Our new HERE BE MAGIC boxed set was released this week! Only 99 cents for eight special tales of magic. Here's an excerpt from New York Times and USA Today Best Seller Rebecca York's new novella Terror Mansion.
The story: His
psychic abilities can save her life--if she will only trust him.
This
wasn’t Wyatt Granger’s routine nightmare. Usually he had a clear vision of some
unfortunate future event that he might or might not be able to alter.
Instead
he saw a confusing swirl of murky images with shadowy figures appearing and
disappearing, mostly at an old building near the dock in a seaside town. More
confounding were the scenes in what looked like a house of horrors, filled with
distorted mirrors, a laughing but menacing clown and places where the floor
dropped out from under your feet, sending you to the depths of hell.
But
always at the center of the whirlwind was a beautiful young woman with terror
in her wide-set blue eyes and her blond hair in a tangle around her
heart-shaped face.
When
his own eyes blinked open, he lay with his heart pounding, fighting his way
back to reality. But the here and now kept slithering away. What he saw instead
was the woman’s face floating in his mind, the most indelible image from the
nightmare.
“Who
are you?” he whispered as he sat up and thrust aside the tangled bedsheets.
Although
she wasn’t there to respond, he had no doubt that he was going to meet her
soon, and the encounter was going to change his life.
A
dramatic way to put it? Maybe, but he knew to the marrow of his bones that the
dream had been about his own future—even when his prescient nightmares had
never been personal before.
“Crap,”
he whispered under his breath. He stood up, pressed his feet against the cold
floor and walked naked to the window of his condo, where he stood clenching and
unclenching his fists as he looked toward the glimmer of dawn on the horizon.
He
ached to shake off the vivid confusion of the dream.
But
instead of the bare tree trunks outside, he saw the woman’s face, pale and
intense and beautiful.
“Who
are you?” he asked again, but he heard only the throbbing of the blood in his
veins.
He
might not know her name, but he had
to find her. He could have fought the feeling of urgency that threatened to
choke off his breath, but the truth of the dream was burned into his soul, even
when he had no way to cope with it on a logical level. All he knew was that he
had to go to her. And then he had to take her in his arms and protect her—even
when he knew she was going to mount a savage denial that she needed his aid.
Urgency
and frustration had him stomping down the hall. In the bathroom, he took a
quick shower. In too much of a hurry to shave, he pulled on jeans, a tee shirt
and a leather jacket. Logically there was no way to even know where he was
going. But he felt a compulsion to drive east, as though a psychic beacon was
pulling him in the right direction, heading toward the waterfront that had
flickered in and out of the nightmare.
His
destination solidified in his mind when he’d crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge
to the Eastern Shore of Maryland. There were lots of waterfront towns in this
part of the state, but he took the turn to St. Stephens, which had been a
thriving port in colonial times. Now pleasure craft bobbed gently in the small
harbor, and Main Street was lined with tourist shops and restaurants.
A
welter of emotions grabbed him by the throat as he parked in a lot in the heart
of the downtown area and strode toward the dock. Yet some part of him still
feared the dream had all been a lie.
Relief
jolted through him when he saw the shambling gray building from the nightmare.
The feeling was nothing compared to what he felt when his gaze fell on the
woman standing outside the barn-like door.
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