Back in June 2019, we listed nine authors who had published with us three or more times throughout the first season after Havok’s rebirth. I thought it was time to update that Most Prolific Authors post. This Weekend Scoreboard is brought to you by Our Most Prolific Authors! Let’s hear from them what motivates their writing and
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Daddy closed me in, just as he had my sister last year. She hadn’t returned.
He wiped his tear away. “I’m praying I see you again.”
I tried to hold the door open. “Don’t make me go!”
He half held my shoulder, half pushed me forward. “You know our way, Brianna.
This, this so not my job. This what Sam do, and I maybe help a little. I drive the car.
Still, there’s no one else. I need my Samara. And if I don’t find her, no one will.
I back up. Explain. We were supposed to meet at airport for our honeymoon. Sam said she had some last-minute details to fix.
Aba was gone.
I massaged my temples to clear my thoughts. He’d be back in a week from the old country after clearing up some marriage paperwork. I had to keep busy.
I picked up my purse to leave when a man stumbled in.
He was as unkempt and golden as my Aba was groomed and dark. His long, greasy tresses draped across his shoulders. His clothes, ripped and dirty, barely hung on his gaunt frame
“You want to marry me?”
Aba gave me a sad little smile. “Aye, my beauty detective. Want, but cannot.”
The first set of words I’d longed to hear since I’d laid eyes on him nearly six months ago. The second set made me want to strangle him.
I’d been studying the atmosphere for years now. Years. All in the hopes of establishing the data to corroborate the impossible.
But I should explain, I suppose. Over forty years ago, I was born under a perfect dragon storm. According to the experts, that happens only once every hundred years. But I knew it happened more often than that.
Holding my dress up so I wouldn’t trip, I dashed toward the door. I could already hear the bridal anthem. Of course, Samara Spade would be late for her own wedding. But the church kept slipping farther and farther away.
I woke up and groaned.
We’ll have dinner soon, Buddy,” Babe insisted.
I couldn’t see what she was dicing on the counter. I sniffed. Beef maybe?
The phone rang. “Wait a minute. I’ve got to answer this.”
I groaned. I tugged at her arm, trying to remind her about our dinner, but she shooed me away. Babe liked to talk.
I laid the photos out on the little café table in front of Marianne. “Can you tell me anything about any of these people?”
She ran her fingers over the faces. “They all look familiar, but I can’t say I actually know any of them.” She peered up at me.
Name’s Spade, Samara Spade. And much to Mom’s chagrin, I’m following in my Dod’s—dear old dad’s—footsteps.
Or at least attempting to. After my fiasco with the lion, I wondered if Dod would give me another case. For weeks, I did paperwork. Yawn.
Dod was off on another case when he came in. “I didn’t do it!”
My name is Spade. Samara Spade. Tonight was supposed to be my first undercover without Dod—dear old Dad, in other words. But I had backup. At least until someone slipped him a mickey.
The case started this morning. A lady—I’m still trying to get Dod not to call them dames—came into our office distraught.
The duke tilted his head back to gaze up at my masterpiece as he patted my shoulder. “Our cathedral will be both the tallest and the best in all of Europe with your clockwork show, Hans.”
“We’re ready for the reveal tomorrow, Your Grace. We’ll run through everything tonight to make sure it’s flawless.”
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