First Page: Unconventional Urban Fantasy
Welcome to First Page aka Query Saturday. Individual authors anonymously send a first page (or query) read and critiqued by the Dear Author community of authors, readers and industry others. Anyone is welcome to comment. Published authors may do so under their own name or anonymously.
Readers, though, the way that I look at it is this: Would the first page itself interest you in reading the book. If yes, what interests you and if not, what would you change to make it more appealing?
As a warning, there is profanity following.
Sometimes it helped to have a necromancer as a business associate. Dem bones, dem bones, dem dryyyy bones…
Smiling, Ivan Kurtz, magus, ruminated further as he gazed at the eldritch thing on his black lacquered cocktail table. Nice find, the Prism of Nezrabi. Wonderful big glob of magical whup-ass glass. The sight nearly made him salivate. It had taken four years and a hurtful bundle of money to secure the perfect deliverer of payback, but the wait and expense would soon be worth it.
Is revenge sweet? In this case, the cliché was a gross understatement. In this case, revenge was reclining on a yacht in the Mediterranean, eating the finest chocolate and sipping the finest wine, while the multiple hard dicks you had growing all over your body fucked the tightest pussies and asses in all the universe without the rest of you having to break a sweat. Revenge was food, drink and a chain-chain-chain of effortless, transporting orgasms…at the end of which was your own personalized paradise, infinite and eternal.
Oh, yeah. Jackson Spey was gonna get it. But good.
Ivan snickered then gulped some not-so-fine wine. “Wizard.” He chuffed in contempt. “Okay, big balls, we’ll see how much of a fucking wizard you are.”
He pulled his feet off the cocktail table and dropped them to the floor so he could lean forward and study his prize. A vellum-bound book lay beside it, but Ivan hadn’t yet perused it. He would do that first thing in the morning, when his mind was fresh. For now he was content simply to savor his victory. There would be plenty of time to figure out how to activate his instrument of vengeance.
The Prism of Nezrabi was a symmetrical chunk of what appeared to be crystal, roughly three feet in circumference, its surface expertly faceted with various geometric forms set one on top of the other. The intersecting circles etched into the crystal’s surface all contained relief-carved hexagons, then pentagons, then triangles. The center of each figural mound was set with a small stone, no two of which were alike. Thin lines extending from these stones formed an intricate grid in the crystal’s interior, at the core of which sat a silvery black sphere surrounded by tiny metallic flakes that seemed to float around it like stars.
It was impossible to say what, exactly, the lines were. They could have been precisely placed fractures. They could have been hair-thin infusions of some foreign material-simple water, perhaps, or a mixture of organic or inorganic compounds. Legend had it the crystal contained dragon’s blood. But there were just as likely other legends that claimed it contained fairy dust or the sulfuric vapors of hell.
Conclusion-it didn’t matter what the damned thing held as long as it worked. And if it worked, it would soon be holding Jackson Spey.
Ivan took another hefty swallow of the fruit of the vine just as Bothu, the necromancer, glided back into the living room from the bathroom. He folded his long, ashen form into a burgundy leather easy-chair, crossed his legs and splayed his bony fingers over the chair’s arms.
“It better do what you claim it can,” Ivan murmured, sliding him a glance. He hated looking at the guy. Bothu’s complexion reminded him of snow saturated with dog pee and vehicle exhaust. The stringy red hair that seemed coated with shoe polish sure as hell didn’t improve his appearance any.
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