I’m reading this fabulous book called Ascension Magick. Don’t laugh.  It’s what you think and it isn’t.  I’d highly recommend the book, especially to someone who just wants to know what the hell all the “new agers” are talking about.  I’ve mentioned the term Ascension on here a few times in conjunct with 2012, and what I believe to be a fabulous shift in consciousness taking hold of the planet right now.  Author Christopher Penczak has done a beautiful job defining it, which I will share with you below:

“Ascension is a magickal paradigm for enlightenment that draws on the world’s ancient wisdom.  Through your thoughts, words, and deeds, you create your reality and determine the world in which you live.  Magick is the process of continually recreating your reality to manifest your true divine will.”

Sounds simple doesn’t? Maybe a little hooky you say. However, there is nothing new about the new age, or about Ascension.  To steal another well defined term from Penczak, “the new age is really about the old age, taking ancient spiritual principles and making them accessible to the modern world. It is a return to our forgotten roots.”

What I really enjoyed in the first part of the book was the cliff notes on ancient cultures and just how far back the belief in what is becoming mainstream now goes.  Most things start in Egypt and Sumer and a lot of the magickal traditions are no exception.  But they don’t stop there, they pan the entire ancient world from Greece, to Rome, to Persia.  We find hints of it in Judaism, lots of it when you really understand the story of Jesus of Nazareth.  From Hinduism right on over to Alchemy, not the quest for the philosophers stone, but much earlier when the change of inner consciousness was explored in the laboratory. Alchemists were capable of those magickal feats in the laboratory because of their spiritual qualities, not the formula.  We find evidence of this today in Quantum Physics which is teaching us that the observer can and does affect the outcome of the experiment.

This post isn’t just about merging our past with our future.  It’s about merging.  Our science and our spirituality is slowly become inexorably linked.  We are evolving our thinking. We are moving away from the neat laws of Newtonian Physics, the crappy kill or be killed theories of natural selection, and into a different paradigm that is absolutely amazing and mind bending in its implications.

I did a whole radio show on how science and mysticism are merging and I’m going to briefly share some of that information with you here.  We acensionist, spiritualists, whatever you want to call us spend a lot of time talking about thought and intention. But what the hell are either really? Lynn McTaggart is delving into that topic and what she is finding about the power of both is amazing.

All living things, all of them not just you and me but everything that is alive, is leaking information out all the time and getting information back in.  You’re under the impression that your thoughts are contained in your head, going nowhere.  That is not the case.  You head is a leaky bucket and nothing is private. This leaking of thoughts can be measured, they are small currents of light and information that science has a name for called Bio Photon Emissions.

Fascinating no? I’d invite you all to head on over to her site and actually participate in a few of her Intention Experiments.  Now that we know thoughts are leaking out in the world, what can do with them when we concentrate them on a specific thing?  Through a group  of people just like me and you focusing their intention McTaggart has changed the mineral quality of tap water, made food grow faster, healed a Vietnam vet of his pain, and evidence is indicating lowered the crime rate in Sri Lanka.

So many times we hear these things and we go “wow that’s interesting” and keep going, never stopping to pause and think about how what we just heard can affect our very being.  We’ve got to remember. NOW is the time to remember.  The little changes we make within ourselves have a global impact.  I cannot hammer this point in enough.  GLOBAL IMPACT. YOU DO.  Yes, you.

If focused intention can change the mineral quality of water, we can heal polluted oceans. WITH OUR MINDS.  Opening my heart to love and focusing it on one place can STOP VIOLENCE.  HEAL PEOPLE.  The smallest change within has such a huge ripple to our world. It is through remembering these sciences, discovering  this “magic” all over again, that we can, and we will usher in what the hippies have been waiting for, The Age of Aquarius.

Let’s talk about mother earth. No I’m not talking about going green.  I’m talking about retuning ourselves so we hear her again. You heard me, right.  So many of us believe that one day mother nature is going to get tired of us and flick us off of her like a booger.  That these erratic weathers are some sort of punishment.  Well guess what, you live on a planet and sometimes it has hiccups.  As we evolve and adjust our energy so does she, and when she does this, she lets us know.  I’m not talking about the weather channel, I’m talking studies being done by The Global Coherence Initiative that are finding we and earths electromagnetic field are linked up. Our brainwaves can synchronize with the rhythm of these waves, so when people say they “feel” an impending earthquake or other weather patterns change, they are reacting to the actual signals sent out by mother nature herself.

If we went back to being that in tune with the very planet we call home, who needs the weather man? How many lives in Haiti could have been spared? Again, the smallest changes within us have a HUGE GLOBAL IMPACT.

So what, no really, what are you waiting for? The time is now. Heaven on earth won’t create itself.  We’ve got to do it. What else do you think you’re here for?

Namaste

DCS

Earth Day – June 12^th, 2012 – Time does not exist here

Babalon

Galactic Federation Headquarters

 Unless this Council has forgotten, I am not obligated to follow any of your suggestions.”  Enlil, Commander of the war like race called the Anunnaki, allowed his reptilian eyes to travel over every form within the chamber.  His nine foot tall body was draped in a simmering red material that covered his tough, dark green scaly skin. A pair of short, black wings were tucked in against his back, and his head was reptile shaped with a serpent like tongue and razor sharp teeth.

Beyond the Milky Way Galaxy sat Babalon, a great oval ship whose flawless metallic surface gleamed against the backdrop of space.  Twelve races had agreed to come together to discuss matters of importance.  Many other races existed in the Cosmos, and often visited Babalon but choose not to take part in any formal proceedings.  The twelve races had decided to call it themselves the Galactic Federation.  Lately, the Federation’s topics revolved primarily around the planet Earth.  The twelve representatives from each race sat in a circular chamber, the ceiling exposing the beauty of space.  In the center of the room was a wide black pedestal made from the rock of Jupiter’s moon Callisto.  On top of the pedestal sat a small pyramid carved out of alexandrite, with a glowing cerulean rock forming its capstone.  Twelve, high backed quartz crystal chairs circled the pedestal.

            “Enlil, you fight against forces you cannot stop,” Thoth warned.  On his home planet Sirus, Thoth was called a Dominous Gnosis, a master of many forms of knowledge.  As correctly depicted by the Egyptians that he had taught hieroglyphics too, he was a creature with the body of a human, and the head of isbis.  He and other Sirians had tra­veled to Earth in the past to share and expand their knowledge.

            “You fight for no reason.  Let them go brother,” Archangel Michael said.  He too closely resembled that of a human except he stretched a good eight feet in height, and his physical form was a perfect harmony of glowing skin and taut, sinewy muscle.  His gleaming purple eyes car­ried a deep wisdom, compassion, and fiery spirit. That spirit became quite apparent when in battle, for the white wings that were currently tucked in against this back set ablaze when he was called to defend what he and the rest of his race called Angels believed to be a just cause.

            Enlil struggled to control his impatience and his temper.  “I cannot believe what I am hearing.  The last time this council even discussed bringing the full power of creation into form not only did we lose an entire planet, but it was my home that suffered the repercussions.  Now, you seek to allow it again?  And with man?”  He all but sneered.  “I will not.”

            Beside Enlil sat a member of one race that sided with him. The being had a small, thin body, but a very large, oblong shaped head, with no protruding features. Its eyes were oval shape, lidless, and pure black.  It wore no garments, and sat with its long, thin gray fingers wrapped around the armrest.  On Earth they were called Grays, their actual race name was Zeta’s from several stars within the Orion Constellation. The Zeta did not speak, but would nod in agreement with Enlil on occasion.

            “Nibiru is not the home of the Anunnaki’s.  You chose to leave Sirus.  If you would calm your war like ways, and find some balance within the Gnostics would vote for your return,” Thoth said.  The Sirians were on a constant quest for knowledge. The Gnostics were their High council, the smartest members of their society and made all the Governing decisions.

            “We no longer have any need of your planet of thinkers who take no action, Thoth.” Enlil snapped.

            “You cannot prevent it Enlil.”  The soft-spoken voice echoed out gently from the being of blue light that hovered above its seat.  It came from the Pleiades and had no form, except when it chose to make one, and that was usually only when it came to Earth.  The Pleiadians as they were called were made of pure light, often of varying colors.  “They have raised their vibration to levels that have far surpassed what we expected of them. The Source will not be denied.”

            “The Source.  The Source.  You speak of this being as if they are all powerful,” Enlil spat.

            “Something made you brother; us, your home, ours.” Amusement shone clearly on Michaels’ face.  “This ship.”

            “Then it may choose another planet on which to conduct its science experiments.  We will not relinquish our control on Earth.”  Enlil slapped his claw like hand on the arm of his chair for emphasis.

            “How do you think you will stop it Enlil?”  The voice boomed in the chamber.  It came from the Draconika.  His name was Anataboga, a gigantic winged beast, whose long scaly tail was draped over the chair he was entirely too big to fit in.  He was stretched out beside his chair, his back legs that were much longer than his front ones curled underneath him.  One short three clawed hand occasionally drummed on the stone floor, and his massive head rested in the other.  Every time he spoke a small cloud of smoke left his jaws.  Centuries upon centuries ago, the Draconika had ended up on planet Earth after being banished there by a race of Sorcerers that had taken over their planet, Tiamat.  With the assistance of the Sirians, they were able to find their way back home, and retake their planet.

            “A matter I will not discuss with you Draconika.”  Enlil looked over at the huge beast, whose body nearly took up one half of the chamber. “I put faith in no God, but the intelligence and strength of my race.  And that will prevail.” He rose from his seat. “And may I remind this council that any interference in the plans on Earth, will be considered an act of war against my race.” He looked pointedly at Michael as he said it.

“As you know Enlil, per our peace treaty, we may assist the humans when they call for us,” Michael said evenly.

“Yes, when they are scared of the dark they have created.  But you may not interfer in our plans.”  Enlil shot him a hate filled glare.

Michael sighed. “I truly wish you would reconsider this course of action, Enlil.”

Ignoring Michael, Enlil waved his hand in a gesture of finality. “Council, this topic is closed.  May your travels be safe.”  He laced his claws together, gave a short bow and a moment later his form faded from the room. The Zeta said his good-byes telepathically to the remaining members of the council and disappeared too.

            When Enlil had gone, another Anunnaki emerged from the shadows behind Anataboga’s chair. A cane made from the trees of Earth was held in his leathery palm, and it supported his slow movement.  A glowing white robe adorned his frame, coming all the way to the floor and covering his tail. A black sash was draped over his shoulders and touched the ground as well.  “He gets his stubborn nature from his mother.”  The Council chuckled and Anu continued.  “I apologize for my sons’ rudeness.  He carries much fear.”

            “Do not apologize Anu.  We understand.  It will be a good lesson for him,” The Pleiadian said.

            “There is some concern that he may slow things down though,” Michael said.

            “If my son succeeds, then he was meant to.  I remain an observer to these games, Council.  It is my son Enki who has chosen to be his brother’s opposition.”

            “I agree.  This duality will end soon, one way or the other.  If the experiment is meant to happen as we believe, then at the time of Galactic Alignment it will,” Anataboga said.

            There was a murmur of agreement around the room.  Michael sat in silence for a moment then nodded, “Very well.  My people and I will continue to protect them when they call from the darkness then unknowingly create.”

            “We will help as we can as well,” The Pleiadian said softly.

            “I have done all I will do for them,” Thoth said. The other races also agreed for now, to do nothing but observe.

            After discussing other mundane matters concerning the galaxies, and the great Interdi­mensional Traveling Vessel Races, the Galactic Federation adjourned.

 June 12^th, 2012 10:00 AM

Alcyone Island

Dion Corporation Headquarters

            “This arrangement was dependent upon you staying close to Simone.”  Dominic Terenzio-Fidello was perched on the front of his desk.  A perfectly tailored silk suit covered his round, Italian frame and his short, fat fingers were loosely clasped in front of him. Thick eyebrows framed piercing gray eyes that were locked on Victor Russo.

            Victor sat in the chair in front of Dominic’s desk, his hands tunneled back through his wavy, brown hair.  “I know.  Look,” Victor dropped his hands and looked up at Dominic. “I can fix this.”

            “She caught you fucking one of her closest friends.  You’re lucky she didn’t have the balls to kill you.”  Olivia Terenzio sat on the leather couch pressed up against the wall.  Above it hung a Van Gough painting that she thought was both ugly and depressing. 

            “Simone’s not that type of woman.”  Victor said impatiently, glancing briefly in Olivia’s direction, then back at Dominic.  “I can get her back.  I’ll get her to forgive me, okay?  I just need a little time.”

            “Time is a luxury we don’t have, Victor,” Dominic said, frowning lightly.  “The whole point of you marrying her five years ago was so if it got to this point, you’d be in a prime position to feed us information we needed.”

            “Or be a real husband and push the bitch in the direction we wanted.” Olivia added before she pressed a long, thin cigarette between her puffy, red painted lips.

            “I get it okay? I get it.”  Victor stood up, buttoning the front of his suit jacket.  “Just give me a week.  I know Simone.  She’ll forgive me and we’ll be back on track.”

            “You better hope those good looks of yours pays off big time, pretty boy.”  Olivia warned while her pale gray eyes took in his tall, athletic build appreciatively Victor was a handsome man, with a charming smile and a silver tongue.           

“One week Victor,” Dominic said.

Victor clapped his hands together.  “Consider it done, guys and gals.”  Flashing them a reassuring smile, he turned and walked out of the office.

“I’m not entirely convinced he can pull that off.”  Dominic walked back around behind his desk, sat down and continued cleaning one of his small diamond rings.

“I’m not convinced Kayla is so patient as to give him a week after fucking up like that.” Olivia uncrossed her long, muscular legs made from running five miles every morning and stood up.  “This whole matter would be a fucking moot point if the Brotherhood would just give the order to have the triplets killed.”

“Patience, Olivia.” 

Patience was one thing she was losing the closer they got to the winter solstice and the Brotherhood did nothing about the fucked up side of her family. “Did you tell Them about Loki?”  Days ago a strange man who looked human but otherworldly had just appeared in Amadeo Terenzio’s house, Olivia’s cousin and partner in crime.  The stranger had introduced himself as Loki and told them he would help them stop the Ascension.

“I did.  I expect They’ll want you to bring him in soon.  They sounded very pleased.”

“Am I going to meet someone in Authority or some level of middle management?” Olivia walked up to his desk and used gold ashtray.

Dominic smiled at her.  “If Loki is really an Atlantean, then I’m fairly confident you just might meet, Enlil himself.”

Olivia’s eyes flickered with excitement. “Don’t bullshit me.”

“No bullshit. As I keep telling you cousin this game is as good as won.  The triplets can’t stop us.  Our time is almost here.”

I haven’t been on vacation, I just haven’t been here.  Well, that’s a small lie.  After I finished Book 2, I melted into my couch and did absolutely nothing for a few days.  It was nice.

But! Even when I’m not busy, I’m active.  I’ve been scouring through my emails, and such for an interesting new topic to share with you, but I haven’t felt motivated to do so.  I have a few consolation prizes though!

Synarchy Book 2: The Ascension is almost done! I finished writing it, now it’s in the hands of my editor being ripped apart, hehe. My dear readers are about two months away from seeing the final product.  I know you’re excited and can’t’ wait, soon soon!

In the meantime I’ve got several radio interviews lined up.  I’m also very excited to announce that I will be hosting my own radio show on Blog Talk Radio’s Paranormal 101 with the talented lightworker Steve Orion.  My show, In The Mind of DCS will air every Saturday night at 9pm CST.  I’m hella excited about it! Check out the Book Tour link to your right for dates/times and links to my other interviews. Woohoo!

I think that’s enough for now.  I’ll be adding a few sneak peeks for Book 2 over the coming weeks and I’ll probably put one up today.  Check back in soon for more Esoteric/Metaphysical news.  2010 is the year of creation and manifestation after all, and there is a solar eclipse coming up on the 15th. Exciting times we live in I tell yah!

Namaste!

DCS

In case you missed a great interview last night, no worries! Just click the play button below to check it out! A big thank you to Truth Seeker for letting me take up one of his shows!

As most of us writers do, I have a subscription to a few writers’ magazines, and I’m always reading articles related to the craft in an effort to improve my writing from any angle.  Typical story in the life of a writer.  What I came across in my recent edition of The Writers Magazine (which is the shit btw) was an article by fellow author Randall Silvis entitled “Write to connect with readers.”

The article inspired a few mixed feelings, and since I know a little something about the topic matter I felt compelled to blog about.  There is a lot of good advice for writers in Silvis’ article.  In a nutshell he discusses how writers should tell a story from the heart.  Our job as writers is to suck our readers in and keep them glued to those pages through whatever means of emotional manipulation we can muster.  We must take our head out of it, and stop trying to lecture our readers through our fiction, or write droll, sententious monologues that might get analyzed in a literary class one day, but the reader can’t understand.  Silvis’ point is for us writers to write from our heart with, to quote him directly, “as much sensitivity to life as you can muster.”

You should not as a reader have to put in any effort to understand a writer’s work, and I completely agree.  But, there a few points Silvis makes that I completely disagree with him on, and to me is steeped in old world thinking.  And as you should know by this point, I’m full steam ahead to the new world.  In one paragraph he writes, “When was the last time you read something and thought gee I didn’t know that about the human condition….for any reader with a few books under his belt and access to the nightly news, there is little left in this world that can truly surprise us.”

For me, that is an incredibly sad statement and presents a problem I believe we as a whole are rectifying right now. How many times are we going to read the same old story? Sure a lot, sure we’ll keep buying the cheesy romance novels, the crime stories with that great detective and the evil serial killer that makes us tremble. We’ll read the horror stories about the goblins and the demons because we love a good scare.  But I ask-is anybody bored yet?  When we pick up those books, aren’t we secretly hoping there will be something new inside those pages? Something a little different? Something that does bring back that child like wonder and make us rethink the world?

New Moon sucked us in not only with its love story but with a slightly different twist on the age old vampire and werewolves tale.  We stood in line for Harry Potter books because we’d never been in a world quite like that before.  In Synarchy, I will pull back the veil on the world you think you live in and show it to you through new eyes.  It will squeeze at your heart and pull an infinite variety of emotions out of you.  And it will hurt your head.  The whole time your brain will be actively engaged, working in close correlation with the emotions speeding through you, and when you turn the last page if you don’t say, “wow” or some variation thereof, I’ve failed to do my job.

The second paragraph in Silvis article that made me twitch stated, “The world is not the way we want it to be.  That’s the dilemma we wake up to every morning.  And once we become reconciled to the impossibility of making the world a little more like the way we think it should be, we lose the need to re-create the world through fiction.”

That’s probably the most depressing thing I’ve heard in a while and speaks to a much deeper problem, but I’ve rambled about that in enough blog posts. Let’s apply this to writing.

To say that fiction cannot engage both our minds and our hearts I think is bullshit.  I think it’s boring.  I think it leads to the same story being retold over, and over again.  Sure, we’re lazy.  Sure, you pick up a book and want to leave the real world behind for a while.  Our fiction is a plug for the lacking we find in ourselves. A chance to be someone we think we can never be, to go have an adventure we think we can never have.  But, in all the fantastic worlds we’ve visited shouldn’t the most memorable leave us with some clue as to how to draw the very magic that made us spend the money, stay up all night and turn the pages with some hint of how to bring that into our own lives?

If you put down Synarchy and you still don’t have a clue, I’ve failed.  I will not just entertain, I will awaken. If I have not turned your abstract curiosity into a sudden tsunami for more, once again, I have failed. You will connect with the characters of your choosing, because I have thrust them into the world in the same state of forgetfulness that you find yourself in.  The first book is a little bit of a workout, but the emotional payoff is there, Silvis and I can completely agree on that.  If you don’t feel it, who cares if you thought it.  If I can’t move both your heart and your mind, I’m another five dollar paperback novel, among the thousands just like me, telling the same old story with a new set of characters.  This is not meant to diss those other writers, I love my cheesy romance novels just like most other women, but why shouldn’t we as writers strive to do more for you?  Why shouldn’t we not only entertain you but make you think, so just maybe you realize that the magic in the world doesn’t stop with the last page of Synarchy.  It continues on, with you.

We should never stop striving to change the world, to make it as we want it to be, magical creations, beautiful reflections of the love in our hearts.  When our fiction no longer inspiries us to keep dreaming, intending and creating, what are we reading it for?

If you put down my novel, maybe have a small headache from the brain exercising, but suddenly believe in the possibility of practical magic, I’ve done my job.  And first, I wrote for you with my heart.  Then, I wrote with my head.  Why settle for anything less.

It was a fantastic interview/discussion with host Steve Orion and Chad Lilly from Inner Circle Publishing.  And if you missed, no problem here’s the link!

The Greatest Talk Show was a kickin good time, and a really great discussion with the hosts and the callers. But, you don’t have to take my word for it, have a listen for yourself!

A great discussion with host Ralph on the ever inspiring Infinite Waters Blog Talk Radio. Click on the player below to listen!

I’m trying a few different things in Book 2, one of them will be small acknowledgments of when a written scene was roleplayed, meaning it has two authors. A joint creation, this scene I’m going to share with you is one of those. Written by myself and Sara Hendrickson, creator of Liliana Terenzio and Marilyn Pearl.

Enjoy! And start counting down the days until Book 2 is out!

<1970/time

<location>

<location>

Marcello Terenzio leaned against the concrete pillar with his arms folded over his suited chest. He moved through the Dion Corp Empire like a ghost.  That never made him less busy, or sought after by key people.  But, he was glad no one was bothering him right now because after telling his wife this morning he’d be too busy to wander around the Bazaar with her this afternoon there he was, waiting.

Seconds later, said doors opened and Marilyn stepped through them, with her purse hanging from the crook of her arm and her eyes fixed on the sheaf of papers in her hand.  The warm light of the afternoon caught in the waves of her blonde hair, filling the age-lightened strands with youthful color.  It was a different light, however, that came into her face and brightened her eyes when she glanced up and saw her husband standing there, waiting for her.  Marilyn smiled, deepening the lines around her mouth and the faint webbing of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.  “I thought your afternoon was booked?”  For a man who didn’t exist, he tended to be very, very busy.

Thirty some odd years later, he still felt a little like a boy with an insane crush when his wife smiled at him. Uncoiling from his stance, he stepped into her. “It is.  But I knew your husband wouldn’t be around.” He brushed her cheek with his thumb and kissed her. “I haven’t ditched a meeting in a while. I was due.”

That light danced in the blue-green of her eyes, like the reflection of water.  “He won’t be.  Not for another…”  She checked the watch on her wrist.  “Three hours, at least.”  Her smile widened into a faint grin.  “You should kiss me again, while there’s time.”

“Is that right?” He matched her grin.  Lowering his hands to her waist, he pulled her closer so he could kiss her again.

Some thirty-odd years later, she still couldn’t get enough of him.  Grin deepening in the heartbeat before his mouth met hers, she closed her eyes and caught his face between her hands, wrinkling the documents she had been studying just seconds before.

He lingered in the warm, familiar taste of her mouth, earning lowered smiles from a few of the never ending stream of employee’s that went in and out of the building.  Easing back he kissed the tip of her nose.  ”What are you putting on the American Express card today?”

Her nose wrinkled affectionately when he kissed it.  “I haven’t decided yet.  I thought I would wander up and down the aisles and see what jumps out at me.”  She glanced away long enough to stow the papers in her purse.

“Now that sounds exciting.”  There was teasing in his mock excitement.  Once she was done stowing her papers he took her hand in his own.  ”You know there are better things we can do with a quiet afternoon.”

“There are,” she agreed, threading her fingers through his.  Her grin resurfaced.  “But if you’re ditchin’ all of your meetings, then you and I have the rest of the day to do those better things.  The bazaar closes at seven.”

“Fine. I’ll just drag you down a deserted alley like we were in our twenties again.”  And he just might have been serious.  Giving her hand a gentle squeeze he tucked his other in his pants pocket and began walking in that direction.

She didn’t doubt his sincerity.  Time might have given them a few wrinkles and gray hairs, but it hadn’t smothered the flame that burned between them.  If anything, it had made that flame burn hotter and brighter.  Marilyn could think of no better way to spend an afternoon than basking in its glow.  “Let’s try not to get caught this time.”

Marcello laughed, shaking his head in sheer amusement at the memory.  ”The expression on that man’s face was priceless.”

She laughed with him and rubbed a hand over her cheek.  “I think it took a day or two for the red to come out of my cheeks.”

“That near perminate blush suited you.”  Clear affection lighted his gray eyes as he glanced over at her.

“Suited you, maybe.”  She dug him good-naturedly in the ribs.  “As if it wasn’t bad enough that I couldn’t get rid of it, but whenever someone asked me about it, it burned up into my ears and went a darker shade of red.”

That did nothing to prevent another round of laughter. “I still say that wasn’t the worst.  The near catch in the elevator, now that could have been a disaster.”

She laughed again – she could, in hindsight – and wrapped her hand around his suited arm, giving it an affectionate squeeze.  “Oh, I wouldn’t have been able to look those people in the eye for a month.”

The humor made the corner of his eyes crinkle.  ”It would have been my fault, you did warn me.  But then again, I never seem to be able to help myself.”  He turned his head, pressing a kiss into her hair before he turned his eyes back to the crowded open market.

“You’re about as good at not bein’ able to help yourself as I am at denying you.”  She smiled up at him, her eyes glittering, before glancing out over the bazaar with its bustling, open stalls and charming blend of island authenticity and Alcyone tourism.  It was one of Marilyn’s favorite places.  Tightening her fingers around his as she made her decision, she led them into the closely-packed aisles of the food vendors.  She might as well pick up a few things for dinner, while they were here.

A slow smile curved his mouth as he watched her.  Like most men, shopping wasn’t high on his priority list but, Marcello simply enjoyed spending time with her.  And annoying her at intervals.  He stood next to her while she browsed, then said, “I had lunch with Kayla today.”

Marilyn chatted amicably with the locals as she browsed, asking after family members and loved ones and the well-being of dogs and goats and the occasional chicken.  The man from whom she had been buying fresh eggs for the last twelve years had just finished updating her on the condition of his favorite spotted hen when Marcello spoke.  Mari paused, glancing up at her husband, and tucked her carton of newly purchased eggs beneath her arm.  “How did that go?”

“It was….fun.”  It had only been recently, that he’d stopped being so much of a ghost in Kayla’s life and attempted to at least, get to know her.  Or at least the face she showed them.  Marcello found it difficult to stop the faint smile that touched his mouth.  ”She has your stubborn look.”

Neither could Mari stop the small, pleased smile that settled along her own mouth.  Kayla’s existence – and now presence – had been trying, to say the very least, but Kayla was her daughter.  She was her flesh and blood.  She knew her in ways that no one else did, and she was connected to her in ways that no one else would ever be.  It pleased Marilyn that she had passed some of herself into the child that had been a stranger to her for so long.  “It’s funny how you bring that look out in both of us, don’t you think?” she teased.

“I just have that effect on the women in my life.”  Marcello winked at her, his smile deepening.

They were in the process of building a parking garage across the street.  The lot was half finished.  It was from the second level, absent of the construction workers that had called an early day that the assassin set his eye in the scope.

“You love every minute of it, too.”  She stepped into him, lifting onto the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek, and slipped her arm through his.  The dry, cloying scent of fresh herbs and heavy, fragrant spices drew her further down the aisle, and she stopped a stall laden with sacks of seeds, leaves, and finely ground powders.   Mari peered consideringly at the selection.  “What did the two of you talk about?”

He leaned into her kiss, and then followed along at her side.  ”Where she wanted to go to college, and whether or not she wanted to join the company afterwards.”  His mouth twitched.  “The conversations that our son tried to avoid.”

The assassin curled his finger around the trigger, slowly turning the weapon.  The scope made a bulls eye over his targets chest.  He held his breath.

Mari sifted her fingers through a mound of fennel seeds and smiled at Marcello over her shoulder.  “What did she say?  Is she going to follow your footsteps to Harvard?”  If a mother’s love could turn a killer’s heart, then maybe, just maybe, a father’s could be softened; allowed to love another girl as completely and as fiercely as he had loved the daughter that he had lost.

“She’s considering it.”  The whole conversation had amused him.  Since coming into his father’s world, one of empires and crime, the time of his life spent in typical academia often felt like it had happened to someone else.  ”I told her I’d go with when the two of you fly out to Boston to take a firsthand look.”

He could wait no longer.  He squeezed the trigger, just once.  He didn’t bother to stick around to see if he’d hit his mark, he knew it had; Marilyn Pearl – Terenzio would die. Abandoning the gun, Matthew DeMarco turned around, and jogged away.

“I’ll make the arrangements, then.  And after the official tour of the campus, you can give us the real tour.”  Passing on the spices for now, she smiled at the young woman behind the stall, thanking her for her time through that simple gesture, and turned toward Marcello–but halfway through that turn, she jerked back.  Behind her, a fine red mist that she couldn’t see burst into the air.  Marilyn’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.  Her brows furrowed, confusion and shock seeping into her features.  She glanced down and saw blood welling in a round, perfectly formed hole in the front of her shirt.  “Marcello…?”  That was when her legs gave out, and she sagged against him.

There had been moments in his life when he felt like the world was giving way beneath his feet. But nothing, nothing was quite as horrifically surreal as the moment he realized his wife had been shot.  Shock spread across his face, his eyes dropping towards her chest that was rapidly staining red.  No. “Mari?”  He stepped into her, catching her weight in his arms.  No.  No.  No. “Mari? Baby?”  That smooth, calm voice was suddenly frantic.  He sank to his knees, and pulled her back from him so he could see it.  And the world just didn’t give, it shattered.  He snapped his eyes up to the woman behind the stall.  ”Call an ambulance! Now! Tell them Isis is down. Do it!”  He barked it and after a shocked pause the woman ran off to find the MP Officer that was stationed somewhere in the crowd.

There was no burst of pain.  There was no heat, lancing through her chest.  She didn’t feel anything but a distant tingling in her toes and a cold weight that spread through her ribs and pushed down on them.  The world moved a little more slowly than it should have, and the sounds of the bazaar seemed distant; muffled.  She could hear Marcello, though.  His voice and the panic that edged it were perfectly clear.  Mari dug her fingers into his shirt, holding herself up as she drew a deep breath.  It made a wet, bubbling sound and hitched in her chest.  She coughed, and realized what was happening when she took her hand from her mouth and saw that it was spotted with dark red blood.  She was dying.  “Marcello…”

No.  No.  No. He wished he were an ignorant man when it came to guns and executions, because he knew what a shot like that meant.  Knew it didn’t matter much if the ambulance got here in the next thirty seconds; his wife was dying.  His Mari was dying.  No.  No.  No.  He refused to believe it.  He couldn’t believe it.  How could he possibly do this without her? “Mari stay with me.” He pulled her closer with one arm and touched her cheek with his other, his eyes desperate and pleading.  ”Hang on Mari, just hang on.  Please.  Please.  They’re coming.”

There was no fear.  There was no panic; not in her voice, at least.  She sank into him, breathing in shallow, bubbling gasps as she wrapped her blood-flecked fingers around the hand on her cheek.  “It’s okay,” she said softly, pressing her forehead to his.  “You’ll be okay.”

No it wasn’t.  No he wouldn’t.  His grip was almost clutching, as if he could will her to stay with him.  ”Mari don’t.”  His voice cracked.  He could feel the tears wet and cool, rolling down his cheeks.  ”Don’t leave me.  You can’t leave me.  I can’t do this without you.”

His arms were warm; so very warm, and wonderful.  Her one regret was that she couldn’t wrap her own arms around him now, because the tingling was spreading and numbness was following in its slow, cold wake.  It was all that she could do to keep hold of his hand.  And to smile through the tears that rolled unchecked down her cheeks.  “Yes, you can.  I love you.”  Her voice trembled with emotion.  So, too, did the corners of her smile.  “I love you.”

“Baby, no.  Mari, please.”  Marcello starred down into her eyes and felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. “I love you, too.  Mari, I love you so much.  Don’t go.”

Her breath came in shorter, desperate gasps.  Her pulse tripped erratically in her throat.  She felt the seconds stretch longer and longer between heartbeats, and the world went a little darker each beat.  Marcello’s face–that beautiful mouth and those eyes; how she loved the color of his eyes, like the soft, luminescent gray of the sky after rain–swam in and out of focus, and in a moment of desperate clarity, she clutched his face, wanting to see him clearly one more time.  “It’s okay,” she whispered, nuzzling his face.  She brushed his tears away with her thumb.  It left a bright red streak down his cheek.  She kissed him then, tasting the coppery tang of blood on the warmth of his lips, and gave him one more smile.  “I love you, Marcello… I love…”  The light went out in her eyes, and her had slipped off of his cheek.  She was gone.

When those beautiful, expressive aquamarine eyes went blank, Marcello shattered.  For a moment he was deathly still, his face twisting as the pressure, the grief in his chest grew to such a crescendo he wanted nothing more in that moment than the join her; because surely, he couldn’t live with this pain.  Gripping her to him tighter, Marcello’s silent tears, became a heart-wrenching scream.

I had a wonderful interview on Artists and Ascension Radio with hosts Nancy and Anton. If you didn’t get a chance to listen to it live, don’t fret! I’ve included the link below.

And a big thank you again to Nancy and Anton for having me on their show!