Blood Stitches
By Erin Fanning
Available May 12, 2015 from Kensington Publishing/Lyrical
Press
Love and danger intertwine…
It’s called El Toque de la Luna—The Touch of the Moon. At
least that’s how nineteen-year-old Gabby’s older sister, Esperanza, refers to
the magical powers she inherited from their Mayan ancestors. Esperanza says
women with El Toque weave magic into their knitting, creating tapestries
capable of saving—or devastating—the world. Gabby thinks Esperanza is more like
touched in the head—until a man dressed like a candy corn arrives at their
Seattle home on Halloween. But “Mr. C” is far from sweet…
Soon, Gabby and her almost-more-than-friend, Frank, find
themselves spirited away to a demon ball, complete with shape shifters—and on a
mission to destroy Esperanza’s tapestries before they cause an apocalyptic
disaster… And before it’s too late to confess their true feelings for each
other.
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About the Author
Erin Fanning spends
her summers on a northern Michigan lake, where her imagination explores the
water and dense forest for undiscovered creatures. In the winter, she migrates
to central Idaho, exchanging mountain bikes and kayaks for skis and snowshoes.
She’s the author of a mountain biking
guidebook, as well as numerous articles, essays, and short
stories.
Find Erin online
Website: www.erinfanning.com
Twitter: @WriterErin
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In this scene, Gabby and Frank’s
relationship tentatively begins moving beyond best friends… until they are
interrupted by Gabby’s older sister Esperanza:
The fire
crackled, and Frank joined me at the window. Lamplight
pooled around my socks, and rain rat-a-tatted on the roof.
“Rain, rain, go
away. Come again, another day,” Frank said.
“You go from
Lester Ruben to Mother Goose. I guess Shakespeare’s a stretch.”
“Oh yeah? ‘Being
your slave, what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire?’”
“English 101,
right? One of the sonnets?”
“Sonnet 57, to
be precise.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Never
underestimate me.” His hand brushed mine, and a charge ran up my arm. “You
know, you don’t need to be jealous of Esperanza. You’re as pretty as she is.”
He stammered over the last few words.
My cheeks grew
hot. No guy had ever called me pretty.
Frank put his
arm around my waist.
Surprising
myself, I leaned against him. Frank understood my complicated feelings for
Esperanza and Abuela, how they shut me out and acted like nothing mattered
except knitting. Our friendship went back forever. Words were unnecessary.
“What are you
two doing over there?” Esperanza said from behind us.
Frank and I
disentangled and whirled.
Esperanza,
balancing a tray holding three steaming mugs, winked at me. She placed the
drinks on the coffee table and handed Frank a mug. Eyes downcast, he sipped the
drink, fire flickering behind him.
