Tuesday Tales is a weekly blog featuring diverse authors who post excerpts from their WIPs based on word and picture prompts. Today’s prompt is gray and the snippet is from a work in progress temporarily called by the heroine’s name, Shale. Please visit the other fabulous authors at Tuesday Tales.
Shale glanced at her sister. “It’s the right timeframe anyway, late eighteenth century, and definitely a lady’s journal—Josette Dupuis.” She ran her forefinger over the supple leather of the old book. Her voice quietened. “I wonder how long it has been hidden away in this old desk, and who put it here.”
Ivy shrugged. “Most likely the Josette person did. Maybe she’s wrote about some escapades she didn’t want her family to know about.”
She narrowed her eyes at Ivy, wondering what escapades she and Rowenna didn’t know about their baby sister. She cocked her head to one side. “Maybe. I won’t know until I get back home and read it.”
“Don’t leave me out. I’m dying to know too.”
“Since when? You said you were skeptical of the whole ghost thing.”
Ivy’s bottom lip protruded. “I told you I’m keeping an open mind. I came here with you, didn’t I?” She climbed over a box toward Shale. “Let me see it for a minute. What was it the spook said about a ring?”
Shale winced at the irreverent tone toward the regal and sorrowful spirit. If only her sisters could catch a glimpse of what she saw, they wouldn’t scoff and roll their eyes at her intensity on the subject. “She didn’t say anything. She just—sort of—mimed that a ring was involved.” She placed the book in Ivy’s outstretched hand. “Be careful.”
Ivy opened it to the first page. “There’s a dedication. Wait, no, it looks like lines from a poem. Her soft voice became more hushed as she read aloud. “Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. Hmm,Thomas Gray. Well, what the heck does that mean? Do you know him, Shale?”
“I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know beans about his poetry. Let me see.”
Before Ivy could pass the diary back to her, Shale heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Her expression must have turned frantic, because Ivy shoved the book into the gaping top of her shoulder bag.
The tall form of Nicholai Zarek stepped over the threshold. His low, sensuous voice caressed Shale’s overly sensitive skin. “Find anything of interest?”
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Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance