Here's a fun little scene where Zak encounters someone from his past and they discuss the finer points of the barter system.
1,000 words for your sneak-peak approval. I hope you enjoy.
Zak looked down at the first floor, at the tops of heads as people flailed and danced together below. He saw a familiar face cutting through the crowd. She was leading with her shoulders, shoving a path for herself and never mind whoever got in her way.
He went back down the steps to the first floor. He didn’t have the same gift of bulldozing through people that she had so his progress was hindered by courtesies and deafening music. He tried to wedge his way through the crowd but bodies were slick and greasy and made him nauseous. Someone nuzzled his neck. Hands squeezed his rear. Teeth nipped his earlobe. He was given a cold drink. Most disturbing of all, somebody called him Daddy.
Zak got turned around and ended up back at the heavy wood and iron double doors of the Cathedral. The idea to leave was tempting. He wasn’t made for a place such as this. His hand moved two or three inches toward the door. Some new degenerate entered and with them a blast of cool night air that didn’t stink half as much as Zak remembered.
“Well…”
The voice was close to his ear and he turned to face it.
“If it isn’t Mr. Training Wheels.” Vomit Girl, Nyx, stood before him, framed in a halo of club lighting that made her dark eyes look like voids in her face.
“You stole my bicycle.” Zak pointed his drink at her. Nyx studied it.
“What did you order?”
Zak held the drink to eye level. It was dark, the dance floor lighting disappearing in its depths. “I don’t know.”
Nyx took the glass from him. “Don’t drink that.”
In a fluid move uncharacteristic of her stompy personality, she pawned the drink off onto the next burnout that passed them. “Compliments of Mary Jane. You seem like his type.”
Poison disposed of, Nyx took Zak by the front of his button up. “C’mon. Crowds are bad for talkin’.”
She led him back up the spiral staircase, all the way to the third floor. It was still loud, but capable of conversation. They passed another bar, where a large burly man was working. He was all in leather, and his long beard was pink.
“Bunny!” Nyx yelled. “Breakfast platter, extra drippy, and a red wine.”The pink-bearded bartender nodded.
“Coming right up.”
Nyx dropped down on a chair at a two-seater table. “So. I did what to you, exactly?”
Zak sat in the other chair. “You stole my bicycle.”
She scoffed. “No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Her face turned neutral but there was a quiet aggression in her voice now. “No. I didn’t.”
Zak wasn’t going to be pushed around by a teenage girl. “You did. When I woke up it was gone. You took it.”
Nyx didn’t appear to be listening. Her eyes were diverted, now following the approaching platter of food. When it was placed in front of her she produced one of her knives and stabbed it into the stack of pancakes before Bunny had even removed his hand. “Of course I took it.”
She lifted a portion of pancake and it dripped with bacon fat. She stuffed it in her mouth. “I left you the training wheels and a knife. Fair trade.”
Or, at least that’s what Zak thought she said. Speaking around her food and the noise of the nightclub made her words difficult to understand.
“I didn’t agree to any trade. Fair or otherwise.”
She stared at him and bit into a sausage that was impaled on her switchblade. It squished, swelled under the pressure of her jaws, and oozed new grease. Nyx chewed.
“You’re real bad at this whole surviving thing. You’re overlooking something very important. We both made it out of that trade alive.” She stared at him, then rolled her eyes and tucked her foot onto her chair. “Fine. You look like you need this more than me anyway.” She pulled a straight razor from her boot and slid it across the table. “It must be so hard being a man.”
There was something in her gaze that Zak was sure hadn’t been there the first time they met. A resolute relief, a satisfaction. It was hard to tell under the ever-changing lights. Her skin still seemed pale, but no longer grey and washed out. She wasn’t so hollow. She was eating.
“This is where you were trying to get to when we met?” Zak scooped up the razor and put it in his pocket.
“Yeah.” In a flash of solemnity Nyx lowered her knife. She immediately picked it back up and stabbed at another wet pancake.
“We could have travelled together,” Zak said.
“You woulda just slowed me down.” She stuffed the next pancake into her mouth, chewed a few times, then it was gone. “Got everything taken care of. Lemme tell you, food tastes way better when there isn’t the nagging threat of puking it all back up ten seconds later.”
Watching the voracious manner in which Nyx ate made Zak’s stomach churn. “I’d imagine.”
“So, what are you doing here? This isn’t exactly the sort of place for… your kind.” She pondered as she stared at him, jaw tearing her food apart. “Or maybe it is.”
She picked up the fork, and used it to scoop up the eggs. “Met the boss yet?”
“Yes. I was a few hours drive from here when a pair of Hunters attacked me. A woman named Gail took me from them in exchange for some meat.”
Somewhere in the middle of Zak’s explanation, Nyx choked on her mouthful. She grabbed her wine and swallowed large gulps until the glass was empty.
“Are you alright?” Zak asked.
Nyx punched her chest and nodded. “So, wait. He sent his right hand to go in person and trade actual meat for the privilege of your company? He must really like you.”
Zak was uncomfortable with what she was implying. “He was saving me from the Hunters.”
Nyx pushed a sausage around her plate with her knife. “Look, as someone who’s been bought and sold like a piece of meat, I’m just saying be careful.”
“Two things,” Zak said. “I was traded, not bought. And it was for meat, not like meat.”
“Uh huh, fantastic.” She nodded and said in a dismissive tone. “Question for you: What’s the difference?”
Did that breakfast-for-dinner conversation whet your appetite for more? Hopefully! If so, the ARC Team sign-up sheet is still live. If you want to receive a free copy of Clipped before anyone else, just fill out this form.
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Still interested? Well then...
Part of being a self-published author is doing all the things. You know the things. The mood boards, the playlists, the trope maps, the social media posts, meme-ify your labour of love. It's not my favourite thing to do, but it must be done.
And I'm often at a loss of what exactly to do. You're relegated to selling books on vibes, and also on tropes. The trade off is that you get to examine how your book feels. The energy of it. A great way to do this is playlists. Here's the playlist for CLIPPED. I hope you find new things to listen to within! (also, mild spoilers maybe if you think about it too hard...)
If you're a writer, what do you like to listen to when you write? Do you have a playlist for your story?
As a reader, do you listen to music when you read?
