Friday, March 28, 2014

Welcome to Lynne Townsend and a preview of her new vampire novel, 'Blood Sight' from Vampasty Publishing

Hello! Let me introduce myself; I'm Lynn Townsend, geek and writer and I'm celebrating the release of my second novel, Blood Sight, Book One in the Demoniac Codex, released by Vamptasy Publishing.


Blood Sight

Reluctant oracle and consultant for the Paranormal Police, Rachel Kristoff, has problems, and the vampire at her front door is only the beginning. Threatened by supernatural foes, hampered by her malfunctioning clairvoyance, and betrayed by the only family she has left, Rachael is forced to rely on her former lover. For the sake of both of their souls, she will make the only choice left open to her: Depend on the vampire, or die.

Bound to the bloodline of the Oracles since the fall of the Roman Empire, accused of murder, and betrayed by his own vampire Childe, Marcus Valerius is a relic of past glories better left in a previous era. For centuries, he has protected the children of Delphi against all who would control the future for their own purposes. Now, saving the life of the only woman he has ever loved means destroying the Oracular abilities he's sworn to protect.

In a world of angels and demons, vampires and werewolves, foresight and past lives, what you cannot forsee just might kill you...

Read an Excerpt:

Marcus reached backwards with one arm and tore the passenger door right off my car, using as a shield for the first incoming poodle-strocity. My car lurched hard, rocking first to the right, then landed hard on the driver's side wheels. I gasped in shock, then shrieked, pure anger. "God damn you, Marcus! You owe me a new car." The poodle-strocity staggered backwards a few steps, stunned by the impact. Marcus stepped forward, kicked it in the chest. It went down and did not move.

"Of course I do." The vampire flashed me a quick smile, fangs already descending into a feral snarl. He threw the door, Frisbee-style, at another animalcule. The makeshift projectile sliced through the body of the poodle-strocity like a hot knife through butter. I couldn't help but be impressed, regardless of my intentions. The two halves of the poodle-strocity shivered, struggling. It wasn't dead. Of course, it had never been alive to begin with. Then again, Marcus hadn't been alive for centuries. My head hurt trying to correctly track vocabulary. Stupid English language; it never quite seemed to want to wrap around the concepts of the paranormal.

I was quietly going into shock. How fun.

I rapped my head firmly on the steering wheel. The pain brought tears to my eyes, but also helped clear my head. A bit. In the spots where it wasn't ringing because I'd stupidly given myself a bruise in the middle of my forehead. In the parking lot, Marcus was doing what vampires do best, wrecking havoc. I leaned towards the gap in my car's body, trying to get a better view of the resultant destruction.

The snarling head of a poodle-strocity covered the opening. I shrieked, flinging myself backwards, away from the snarling teeth, dripping saliva. "Christ," I hit the door, scrambled for the handle and couldn't find it. The poodle-strocity, hampered by the spikes around its head, twisted and shifted, biting at the air. One untimely snap tore away the headrest on the passenger side seat. I found the lever for the driver's seat and pressed it. My seat back slowly lowered. The seatbelt cut into my chest and I swore. I had to punch at the release several times before I actually disconnected the belt. The poodle-strocity snapped a spine off with a howl. It didn't bleed, of course it didn't. Animalcules were formed of clay, they didn't need bodily fluids to function. I clambered into the backseat.

The poodle-strocity attempted to squeeze itself into the car. It barked several times. Trapped within the confines of the Prius, the barks were ear-shattering. I screamed, clamping my hands over my head, totally forgetting everything else. I cowered on the floor in the back seat, curled up amongst the detritus that my car always seemed to collect, no matter how often I told myself I should keep the floorboards cleaned. It forced head and shoulders into my car. Its fetid breath was smothering, filling the air with hot, wet stink. I gasped, regretted it, and attempted to control my breath, panting shallowly. I slammed my shoulders into the seat as the poodle-strocity crowded me. The animalcule pulled back with a snort, then snuffled forward, growling.

I scrambled around for my backpack for something to use as a weapon. You can't really shoot a solid brick of animated clay - okay, well, you could, but it wouldn't do you much good. A few chips might shatter off, but that was all. I dumped the bag over, bracing myself against the seat back, trying to keep it between me and those teeth. Ah! Bear repellent - I had used the canister of specialized pepper-spray with great effect against a rogue lycanthrope once. I aimed the canister. A thin stream of yellow spray squirted over the beast's nose and eyes. The poodle-strocity sneezed, covering the inside of my car with sticky, stomach-turning warm drool.

"Oh, nasty!" I exclaimed. "Really, that's just too fucking much, don't you think?" It didn't bleed, but it still slobbered? What kind of deranged psycho made these things? The poodle-strocity jerked its head out of my car, scraping at its face with over-sized paws, yelping and whining.

Clay was a good material to work with for making simulacrum items. Impervious to fire, water, and when as solid as this freaking thing was, difficult to break. There was nothing else useful in the bag. I didn't even have a spare cartridge of the bear repellent.

Wait. I grabbed a tiny red cylinder tucked in the very bottom of the bag. It wasn't a weapon - I'd used the damn thing to entertain Nico's cat, after all - but it might just work. The poodle-strocity had finished clearing its face of the bear repellent. Angry, bloodshot - how the hell could it have bloodshot eyes? - eyes narrowed at me. The muzzle rippled back, displaying its teeth to full advantage.

I finally found the door handle. I opened the driver's side rear door and spilled out onto the pavement in my hurry to get away. The poodle-strocity leaped onto the Prius. The roof caved in with a sickening squeal of metal. The windows exploded, spraying me with safety glass. As if the fucking thing didn't have enough advantages, now it had the high ground? I was going to file a complaint, my hand to God.

I thumbed the button on the side of the tube I'd plucked from my backpack.

A red dot appeared, shivering, on the pavement about eight feet away.

"Dear God, please work, please work, please work."


Lynn Townsend is a geek, a dreamer and an inveterate punster. When not reading, writing, or editing, she can usually be found drinking coffee or killing video game villains. Lynn's interests include filk music, romance novels, octopuses, and movies with more FX than plot. She grew up half in central Virginia, half in way-upstate New York and went to college at William & Mary, where she met and later married a guy who grew up half in Kentucky and half in Utica. They have one child, one murder-death-cat, a turtle, and two chinchillas.

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