Secrets Behind The Book - NEW VIDEO!

New video! Learn the surprising (and funny) secrets behind the YA Fantasy book - A Darling Secret.

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Have you checked out my other videos? You might enjoy these too:

• Secrets of The Nightmare Birds
• Secrets of Strange Luck

Blog Milestone - 15,000 Pageviews!

The Golden Cricket hit a milestone this week - 15,000 page views. WOOHOO!

Thank you to everyone who reads my blog, and for all of the awesome comments. You guys seriously rock :)

To celebrate, I thought I'd showcase the top three posts I've featured on The Golden Cricket thus far.

Here we go:

1)  How To Write Historical Fiction Without Really Trying - Guest Post by Christie Stratos: This article was one of my very first guest posts I featured on the blog. It's written by fellow author, Christie Stratos, who also happens to be my editor.

If you've ever wanted to write historical fiction, but don't know where to get started, you have to check out her post.

2) TBT Writer - Confessions of a Sugarholic: Each month (give or take), I try to post something I wrote way back when accompanied by an awkward pic. I call is #TBTWriter, or Throwback Thursday Writer.

This particular bad story was written about an ice cream sundae. Get ready to laugh! Check it out. 

3) TBT Writer - Good Ideas, Sometimes: Remarkably, the third most-viewed post on The Golden Cricket is another Throwback Thursday story.

In this post, I share the very first book I wrote, pics, and a peculiar dedication at the front. Hope you enjoy it.

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What's your favorite post on The Golden Cricket? Share below.

Have you checked out my articles about writing? You might enjoy these too:

• How to Write A Novel, Part 1: Let The Journey Begin 
• How to Write a Novel, Part 2: Brainstorming, Drafting, and Getting Organized 
• How to Write A Novel, Part 3: Editing Like A Pro  
• How to Be a More Productive Writer

TBT Writer - What Is Red?

I know it's been a LONG time since I've posted a #TBTWriter, so I'll be sure to include extra photos for this post. :)

Today I'd like to share a simple story/poem that I wrote when I was 11ish about the color red.

I never realized how much I liked the color red until I re-read this. Then when I started looking at all of my old photos to share, I discovered that so many of them were of me wearing red.

Even in my stories I write now, red is very prevalent. For example, the protagonist in Strange Luck has red hair and she is frequently wearing red or a red accent.

Coincidence, or have I always just had a fondness for the color? You decide.

Here's a pic of the original poem.

Red

What is red?
Red is the color of flaming fire.
Red is the color of beautiful birds.
You can find small red creatures hiding in rocks by the ocean.
Red is the color of victory.
Red is a bright color that brings out the picture.
Red is the color of wonderful books that tune on the mind's imagination.
Red is the color of a ruby red cherry.
Red is the color of life!

~~~

Apparently I felt very strongly about red being the color of life so much so that I included a punctuation mark. Lol.

And now for some TBT pics....

This is one of my favorite pics of me (far right). Not only am I Super Girl, I'm also posing with a giant Twinkie.  Ha ha!

Here's me at age 11 wearing my favorite red shirt.

For my entire undergraduate degree I dyed my hair red. If you're wondering what I'm holding it's a chinchilla.

Ano Nuevo in California. This area and its neighboring towns heavily influenced my stories.

Here's a pic of me from when I lived in Florida.

Here's a recent video I did where I'm wearing....you guessed it. Red!

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Do you have a writing throwback? Post it with #TBTWriter so we can all read your story. And don't forget to check out my other #TBTWriter stories and pics:

• Confessions of a Sugarholic
• A Nine-Year-Old's First Horror Story
• Good Ideas, Sometimes

Telling Secrets - My Interview With Sunshine Somerville

Which of my characters are based on real people?

Do I ever let them in on the secret?

Find out the answer to these fun questions (and many more) in my latest interview with Sunshine Somerville.

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Have a question for me that's not answered here?

I'd love to hear from you!

The Weirdest Books on My Bookshelf

The book on my nightstand is currently The White People and Other Weird Stories by Arthur Machen. So far it holds true to its title in terms of "weird." Bonus points that Machen inspired Lovecraft. Woot! Anyway, it got me thinking about my love of weird books. Enter my list of the weirdest books on my bookshelf.

Le Petit Poisson dans un Grand Etang: A few years ago, I began teaching myself French in preparation for a trip to Paris. I did a combination of Rosetta Stone, Duolingo, and workbooks. I had read someplace that reading children’s books in the language you are learning is also beneficial, so I bought Le Petit Poisson dans un Grand Etang (The little fish in the big pond) because it looked like a cute and quirky story that was easy to read.

This book immediately put me in my place! Labeled as “kindergarten level”, I had difficulties reading from the first page. As I worked through it (with some assistance from my hubby) we discovered that this book wasn’t your typical children’s book. It was the story of a fish that has an existential crisis. Yes, you heard me right! An existential crisis. The fish questions his existence, decides to leave his home and family, and on his many adventures questions the meaning of his life. The book wouldn’t be complete without a depressing existential ending - that being that he dies at the end. This book was a 10 on the weirdness scale and made me realize that my French needed some serious work. 😝

Platypus: This book is about the extraordinary story of how a curious creature battled the world. It uncovers the earliest theories and latest discoveries about the delightfully odd member of the animal kingdom - the platypus.

What prompted me to read an entire book about the platypus? I guess it just sounded neat, and neat it was. I pulled a lot of weird (albeit possibly useless) knowledge from this book. For example, did you know that the platypus has a stinger? Look it up!

The Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster: This book is completely silly, but impressively creative. It provides some really interesting ways to think about religion and the world in a funny, weird way. The pictures also really add to the hilarity.

Case and point...

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What are the weirdest books on your bookshelf? Can they top my list?

The Little Ninja

So I'm sitting at a cafe writing a fight scene for my new book, when I get the feeling that I'm being watched.

I was right.

A ninja was watching me from the crevice!

I'm wrapping up Chapter 14 right now and hope to have more writing updates soon. :D

TBT Writer - The Cave

My fascination with caves started in elementary school. 

Whenever there was a promise of a cave at the end of a long hike, I would take it.

My dad and me at wind caves in CA

Caves have found their way into a lot of my short stories I wrote growing up. I'm not sure why exactly. Perhaps because they are so mysterious and kinda spooky. Whatever the reason, they are still finding their way into my stories today. Here's a snippet from Strange Luck:

At one point, I made the mistake of leaning over the edge of the staircase, only to see the cave walls disappear into a dark foggy abyss. Like a whirlpool, smoke swirled before it was sucked into the middle.

My visit to Ruby Falls in Chattanooga, TN.

And here's one from Book II in the Strange Luck series, The Nightmare Birds:

I must’ve walked for over an hour—at least I thought I did. A patron had once brought a book to Strange Luck called Troglodytic Offerings. It chronicled the accounts of people who had voluntarily lived in isolation in caves without any light. Though the scientists reported that the volunteers were physically and mentally healthy when they finally emerged, their sleep patterns and perceptions of time had been drastically altered. They had lost track of entire weeks and had even slipped into 48-hour sleep cycles. The book also included some of their unsettling hallucinatory drawings. One drawing of a disturbing winged creature gave me nightmares for a week. Although the book was interesting, I didn’t purchase it given its lack of supernatural qualities. There was nothing worse than being trapped in darkness alone, even voluntarily. Yet here I was doing that very same thing.

Garden of the Gods in Colorado

Do the catacombs in Paris count as a cave?

For this month's #TBTWriter post I thought I'd share the very first story I wrote about a cave, simply called The Cave. Original, I know. :) My elementary school teacher gave me a 23/25 on it. Woot!

The Cave

Suddenly, the lantern sputtered and went out. It was my worst nightmare. I heard many strange noises, and screams. I was so scared, even more when I heard footsteps. They came closer. Just then I knew I had to leave. I tried feeling around so I would not crash. After a few minutes I found the wall. I tried with all my might to climb it. When I was just about to give up I saw a light. Ohhh! I listened for the footsteps. They came closer and closer and then they stopped. I shivered in fear. I tried again and I made it. When I got up, I thought I was in some sort of an attic. But I didn't see where the light came from. I then heard a crash and things falling. I knew someone was after me.

I tried to run but I was stuck. I felt to see what was holding me. It turned out it was an old trap, and I was caught in it. The footsteps came back, and it sounded like a group of them. I thought, oh no! I then just remembered my magnifying glass. The sun shown through the ceiling. I held the glass up to the sun, and in no time I had a fire. The room lit up with flashing red and yellow flames. Now I could see the trap. I carefully unwound it, and ran for my life.

I ran down halls and through doors. I then found myself trapped again. A huge door was in my way. I pounded on it when the footsteps were once heard again. I thought I could never escape because the door was made of the roughest metal and the hardest iron. Just then the footsteps stopped. I had finally lost them.

I started walking and found a torch. To me it looked like a giant tunnel. I walked ever so fast to find my way out. I hardly noticed a sound. But this one I noticed.

The sound was rough, loud, and shaky. I remembered it was the sound of water. If the tunnel filled up with it I would die. I ran as fast as a swift fox, but instead the water beat me. I was swimming for my life. The water was cold as ice. I looked over and saw a door and it was open. I swam, and swam, and swam.

After a few more seconds which seemed like hours I reached it. I pulled myself up on something which turned out it was the person after me. At that moment he moved in back of me. The whole time he was looking at my head. I very gently lifted my hand and tapped the man on his back. He turned around. Hello, he called, and then turned back to me. I was gone.

I turned in the first hall and to my surprise I found a hidden staircase. I jumped up each stair and found the way out. It was a misty night, a light moon, and a cold temperature. I wanted to go home, and that's what I was going to do. I walked home and disappeared in the mist.

High school me and my very first pug (Gomer)

~~~

So there it is. My first cave story. Between the thing with the magnifying glass and finagling my way out the trap like it was nothing, I must've been watching a little too much MacGyver. :P

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Do you have a writing throwback? Post it with #TBTWriter so we can all read your story. And don't forget to check out my other #TBTWriter stories and pics:

• Confessions of a Sugarholic
• A Nine-Year-Old's First Horror Story
• Good Ideas, Sometimes

Book Impressions - Love Serially

Getting a book review is like opening a gift on Xmas.

When it's a good review, it's like getting Super Nintendo with all of your favorite games that you'd been wanting all year. Hey, I'm a child of the 90s. :) Did you see this by the way?

Anyway, I'm so excited that Love Serially Book Blog reviewed BOTH of my books and had some awesome things to say.  Here's a snippet from the Strange Luck review:

"The writing and dialogue are smooth and the world that Amie Winters creates is vivid and interesting...it's a lot of fun."

You can read the full review here.

And here's a snippet of The Nightmare Birds review:

"Daisy is a very loving person and it really helps to draw people to her, including me the reader. The love of a daughter to her father, first love, and the love of a mother to her child—it’s all there and I enjoyed it immensely...highly entertaining."

You can read the full review here.

I'm so glad you enjoyed my books!:D

TBT Writer - The Word Wizard

It's #TBTWriter! Time to share some writing throwbacks and awkward pics. If you’ve got a writing throwback, post it with this hashtag so everyone can read your story.

In elementary school, we were given a class assignment to write about our favorite words. They even gave us this nifty handout to fill in the blanks.

Check out that self portrait in the middle. I'm wearing a bow AND a pearl necklace. Fancy. I'm also labeled as "a word wizard." I like the sound of that!

Looking back now, the teacher who assigned this was awesome. What better way to learn how you feel about writing than to dissect words. I especially liked looking at which of these answers are still true, which I've noted beneath each prompt. Here we go...

Words that make me happy: Good, fantastic, great, nice job
These words do still certainly make me happy. :D

Strange or fun words I know: Ice skating, music, soccer
I must be going with "fun" words here.

Special words: Amie
Interesting answer. I probably wrote this because not a lot of people spell their name like me.

Places we find words: Paper, rooms, clothes, school, homes
Yep.

Words I say to cheer up others: Are you o.k., I'm sorry, comets
Not sure what 'comets' means here. Maybe I meant 'comments' as in giving people feedback.

Words that scare me: Croak
This is still true! There's something about this particular word that I absolutely hate.

Words that I love to hear: Piano, music, soccer, Amie
Apparently I liked people saying my name. Not sure these are still true. I think my new answers would have to be cake, Loki (he's my puppy), and I liked your book.

I use words with care because: More people will be kind and will become our friends
I can't believe I wrote this. How adorable!

Words are important because: That's how we learn how to read and talk
Agree.

These words always cause a strong reaction: Hate
Agree.

I learn new words best when: I look in a dictionary
Somewhat agree. I'm more likely to look at the thesaurus in Word than go to a dictionary. 
 
And no TBT post would be complete without a silly picture. This one is so wonderfully 90's that I had to include it. Check out that rockin side ponytail. Oh, and if you're curious about what I'm doing, I'm weaving a lanyard. Remember those? I miss the 90's :(

Have you checked out my other TBTWriter posts yet? You might find these amusing:

• Confessions of a Sugarholic 
• Good Ideas, Sometimes!  
• A Sparkling Dog Named Millie
• An OCD's Worst Nightmare

I Was An Aerial Acrobat...Well, Sort Of

As I mentioned in my secrets of Strange Luck post, I love learning secrets behind a book, like where an author got a particular idea or wrote their story. It really adds something to the whole experience. I thought long and hard about some interesting tidbits I could share about The Nightmare Birds and this is what I've come up with. I hope you enjoy them. :D

1.   I took the title ‘The Nightmare Birds’ from a poem I had written 10 years ago. It was about nightingales in my neighborhood that were chirping all night and driving me crazy. Here's a pic of my journal with the poem:

2.   While writing this book I took aerial acrobatic lessons to get a better sense of what it was like to be a circus/theater performer. It was a lot of fun, but I wasn't very good at it. Here's a goofy pic of me striking a pose:

3.   One of the working titles for this book was ‘An Evening at the Theater of Secrets.’ I didn’t want to lose that name completely, so I used it as the title of the mysterious book in the story.
 
4.   Christine is actually based on a German foreign exchange student who lived with me when I was in high school. Just like the character in the book, her real name was Christine and she was kinda odd. She would always suddenly leave the room while you were talking to her, and she was obsessed with anything orange.

5.   My real-life interest in existentialism trickled into the story, especially Daisy’s fascination with Simone de Beauvoir and Friedrich Nietzsche. They are some of my favorite philosophers.

6.   Originally the “nightmare bird” was a nightingale (like in my poem), but I've always liked owls more, so I changed it.

7.   I wrote The Nightmare Birds as a standalone title years ago and worked closely with an agent to develop it. Per the agent's guidance, the story ultimately went a direction I didn't like, so the relationship dissolved and I decided to go my own way. I wrote Strange Luck next, then decided to adapt The Nightmare Birds as the sequel.
 

8.   In the original story, the protagonist's name was 'Rune.'

9.   The reference about people who voluntarily lived in caves without light and lost all track of time is based on a real (and super scary) experiment. Look it up.

10. Arianrhod (Daisy's mom) is based on a Goddess from Welsh mythology. The Goddess shape-shifts into a wise owl which enables her to see into the dark depths of the human soul.

I hope you enjoyed learning more about The Nightmare Birds. Don't forget to check these out too:

• 10 Things You Didn't Know About Strange Luck
• Meet the Characters of The Nightmare Birds
• Visit the Real Theater of Secrets
• Read An Excerpt

Come One, Come All!

Step right up...step right up...someone has something very special to share with you.

Drumroll, please....

It's a FREE sneak peak at the first chapter of The Nightmare Birds and it's magically appeared right here!!!

Chapter 1

Maneuvering my thermos of hot chocolate underneath my arm, I jangled the skeleton key in the usual technique necessary to open the finicky seventeenth-century lock: twist to the right, pull down, twist to the left, and pull up.

Whishhh. A cool breeze caught the door, sending it crashing into the cluster of rusty bells hanging over the threshold.

The scent of taxidermy and stale air flooded my nostrils, a scent I had come to accept after spending hundreds of dollars on deodorizers and expensive scented candles to no avail. I wondered what the customer behind me must have thought.

“Give me just two minutes to open up and I’ll look at your things. In the meantime, feel free to set them on the counter up front.”

The woman hardly seemed to listen as she gaped at the shelves brimming with oddities. The cockatiel on her shoulder sidled across her neck and gave a mighty squawk when it reached the other side. First-timers always got lost in the front, even though the rare and obscure items lived near the register.

After carefully examining a collection of vintage magnifying glasses said to reveal one’s true IQ if held up to their head on their birthday, she sauntered over to an alcove of alchemical books full of love and beauty spells before heading to the front. The woman briefly studied the medical tools, haunted pirate gold, cursed broaches, and the unsolvable puzzle box beneath the glass before setting her box of oddities so gently upon the counter you would’ve thought it was a newborn baby.

Flicking on the rest of the lights, I rushed to the back room to retrieve the enormous ledger.

“Mighty unusual job you have here,” she called. “Especially at your age.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Most twenty-one-year-olds don’t work at an antique shop, let alone own one.”

“So I read.”

I lumbered towards her. “Okay,” I huffed, placing the heavy ledger on the counter. “I’m ready.”

            “Knock yourself out. I think you’ll be pleased.”

            Rubbing my palms together—something my father used to do before getting his hands on a new item when the shop was his—I peeled back the tape on the box and

 pulled an old record off the top of a stack of bubble-wrapped items. The worn label read:

       Animalis Transmutatio

“It means Animal’s Transformation.” 

            The record felt heavy in my hands, heavier than any record I’d ever held. “What do you know about it?”

            “If I told anyone else but you, and Eddy here, what I’m about to tell you, I’d be locked up in the looney bin for sure,” she snickered, petting the cockatiel’s yellow mohawk. “But I trust you, given everything I’ve read about you…and the fact that you have red hair—a very trustworthy trait.”

            The parrot bounced up and down on her shoulder in agreement, then began to lovingly nibble on the woman’s ear.

“Now I’m really curious,” I admitted.

“This here is an old opera record. When played, it summons the formidable spirit, Turnni, who appears with one mission—to change you into any animal of your choosing. But once you choose, that’s it! You can’t go back to your human form for any reason.”

            “And what if you don’t want to be turned into an animal?”

            “Turnni isn’t forgiving.” Her bug eyes widened. “If you summon Turnni and decline to answer an animal’s name or change your mind about being turned into an animal, he will turn you into the worst thing of all just for disturbing him—a cockroach.”

            “A cockroach?”

            Sensing my doubt, she gestured to the parrot and thrust her shoulder forward. “Since it obviously wouldn’t be wise for us to play it, this here is my proof—my brother, Eddy. Oh, and my name’s Jan, by the way. Jan Darsy.”

Having been exposed to many outlandish and odd claims working at the shop, I was still somehow surprised by her revelation. “Your brother?”

“Yes, he told Turnni that he wanted to be a parrot because he wanted to fly.” She glanced at the bird peripherally and grinned. “He seems happy with his decision and knows lots of words so he can still communicate. Eddy was a recluse before he turned, so no one even noticed he changed.”

            I stared inquisitively at her and then the bird.

            The parrot squawked, “Turnni turned me. Yes, he did…Turnni turned me.” He bounced happily.

            Jan petted his little head. “There, you see?”

            I had encountered my fair share of scammers over the years, and the woman could’ve easily trained her parrot to say that, but there was a certain thickness and quality of the record, even if the serial number was absent.

“Well, this is the first time anyone’s brought anything living into the shop as a testament to a haunted item,” I replied, not giving her my assessment yet. I drew the record to my nostrils and inhaled deeply. I knew the smell of something truly haunted anywhere—like midnight on Halloween—and the record did not disappoint.

Oddities like these—strange, rare, and haunted things—were my shop’s specialty, and I never tired of acquiring peculiar new items like this.

“It’ll be a perfect addition to Strange Luck.”

 She beamed. “Oh, you won’t be sorry. My only request is that the person who buys it knows what they’re getting into. It worked out well for Eddy and all, but who knows what might happen if it got into the wrong hands.”

“You have my word.” Turning my attention back to the box of oddities, a prick of excitement shot through me when the next item surfaced beneath the bubble wrap. I carefully placed it upon the glass countertop.

Thick, uneven, multicolored pages burst forth from the heavy and tattered leather-bound book, pages just waiting to be explored. The gold embossed calligraphy read:

An Evening at the Theater of Secrets

My fingers tingled as they glided over the faded words, and I pulled back slightly. Inching open the exceptionally delicate caramel-colored book, I thumbed through several blank pages at the front.

“There’s only two in the world and they are handwritten, so there’s no publication information if that’s what you’re looking for, but given the binding and paper, I think your expertise will attest to the fact that this book is exceptionally old and rare.”

So stunned to be in the presence of such a magnificent book, I couldn’t find the words to reply, nor could I pry my eyes away from its splendor.

My eyes devoured the first passage:

Only those who possess wild eyes,

 an impulsive heart, and a wandering spirit

hunt for the Theater of Secrets.

If fate leads you to its forbidden doors,

and you are not true,

may a terrible eternal curse

be cast miserably on you.

The words shot a line of goose bumps clear up my leg.

“Are you aware of the legends of the Theater of Secrets?”

“No, not really.”

Her hazel eyes darkened as she immediately launched into a history lesson. “Well, the legends and mystery about this theater go back a hundred years—maybe more. You can see evidence of the theater throughout history in popular literature and even famous paintings.”

“Like?”

“Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh for starters. Van Gogh created the masterpiece right after he saw one of their performances—the stars and glowing orbs symbolize madness, magic. What he witnessed forever changed him and he never recovered. Took his life the following year.”

“What do you mean that the theater forever changed him?”

“Legends say that the theater uses a magic so dark that if you see just one performance, you will be forever changed—never truly satisfied with reality after you’ve seen such remarkable things.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Their acts are magnificent, impossible, death-defying. The theater only travels by night and they could pop up anywhere. One night they could be in Peru, the next Antarctica. If you really want to see a performance, you must hunt the theater like prey. It puts up a good fight though,” she added, making a fist. “I’ve been looking for thirteen years and now I’ve lost patience. The last I heard, they were in Monaco and headed to San Francisco.”

“San Francisco? That’s not too far from here. Always wanted to go.”

“Well, if you’re lucky enough to find the Theater of Secrets, the next obstacle is the price. A ticket for one performance costs upwards of a luxury car.”

“People would pay that much to see some magic tricks?” I scoffed.

Jan shook her head. “It’s not just magic tricks. It’s a different form of magic altogether. Seeing one of their performances is the ultimate coveted experience.”

I pursed my lips together, trying to visualize what one of these performances would even look like as I continued to delicately thumb through the book, landing on a hand-drawn diagram of something called a Frozen Limb Escape.

“Of course, there’s always been people who don’t believe in the existence of the Theater of Secrets,” Jan said. “Since the theater moves around so much and there are so many mysteries surrounding them, some argue there’s no real way to prove their existence…that is, unless you take a ruby.”

“A ruby?” My eyes widened.

“Yes. Each seat is beautifully ornate and hand-crafted by the ringleader who runs the theater—The Exact Mr. Black. Each red velvet seat is lined with rubies that pre-date the Paleolithic era. They are quite possibly the rarest gem around.”

“Has anyone managed to take home a ruby as proof?”

She held up her index finger. “One man. In Egypt. A couple of years ago.”

I found myself hanging on her every word like an impatient child during story time, waiting to hear the ending. The air grew thick. “What happened to him?”

“He managed to sell the ruby for an obscene amount of money before he was found dead in the desert the next day. They never determined a cause of death. And the ruby was never recovered. The man was greedy, so the theater took it back.”

“Took it back?”

She sighed. “It’s an unspoken rule that if you are ever granted the privilege of seeing a performance, you mustn’t ever speak of it, let alone flash your proof all over town.” Jan paused. “Well, Daisy, what do you think?” she inquired. “Are you a believer in the existence of the theater?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I can definitely tell you that I’m purchasing the book. Might even keep it for my personal collection.”

 “Splendid! It’s a very powerful book, and I don’t trust it to just anyone…except you.” Jan paused a moment and took a deep, slow breath through her tiny red nose. “Which brings me to my next order of business. I have something very important to request of you,” she said in such a serious tone that it made my hair stand on end. “What would you say if I asked you to authenticate the existence of the theater for me?”

“What?” I gasped, taking a step back from the book.

“I saw the way the book responded to you when you first touched it. You’re young and knowledgeable about magic and supernatural things, so you’d be the perfect candidate! Besides, you said yourself that San Francisco isn’t too far away and you’ve always wanted to go.”

She was right. Up until three years ago, I had been skeptical of the supernatural—until I saw something horrifying that changed everything. He had been a nice old man named Farnsworth seeking an ancient family heirloom—a map owned by the shop. But upon my repeated refusal to sell it to him, I watched in horror as the man morphed into a ghastly, otherworldly creature. To this day, I vividly remembered how his fingers lengthened into sharp black claws and how every inch of him sprouted throbbing, oozing boils moving along his skin like a swarm of angry bees. The most horrifying thing about his appearance, though, was his sunken animal eyes and the trapped human that seemed to lie beneath them. After that experience, a veil had been lifted and I began to see otherworldly things all the time.

Crossing my arms, I said, “Well, I appreciate the kind words, and to tell you the truth, I haven’t been on an authenticity trip for a while, but I have no idea how long something like this would even take, and I have to manage the shop.”

Jan leaned closer, resting her chubby elbows on the counter. “If you don’t mind me asking, when was the last time you took a break? You look very tired, my dear.”

Self-consciously, I touched my face and remained quiet, trying to remember when I had ever closed the shop for a day since I had taken it over three years ago.

“There, you see?” she exclaimed, slapping her hand on the counter. “You need to do this!”

My list of usual chores and responsibilities swirled in my head accompanied by several other immediate ones, like the new shipment of haunted stamps from Panama, preparing for my upcoming interview with Starlight Antique Magazine, and picking up my dad’s new heart medication.

“Well, I don’t know. The timing’s not exactly the best.”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! The theater could vanish at any moment—if it hasn’t already. At least you don’t have to travel all the way to India or someplace for such a unique experience.”

I bit my lip, remembering that I also had to fix one of the shop’s cupboards to position the new display of enchanted mirrors from Bavaria.

“Look.” Her tone deepened. “Finding the theater has been my life’s mission. Not knowing for sure about the existence of the theater has always haunted me, and since I’m much too old and fat to bother with finding it now, I would be forever in your debt if you went for me and reported back. If you showed me the ruby. I don’t want to keep it or anything, I just want to see it with my own eyes. Then you can do whatever you want with it. So what do you say?”

“I’m sorry, but even if I did go, I’d never be able to afford a ticket, let alone the hit I would take having to close the shop.”

Jan leaned closer. “Daisy, if you do me this favor I’ll pay for all of your expenses and include a generous daily stipend so you don’t lose any money on the shop.”

My breath left me all at once. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been so serious about anything in my entire life. Look, I’ll even put half the money up front to prove it.” Jan reached into her purse and slapped down a huge wad of money on the counter. “There. That should cover it.”

It felt so dangerous being around so much money that I couldn’t even bring myself to touch it or look at it directly. The tiny voice in my head jabbered that something like this was too good to be true.

“That’s very generous of you, but I couldn’t possibly do something like this. All of my other authenticity missions only took a day or two and consisted of easy verification. What if I don’t find anything? I couldn’t afford to ever pay you back.”

“No strings attached. You get half the money now and the rest after. If you don’t find anything, I’ll still pay you. You just have to tell me the details.”

“So you wouldn’t expect me to follow the theater if it moves? Just go to San Francisco, look around, and if I find it, report back to you, and if I don’t, just go back home?”

“Right.”

I giggled nervously, a stupid defense mechanism I used in the face of tough decisions. “I don’t—”

“I’ll throw in the book, too,” she interrupted. “I’m sure you’re well aware of how much that book would fetch at auction, and it would make a lovely addition to your collection, I’m sure.”

The leather felt cozy and warm in my hands, like it belonged there. “Jan, it’s really a remarkable offer, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that—”

“What?” she cried, smacking her palms on the counter again. “What more could you possibly want?”

I froze, searching for an answer under pressure.

“Don’t you see, Daisy? This is your calling. The book responded to you. I’ve never seen it do that to anyone before. And with everything I’ve researched about you, I know that you’re the one to go for me.”

“The one!” squawked the parrot.

“So what do you say?” she asked, batting her buggy eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

I inhaled deeply, cautiously choosing my words. “Being changed after seeing a performance is one thing, but the danger involved with taking a ruby is another. I’m not a thief and I’m not sure I can take that type of risk, especially after what you told me happened to that man in Egypt.”

“But doesn’t it just add to the excitement of things?”

I shrugged.

Jan glared at me for several silent moments, only adding to the increasing awkwardness of the situation. Then she unexpectedly shoved something right under my nose, something that seemed to have been hidden in her palm the entire time.

“Here. This is a detailed map of San Francisco. I’ve marked where I think the theater might pop up next. My number’s on the top. There’ll be a ticket waiting for you at the bus stop.”

The parrot trilled, bounced, and sidled from one shoulder to the other. “Bus stop…stop,” he repeated.

Taking it from her hand, my eyes looked out unheedingly across oddities and dead things to the pale, foggy sun beyond the redwood trees.

There were no more excuses to be made.

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