Excerpt from Book 1

In honor of book two's completion, (and to maybe persuade those who haven't read book one yet to pick up a copy...ulterior motives, much?) Here's an excerpt from Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins. I hope you enjoy it!

And, to any of you authors out there... if you'd like me to put an excerpt of your book on the blog, along with purchase/author contact info, just let me know! (Please keep your excerpts PG-13) :)

Here goes:

Excerpt from LOR MANDELA – DESTRUCTION FROM TWINS by L. CARROLL
CHAPTER VII “THE GRASPING CURSE”

As Cristoph unfolded the letter, a pair of black, smoky hands oozed slowly from the paper. He watched in awe for a moment, but then realized what was happening. “NO! JOCE! IT’S A GRASPING CURSE!” Immediately, he hurled the paper onto the floor,grabbed a linen napkin from the table and threw it down on the note. He fell to his knees and tried to spread the napkin over the paper.

“WHAT?” Jocelynne exclaimed, seeing Cristoph's state of panic. “Cristoph! What is it?” She pushed her chair out and moved to stand.

“NO! Jocelynne! FREEZE!” Cristoph commanded frantically, jumping onto, and then across the long banquet table. He hurled himself through the air toward his entrusted.

“CRISTOPH! LOOK OUT!” she shrieked, as several more pairs of dripping black hands found their way out from underneath the napkin and sped toward Cristoph. “NO! CRISTOPH!” Before she could say another word, the hands had a grip on him. She started from her chair to try to help him.

“JOCELYNNE! DON’T MOVE!” He bellowed.

Slowly, she lowered back to sitting, and held completely still, watching in horror as gnarled black hands started to rip and tear at him. Two of them slid up and wrapped themselves firmly around his neck. He tried to pry them off, but had no sooner reached up, when several heavy claws grabbed him around his hands and arms. He kicked and wrestled ferociously but he was defenseless. A few seconds later, he let out a mournful moan, and then stopped moving.

“Cristoph?” Jocelynne sobbed. “Please . . . no!”

Another pair of fatal hands was now hypnotically weaving its way toward her. Still, two more were heading toward Phillip who had just come in with more food. Upon seeing Cristoph—bloodied and presumably dead on the floor—Phillip dropped his tray of food, and ran toward Jocelynne in a valiant effort to save her. The hands responded though; and within a fraction of a second, he too was being ripped at and strangled by the oozing black hands.

Jocelynne was terrified. The claws moving toward her were now just inches away. She panted heavily, tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t think. She knew that if she moved she was dead, but she didn’t see how holding still would save her either. In a desperate attempt to get help, she sat perfectly still and began to scream.

The hands that had mutilated Cristoph and Phillip now were twisting toward her slowly and ominously. She screamed even louder, but didn’t move anything but her mouth.

Two female servants burst into the room in reaction to the ator’s screams. “GET OUT! GET HELP!” she shrieked.

The servant closest to the door barely escaped back through it, as two of the inky claws slammed against it, scratching wildly at the wooden surface in an effort to get her back. The other girl panicked and tried to lunge out of the way as a set of hands viciously grabbed at her. Her death came quickly. The force of the hands hitting her as she dove jerked her so violently that her neck snapped instantly.

The servant who’d escaped was now wildly searching for someone to help. She ran down the corridor toward Jonathan and Gracielle's chambers screaming hysterically. Several guards appeared in the halls, responding to the commotion. “HELP! The dining . . . Atoc . . . Ator . . . HELP!” She was panic-stricken and not making sense.

Jonathan and Gracielle heard the commotion and came to see what was going on.

“BLACK HANDS!” she screeched, “THEY’RE KILLING . . . THEY LOOKED DEAD!”

“A grasping curse!” Jonathan gasped. He didn’t wait for details. He sped down the hall towards the dining room, and Gracielle followed.

In the meantime, the first set of smoky hands had reached Jocelynne and had begun to wrap steadily around her throat. It squeezed just enough to squelch her sobs. She gasped for air, but the hands continued to tighten their deadly grip. She knew that Cristoph was dead, and likely, that she was about to be. In a final, hopeless effort, she tried to pull away. As soon as she moved, the hands ensnared her and dragged her forcibly to the floor. She struggled and thrashed wildly, trying to get away—but there was nothing to be done. The curse was impossible to break free from once it had been unleashed.

A few seconds later, Jonathan burst through the door with Gracielle right behind him, but they were too late.

The scene was gruesome; blood, plates, linens, food and bodies were flung everywhere. Jonathan's parents and two of their servants were dead. Though neither Jonathan nor Gracielle noticed, the fatal invitation was pulsating eerily underneath the napkin on the floor—the last traces of the deadly vapor disintegrating back into it.