Clark used to be a miner, until he drank from a vial he swore
was absinthe but was actually an invention to give him the ability to raise the
dead. Now Clark seeks to fulfill his father's wishes to keep inventions away
from Senator Horan and his beloved Amethyst is along for the ride. Deceit, drama, romance, the insidious
underbellies of gangs...How can she not be involved?
Clark can't hide behind the Treasure name forever and the army still wants him
for his secret abilities. If Captain Greenwood can't snare Clark, then he'll
use the Treasures as collateral. Saving his
father's inventions will just have to wait, especially now that the Treasures
have been kicked off their ranch and driven into exile. Clark knows how to survive
on the run, but that’s not the fate the Treasures deserve. He can surrender to
the army or fight for his freedom, but Amethyst has other plans for fixing
their troubles.
She’s come across another one of the vials that gave Clark his abilities, and
it looks mighty tasty.
BORN OF TREASURE, book 2 of the Treasure Chronicles
This young adult fantasy turns
the Wild West into a steampunk adventure.
It is released September 12, 2015, but in the meantime, enjoy the
stunning cover, a contest, and an excerpt!
Enjoy the following excerpt…
Clark
eased the door open enough to peer into the closet. Scratch that, make it a
ballroom. Faded curtains with moth-chewed holes were fastened to the walls to
display a stage. Forgotten props leaned against the back, a mixture of painted
shrubbery and constructed balconies, as though the musty room couldn’t decide
what it wanted to be.
This
would be fun. He’d never come across a rundown, exotic hideout in the desert.
Clark tucked his lock-picking kit into his jacket pocket and nudged the door
shut behind him. His breath sounded too loud in the still room, but no ghosts
appeared to haunt the memories. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams coming
through the windows near the ceiling. One window, of stained glass, sent a
distorted image of the late king onto the hardwood floor. He pictured the
theater where he’d grown up back in Tangled Wire, a space in the corner of the
saloon where alcohol hadn’t puckered the floorboards too much. Sometimes, the
saloon owner had made his mother dance with the younger Tarnished Silvers.
“Mum
would’ve shone on this stage,” Clark whispered. She could’ve worn her favorite
green dress, to go along with the emerald shade of the curtains.
Tables
covered what remained of the room, littered with piles of gears and cogs.
Broken clocks glared at him through their cracked faces.
“Check
near the stage.” The spirit of Clark’s father appeared beside him. Perfect, the
ballroom needed a ghost. Black holes peered out instead of eyes, matching the
space in his chest where a bullet had stolen his life. At last, a ghost to
match the dismal space.
“Your
inventions show up in the weirdest places.” Clark stepped over a heap of clock
keys, but one crunched beneath the heel of his riding boot.
“Senator
Horan never got this one, and he’s looked. Trust me, he’s looked. See, it was
stolen right from my jacket! Never trust a girl wearing too much lip paint.
She’ll slip her hand in your pocket and you’ll never see your watch or billfold
again.”
This had to be the point where a son grew tired of his
father’s rambling and zoned out. He’d seen it enough on ranches, especially
when the father wanted the son to follow in reluctant footsteps. “Senator Horan wanted to buy the pocket watch
right after I finished it.” Eric waved his hands. “Nope, I told him. You’re too
late. A pretty Tarnished Silver made off with it. He didn’t believe me, swore I
was lying. He tried to pay me another small fortune in land.”
Clark
grinned. He could listen to his father, Eric, all day and never grow weary of
his words. His mother must’ve felt like that, getting lost in Eric’s passion.
Clark
lifted the corner of a striped sheet thrown over a table, revealing glass
plates for clock faces. “Don’t worry, your time travel device is safe.”
Eric
floated closer. “I told you, son. It’s not time travel.”
“Right,”
Clark teased, drawing out the word. At least if the pocket watch had to have
been stolen, it hadn’t been tossed down a privy with other garbage. A clock collector—obsessed
fellow, more likely—turned out to be a great alternative. “If I was going to
collect something, I would definitely keep it in an old railroad station.” Not
that he’d ever had the luxury of collecting anything. If he managed to own a second
pair of shoes, he felt like a king.
“It’s
a magnificent workspace,” his father said. “Pity I didn’t think of using an old
ballroom. Perfect light from every angle, lots of room to spread-out.”
Clark
studied the table closest to the stage. Pocket watches of various sizes ranged
from thumbnail small to fist-size large, most dented. A polishing cloth had
been thrown over a triangular-shaped one.
“This
was the first train station in Hedlund,” Eric rambled. “All they had here was a
mission and a few shacks. The mountains were just starting to be mined and the
king was encouraging farmers to come out here to the land. They wanted this
station to be the hubbub of life. A great encouragement to the weaklings back
east.”
“Like
you?” Clark lifted an oval pocket watch with diamonds on the front. The spaces
of missing stones reminded him of a face scarred by the pox.
“As
the rest of Hedlund built up and the main cities extended to the ocean, this
little town became quite little. It’s still a stop on the main railroad, but
people don’t want to stay for dancing or a show. Did I tell you I wanted to be
a professor?”
The
other gang members might not laugh if they knew Clark’s father was loaded—lots
of the wealthy slept around with Tarnished Silvers—but they’d have a good roar
over Brass Glass Clark having a professor for an old man. Univeristy brats hid
behind books in shadowed libraries. They didn’t run around the desert with
steamcycles and pistols.
They
didn’t get shot by mercenaries hired by a senator, either.
Clark
spotted a pocket watch with the Grisham family crest on the front: a swan with
a key hanging from its beak. “Got it.” A tiny diamond winked from the swan’s
eye.
Jordan Elizabeth, formally Jordan Elizabeth
Mierek, is the author of ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW and a contributor to
GEARS OF BRASS, both available from Curiosity Quills Press. GEARS OF BRASS includes a short story
featuring Amethyst Treasure, one of the main characters in the Treasure
Chronicles. Check out Jordan’s website for contests and book
signings. Jordan is represented by
Belcastro Agency and President of the Utica Writers Club.
Don’t miss any of the Treasure Chronicles. Book 1, TREASURE
DARKLY, is on sale for 99 cents this week only!
Don’t miss your chance to win a heart-and-key necklace with matching earrings worthy of Amethyst Treasure. Enter here:
Thank you so much for stopping by, and happy reading!
