The sincerest appreciation to my resourceful and knowledgeable agent, Jenny Bent; to my gracious and insightful editor, Anne Heltzel, whose valuable suggestions inspired me to take the scenes and characters to a new level; and to my fabulous publicists, Caitlin Miller and Tina Mories. Also, my gratitude to copyeditors, proofreaders, and all the unsung heroes behind the making of every beautiful book at Abrams. On that note, thank you once again to Maria Middleton and Nathália Suellen for being the most imaginative and artful book design team.
SMUGS to the best beta reader and online supporter any author could hope for: Stacee (aka @book_junkee). And hugs to Heather Love King, my Pinterest buddy who is as addicted to eye candy as I am. No one could ask for better cheerleaders than the two of you! Also, a special thanks to Jaime Arnold and Rachel Clarke of Rockstar Book Tours for their outstanding work on my virtual book tours.
To my Facebook Splintered Series Fan Page moderators: Katie Clifton, Diane Marie Hinds, Natalia Godik, and Autumn Fae Evans, and to my RoseBlood fan page mods: Amanda Colin, Adriana Colin, and Chara Sullivan. I value you so much. The effort you put into maintenance and interactions keeps the pages afloat when I’m working to meet deadlines. Also, waves to all of the fan page followers. Hanging out with you is one of my favorite pastimes!
A depth of gratitude to my Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest, blog, GoodReads, and Facebook followers, along with book bloggers, fellow authors/writers, and readers. Writing can feel like a solitary endeavor at times. Having your online support reminds me that I’m never really alone at all. Also, a deep bow to Gaston Leroux for writing the gothic and tragic masterpiece that has lit the imaginations of so many and inspired movies, musicals, and countless retellings.
And last but not least, my thanks to God for giving me this passion for storytelling, and for keeping my well of inspiration filled.
Hope you enjoyed RoseBlood by A. G. Howard! Keep reading for a preview of Splintered, the first book in the Splintered series.
I’ve been collecting bugs since I was ten; it’s the only way I can stop their whispers. Sticking a pin through the gut of an insect shuts it up pretty quick.
Some of my victims line the walls in shadow boxes, while others get sorted into mason jars and placed on a bookshelf for later use. Crickets, beetles, spiders … bees and butterflies. I’m not picky. Once they get chatty, they’re fair game.
They’re easy enough to capture. All you need is a sealed plastic bucket filled with Kitty Litter and a few banana peels sprinkled in. Drill a hole in the lid, slide in a PVC pipe, and you have a bug snare. The fruit peels attract them, the lid traps them, and the ammonia from the litter smothers and preserves them.
The bugs don’t die in vain. I use them in my art, arranging their corpses into outlines and shapes. Dried flowers, leaves, and glass pieces add color and texture to the patterns formed on plaster backgrounds. These are my masterpieces … my morbid mosaics.
School let out at noon today for the upperclassmen. I’ve been passing the last hour working on my newest project. A jar of spiders sits among the art tools cluttering my desk.
The sweet scent of goldenrod breezes through my bedroom window. There’s a field of herbs next door to my duplex, attracting a genus of crab spider that changes color—like eight-legged chameleons—in order to move undetected among the yellow or white blooms.
Twisting off the jar’s lid, I dip out thirty-five of the small white arachnids with long tweezers, careful not to squish their abdomens or break their legs. With tiny straight pins, I secure them onto a black-tinted plaster background already covered with beetles selected for their iridescent night-sky sheen. What I’m envisioning isn’t a typical spatter of stars; it’s a constellation that coils like feathery bolts of lightning. I have hundreds of warped scenes like this filling my head and no idea where they came from. My mosaics are the only way to get them out.
Leaning back in my chair, I study the piece. Once the plaster dries, the insects will be permanently in place, so if any adjustments need to be made, it has to be done quickly.
Glancing at the digital clock beside my bed, I tap my bottom lip. I have less than two hours before I have to meet Dad at the asylum. It’s been a Friday tradition ever since kindergarten, to get chocolate-cheesecake ice cream at the Scoopin’ Stop and take it to share with Alison.
Brain freeze and a frozen heart are not my idea of fun, but Dad insists it’s therapy for all of us. Maybe he thinks by seeing my mom, by sitting where I might one day live, I’ll somehow beat the odds.
Too bad he’s wrong.
At least one good thing has come out of my inherited insanity. Without the delusions, I might never have found my artistic medium.