A Sample From 'The Daughter of Simon Foster'

I promised I'd put up a sample from the book I'm currently working on--The Daughter of Simon Foster is an Urban Epic Fantasy--which is to say a fantasy set today. Hope you enjoy--all comments are welcome, bad or good.

 “Listen to me,” Simon said quietly, but a quiet tone was all he needed to gain their undivided attention. “You know where we are about to go, and who waits within, so I will not repeat it. What I will say is this; the issues in play here are of vital importance to the security of the country. A misstep once you are inside could prove disastrous. Hold yourselves appropriately.” He nodded to reinforce his words, and saw them nod in return. Good. “One further thing, there may come a day when we must fight these people, but that day is not today. Any actions that escalate this situation will be severely punished. Is that understood?”

They all nodded once more. It was enough, so he let the matter drop and turned back to Alec. The man gave a tight nod.

“That’s it then. Let’s move.”

As Simon led the way toward the main entrance of the Hall he was once again struck by its impotence. He let none of his disdain show, however. It would doubtlessly alarm the door wardens. They stood low in the Hourglass, and from experience he knew that they were not trained in dealing with the likes of him. Rather than push them beyond what they were capable of and risk a pointless confrontation, he merely strode calmly and firmly past them, ignoring their startled calls.

He and his entourage crossed the Hall directly, and the buzz of conversation died as people recognised them. Simon chose his direction firmly; a direction he knew would take him to the Council chambers, but before they were halfway across the large room three people appeared in the archway he intended to enter. He did not attempt to brush past these Children—such as these would not be lightly shrugged aside, and he did not want to push the Hourglass too far before he knew precisely what was going on.

The bystanders were beginning to make quiet exists, though some fools paused to gawk before their friends pulled them away. Simon suppressed a sigh as he heard his name whispered. He had no desire for the fame that had come to him following the capture of Ryan Dupree. He had only ever sought to serve public interest.

That reminded him that Jaq had helped him track Dupree following the Riechler boy’s murder. He had been so proud of her in those days—prouder than she knew. That was if she even knew he had been proud at all. He dismissed that thought as he came to a stop in front of the three Children. He didn’t recognize two of them—wardens both, and well into their middle years with the cold look of professional soldiers about them—but the one in the lead was familiar to him, “Adjutant Wallace.”

“Director Foster.”

“I have come for my daughter. I believe she is here.”

A world of disapproval masked her face, but she only nodded, a quick dash of her head. “The First Seat wishes to speak to you about that.”

He blinked in surprise, and only years of hard earned self-control kept him from gaping openly. “Isaac Joyce is here?”

“He is.” A small smile lit her lips. “And he is not impressed.”

Well that comment seals it, he thought sourly. Not that Isaac’s disapproval concerned him, but for the First Seat to come personally it could only mean that the Hourglass had learnt of coldfire.

There had been something peculiar about the way Isaac Joyce had come to hold the First Seat, he recalled, and something strange about the disappearance of the old First Seat, though the specifics escaped him. Other than that, all he knew of Isaac Joyce was that the man was accounted unpredictable by the Hourglass itself, and that he was said to be young.

Wallace was waiting in silence, though there was something of pleasure about her—pleasure that he had been disturbed by Joyce’s presence? The thought annoyed him, and he did not keep the chill from his voice when he instructed her to guide him. The sour frown returned to her face, but she said nothing as she turned and stomped back the way she had come. She also had reason not to push too far.

They walked in silence through the glittering hallways, and he scarcely noticed their overwrought beauty. They encountered none of the Hourglass on their way, though several times the Field disruptor that sat in the small of his back vibrated softly as it interacted with patterns in the Field. That gave him grim pleasure, knowing what pain it would cause the Children who were maintaining those patterns.

Finally they approached a set of closed wooden doors that opened by themselves. When he and his agents came close enough a ripple passed through the air revealing the faint and blurry images of two Children standing beside either door. Shadeguards, he knew—reserved for guarding the First Seat and other key members of the Council.

Inside, eight individuals sat to one side of an oval table facing him. He recognized all but one of them, a tall woman who sat to the left of someone seated—slumped—in the chair further from him. Ignoring the woman he carefully assessed the slumped figure. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she looked ill—likely a result of the powerful Field disruptors he and his team wore. There was also a scent of disinfectant in the air that suggested she had vomited.

Ill or not, his daughter saw him and straightened herself. Cold blue eyes seared as they sought his, and he could not suppress a shiver. He had never seen such passion in his daughter—she was not, by nature, a forceful person—yet that icily furious gaze pinned him. He realised then that he had miscalculated greatly. The Hourglass had not kidnapped his daughter, had not learnt of coldfire… his daughter had fled on her own.

Perhaps she just sought healing… perhaps she knew nothing of what he had done. Those cold, cold eyes disabused him of that thought. She knew, and he would pay for it. Dear Lord in heaven, if she was here then she must know the worst of it. But did she understand? Did she know why he had done it? Why he had been forced to it?

“Jaq?” he kept his voice gentle, warm. He realised with shock that his voice was not used to that tone with her, “Jaq, why have you come here?”

Slowly, carefully, she pulled herself to her feet, bracing herself on the table, and swaying as if she might fall. Then, just as carefully, she began to make her way around the table to him. The tall woman moved a step behind her, a hand extended as if to help her, yet Jacqueline’s slow process had a degree of pride about it that forbade any assistance.

Jaq tottered towards him, and he stepped forward. She flung up a hand in an unmistakable command that he stop. She stood for a moment, swaying, looking down, then she stilled and her eyes rose to meet his. Though her face was pallid, it might as well have been carved from ice for all it showed. He felt a thrill of fear run down his back—who was this girl? This daughter of his?

“Jaq?”

She spat full in his face.