Description:
Halen knows the sparks igniting under her fingertips are dangerous. She has spent her entire life trying to quell the tingly feelings that make her destroy things, but now that she is back in Rockaway Beach, where she watched her father drown, the flames have become impossible to tame.Halen is trying to hold on, but when she is thrust into a mysterious new world, the underwater realm of Elosia, she unravels the secrets of her past, and can’t help but ignite. As she explores Elosia, she realizes her life has been a lie. And when those who have deceived her come to her for help, Halen must choose—walk away or unleash the magick that could destroy them all.
You know when someone reads you a story as a child and it sticks with you forever? Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid was that story for me. I love the original and I adore the Disney version. But, it wasn't until I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean on Stranger Tides did I find my mermaid muse for Coral & Bone.
I love mermaids and magick, so I thought why not bring them together. Of course I couldn't leave out shape shifters and sirens. I love fantasy realms and worlds. Heck my husband says I live in one, so why not write about one. Coral & Bone is set in the Earth realm and the underwater realm of Elosia. Coral & Bone is a meld of all my years of watching Disney movies and thrillers.
EXCERPT
Halen's eyes clouded over and when the smoke cleared she found herself standing in an open field. She was dressed in a cotton dress which fell around her ankles. Soft grass tickled her toes. She took a step forward and a flower sprung from the ground beside her. She leaned down to pick the red poppy. As she took another step a flower sprang up from between the blades of grass. Halen smiled. She walked a little farther and with each step a new poppy sprouted and bloomed. She ran faster and the field blossomed under her feet, and when she waved her hand, the entire valley filled with red poppies. She inhaled their sweet scent and when she exhaled, the birds glided in the breeze of her breath through an endless blue sky.
Halen laughed when the wind caught her skirt and swept the fabric up over her head, but when she pushed it down, dark clouds rolled overhead. She took one step forward and the grass beneath her feet sizzled to a crisp. Taking another step, the poppies burst into flames. The fire licked the hem of her skirt and she gathered it up over her knees. Scanning the field, she spotted a boulder; if she could make it there, remove her feet from the ground, she could save the rest of the field.
She ran in long strides, and with each step, she scorched the ground with her fiery feet. Suddenly, she tripped. Her hands touched down and the ground combusted with a brilliant light. The fire raced through the field, spreading to the trees. The flames reached up, lassoing the birds from the sky, dragging them to the ground. Halen crawled to the rock and hoisted herself up. She stared out to the barren land. "No, no. What have I done?" She clawed the air and the clouds rumbled with thunder. The fire burned hotter and hotter under her flesh. The only way to extinguish the flames was to release them. Tilting her head back, she opened her mouth wide and screamed. What birds had not been burned turned now to black beasts swirling in the torrid sky.
***********
Sketching his crooked smile had become a habit for Halen, not easily tamed. Flipping through her notebook, the boy’s gray eyes flashed back from the pages—almost one hundred drawings in three months. She turned to a blank page, not caring if the teacher noticed, and set the tip of her pencil on the paper. Closing her eyes, she knew the boy would be there. He never kept her waiting. His face flashed into view. His forehead was creased in the center, and his usually full lips were pressed with a tight line. Her fingertips sparked, and when she opened her eyes, her hand was already penciling in the edges of his jawline. Halen sketched him quickly; she was familiar with the hallow of his cheeks which dimpled when he smiled, and how one side of his jaw was a little more round than square, and how his nose hooked ever so slightly as if it had been broken at one time and had not been set properly. His imperfections were perfection.
As she shaded the rims of his eyes with deep charcoal halos, she longed to climb into the page, and asked him what was bothering him. She had a lot of questions for him. Finding a page filled with his broad smile, she smiled inside. As her fingertips brushed his lips, she bit back her own. If only—if only you were real.
Halen first drew the mystery boy the morning of the move. Coming back to Rockaway Beach was a nightmare, so when she had woken from a dream with the boy's face etched inside her eyelids, and her fingertips igniting with sparks, she feared the worse. She knew the sparks were a warning; she had fought the flickering flames her whole life. There was more to this boy, more than she cared to admit. There was more to Rockaway Beach than she cared to face.
The boy smiled knowingly. Like you care. With a sweep of her hand she drew a long handlebar moustache under his nose. Then tearing the page from her book, she crumpled it in her fist. Instantly, her palm warmed as if she were holding a hot stone. Only she knew the heat was coming from inside her. She quickly scanned the classroom. Most of her classmates were still filling in the test answers, with penciled circles. A few students were reading. Her fingertips flickered with heat, and she dropped the paper, fearful it might combust in her hand. She hadn't set anything on fire, not in a long time, and she wasn't about to start. She shook her hands by her side, and as she did, a jolt of pain gripped her wrists.
Halen. A whispered voice brushed her ear.
She spun around. Toby Creston shot her an annoyed glare as he shielded his score sheet with his arm. As if she would copy his answers. She sucked at algebra, but she had studied; Toby Creston would be lucky if he figured out how to fill the circles in.
Haaaalennnn.
A searing pain spread up her arms, and she inhaled a sharp breath. She whipped around to face the front of the class. Mr. Ajax sat with his long nose wedged between the pages of his book. He peered over the rim of his catlike glasses when she let out a gasp.
HalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalenHalen.
Beating like the thunderous wings of a thousand birds, the whispers swarmed her thoughts. Her fingertips pressed the squishy foam nestled in her ears. No way. She couldn't take her earplugs out. Her earplugs were her salvation, the only things keeping her from blacking out. Besides the sparks, sound had become her enemy since moving back to Rockaway. Her mom's diagnosis—stress. "You're suppressing your grief," she had said. "You have to let yourself have a good cry." Her mom overestimated the power of tears. Halen's father's bones lay in a bed of sand—tears would never bring him back—tears would never drown the fire raging inside her. Tears would not save her now.
The chants grew louder, now drilling into every crevice of her mind. She pounded the sides of her head. The blond girl beside her scooted her desk away from her, shooting her an evil glare.
Stop! Halen begged as the whispers hammered her brain. She didn't have a choice, she had to…
She tore the earplugs from her ears. At once the chanting ceased, only now to be replaced with the chaotic clatter of the classroom. The blond girl now tapped her pencil on her desk. The metal eraser band hitting the desktop sounded like a jackhammer. She could hear the click clack of some other student's gum, and the strike of a pointed heal on the linoleum floor. Toby Creston's heavy breath was a rush of howling wind. The sounds united with the next student, and then the next, until the whole classroom exploded with a deafening cry. Halen fought to hold on as the classroom blackened around her. She caught the word freak, someone calling for Mr. Ajax, and the blond girl shrieking. The last sound Halen heard was the thud of her skull as her forehead slammed against the desktop.
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About the author:
Tiffany Daune doesn’t get why people want to grow up, or why anyone would ever stop eating candy. Her purse is filled with books, lip gloss and a few pieces of Lego bricks. She writes best with a dish of chocolate chips on hand, and finds licorice makes a better straw than plastic.
She lives on an island and believes mermaids may be raiding her candy stash, though she hasn’t caught them, yet.
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1 comment:
I love the cover art for this book! I keep returning to it to see what else is there.
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