Here is a brief tidbit from (one of) my current WIP. With 26,000 words in the bank, I’m approximately half-way complete.
Three notes chimed randomly, triggered by the pull at the front door of the house. These three notes were chosen for their pleasing chordal harmony and their acoustic aesthetic to the ear of the home’s two residents.
Quinn answered the call, finding himself in closest proximity to the front entrance, having just raided the larger for an afternoon snack. Turnsday was a day for relaxing and enjoying the pleasures of being no one to anyone, dabbling in hobbies and dabbling in sweet creations left by the cook after a stressful week of scheduled meals. Wiping away a stray crumb of cake from his fingers on the thigh of his tweed pants, he reached for the brass latch and swung open the wide, polished wood door without even pausing to peek through the window.
Hugh’s robust form filled the frame of the door, donning the standard gray and gold uniform of the Elite. The guard stood the daily watch between the hours of 10 and 5. Towering at over two meters, Hugh stood at least half as wide as he was tall so that his shoulders nearly scraped each jamb of the door simultaneously.
“Yes?” Quinn prompted, knowing well that Hugh was not the reason for the chime to sound.
“A visitor requests an audience with the Protectress, Mr. Saugray.”
“On a Turnsday? Is it business?” Most visits were business for the Protectress of Bona Dea. Quinn could count on one hand the number of non-business visitors permitted to stop by on a whim.
“The man’s name is Jon Irons. He claims to be a friend of the Protectress, someone from Gammerton.”
Quinn reflexively stopped chewing. The cake quickly dissolved within his cheeks. “Gammerton. Um, very well. Wait here. I’ll see if she will accept…him.”
Closing the door as a barrier between Hugh and his sudden intense panic, Quinn gulped down the cake and scurried toward the main flight of stairs rising to the second floor of the house. With each step, he composed a half-dozen scenarios of how to inform his wife that her previous lover stood on their stoop and her imagined reaction, anything from a wistfully pleased smile to a hell-bent scowl. Engrossed in his thoughts, he nearly collided with Axandra on the staircase. She was on her way down.
The touch of her hand upon his chest soothed him, a side-effect of her remoter prowess. She possessed the ability to affect the emotions of an entire room of people. The ability was both reassuring and unnerving. In this case, Quinn understood she used the touch to return him to focus and prevent an accident.
“Dearheart, you have a visitor, if you don’t mind seeing him. It’s Jon.”