My novel The Conceptualist is one of my faves, and scheduled for release in 2016.
Set in the near future, the story is split between two perspectives: that of Grey, the famous Conceptualist struggling to hold onto her sanity while navigating a shifting cultural landscape on the brink of war, and Byre, the charismatic son of the President who lives to party, has a clone bodyguard, and enjoys twin lovers. At least, that's the persona he cultivates.
I won't ramble on about the concept (bound to happen next year) but I will leave this sample here, lifted from Byre's first chapter.
...Nearly falling,
it takes my tired mind a split second to deal with the derailing. Across the
room Jarred sits up almost on cue, metallic pupils glinting in the dim
light.
“Heard you were
somewhere on the left side.” He slides out of input phase and the gaming vision
folds back from each iris, returning his eyes to their standard blue.
“Grav levels?” I
wade across the room, my breath on the security panel of the cupboard almost
a sigh. Grabbing clean threads, I turn around to face the latest issue on a
long list.
“Any second, info
freak. Conceptual kick?”
“Scape sounds.”
My head’s cracking from fast flights, too many thoughts, and a serious lack of
sleep.
“Where?” He gets
up off the floor, pausing for balance. “Glacier? Volcano? Or will it filter through
later?"
“Don’t remember.”
"Not surprising." Wired tight, it’s obvious he’s been hooked in for a while.
I head for the sonic, moving
faster now the gravity’s balancing.
“Trying to make
this scene play a little smoother?” The mild tone is laced with a whisper of
tension he can’t quite subdue.
“Are you
holding?”
“What are you
wanting?”
“Nutrients,
maybe a low adrenaline. Alert, but not-”
“-So she can
tell you needed a helping hand?” He throws a few slips across. “Kind of
clear from the clothes you picked. They’re a little muted.” Moving to his setup
he slides into the chair. “Besides, you’ve got that look you always get before
you’re reeled in. Hail the conquered hero. Jaz is back, by the way.”
I pause mid-step. “Why?”
“Lives here,
doesn’t she?”
The words are
gently mocking, but I’m not in the mood for games. “And?” Leaning against the
wall, I slide one slip under my tongue, another under the nail. “Is she here?”
A quick scan of
the premises doesn’t read anything. He kicks the system on, and streaming
visuals fill the air. From what I can decipher, he’s lining up status reviews
for pre-submersion.
“Jaz was here
this morning, but she’s out now.” The clipped sentence say a lot, but not
enough.
“She’s meant to
be on a high velocity tour for at least three more rotations.”
“Well, things
change.”
“Not a scaled
tour. Takes a lot to get out of that kind of contract.”
“Yes, it does.” Suddenly
my features float across a dozen different holoscreens, alongside another face.
“Source the transience, hey?” Haunting eyes hover at face level, over and over.
I try to control
my reaction because that’s one thing he’s always monitoring. “It’s not what you
think,” is all I have—the truth. I'm too tired to come up with a
lie shaded in enough facts.
“You know what I’m
thinking?” An ironic twist of his mouth almost becomes a smile. “Interesting
how the pattern’s unfolding. Odd, actually.” He spins to face me, expression
unreadable. “But I’m just a rich gamer who doesn’t like to think too much, especially
in dangerous directions.” The images disappear.
“Probably best,”
I manage.
“But Jaz
panicked. Because for her, there really is only the surface.”
‘It’s her
beauty,” I feel compelled to point out. “If you don’t see the depths, you can’t
see the shadows.”
“She panicked
because?”
I sigh. “Because
she thinks she understands me.”
“A little,” he
agrees. “But she has no idea, does she?”
The flood of
visuals light up again, back to flowing unintelligible graphics, droning gamer
stats, and analytic streams of code. Haloed by the information, he spins, attention split between the complication in the room and the neural seduction of the
game.
“Let me guess: she was worried she wouldn’t
get to read me, but Legal had to be in person.”
And since I’m here…”
He leaves the rest unsaid.
“She’ll get a
clear contract. Or at the very least, a delay.” A reprieve is the best I can offer, because
it’s all I can offer, and we both know it.
“You‘re going to
be late.” He turns his head to meet my eyes. The tone tries for mellow, but the
look is cold.
“Glacier,” I point
out distractedly. “It was a glacier.”
Locked in that
gaze, it’s like her pain is here in the room. My heart feels seared by
it.
“Can’t believe I thought
the whole emotive connection you two transmit was a kick.” I shrug, trying to
shake off the wild, uncontrolled feed.
A lazy grin
spreads across his face. “It’s all hers?”
Too much already,
I can’t help thinking. I need a break.
“So do I.”
He scores a dirty
look for that illegal read. “Got to clean up.”
Not that he offers to join me, but I slam the door anyway. Fucking telepaths.
Not that he offers to join me, but I slam the door anyway. Fucking telepaths.
