it.
- The book blitz celebrating the launch runs from 12 to 18 October, and if you’re a blogger you can sign up here. You’ll receive a pack with all the details you need. 🙂
And now, on with the excerpt-y thing.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” I whispered to Hamish, stroking his fur, “believing I killed my mother, or believing she abandoned me…and Dad lied about it.” Hamish didn’t answer. He was already asleep. “Well, you’re no use.”
Against all odds, the steady rhythm of Hamish’s breathing lulled me into a doze. It seemed like no time had passed when I awoke to a change in light: my father’s large frame was in the doorway, blocking the light.
“Isla? Are you awake?” His voice was tentative.
“Yes.” I sat up, rubbing my eyes. Hamish grumbled a protest.
“Can I turn the light on?”
I blinked and stared at my father. He looked dishevelled and his eyes were wide, like he’d seen a ghost. He was holding the gift bag he’d given me on my birthday. “You left this at the restaurant the other week, when you went out for dessert with that boy,” he said, his voice strained.
As confused and resentful as I was feeling right now, I still loved him, and his appearance worried me. “Dad, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. He was an even worse liar than Sarah. He came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Here.” He tried to hand me the bag. Vomit burned the back of my throat, and I flinched back.
He saw the flinch, and his face grew even more drawn. “Isla, take it.” There was an urgency in his tone that I neither understood nor liked.
“No. Dad, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”
He looked around the room. “Do you have any of my work in here?”
The question confused me. I felt my cheeks warm. “Um, I’m not sure.” The answer was no. Pretty much every piece of ironwork he’d given me was in the shed. The rest I’d given away to friends.
“Here.” He upended the gift bag. The heavy iron circlet tumbled into my lap.
My stomach twisted with nausea so severe I clenched my teeth, afraid I’d throw up. Where the iron touched my thighs through the denim of my jeans it felt ice-cold, and yet it burned at the same time. I gasped, shoving it away from me and onto the floor. It singed my hand.
“What the hell are you doing?” I jumped to my feet. Hamish leapt up too, yapping.
Dad said nothing but the look on his face was wild, despairing.
“You’re crazy,” I cried, fleeing the room.
“Isla, wait,” Dad yelled after me. But I ran, snatching my bag from the hallway before rushing out the front door. I ignored the bite of tiny rocks on the soles of my feet. I had to get away from him, from everything.