TITLE– Rendezvous With Hymera
AUTHOR – Melinda de Ross
GENRE – Paranormal Romance
PUBLICATION DATE – September 13, 2013
PUBLISHER – Planettopia Publishing
COVER ARTIST – Ionut Augustin Coliolu
SYNOPSIS
"An impulsive decision changes her life forever. When Clara DeVine decides to take a vacation she has no idea what twists of fate she has triggered. First she has a reunion with Colin Lambert, the boy she was in love with during high school. She discovers that the tall, dark and unbelievably sexy man he had become was also reciprocating her feelings and so begins an intense, smoldering love story.
In parallel with this intervenes the ghostly appearance of a mysterious woman, followed by a series of scary episodes. Strange things happen in the strange place where Clara has landed and she and her lover are constrained to find out what happened to the mystery woman. Her fate, which had been sealed by some very dangerous yoga practices, seems to be connected with the much controversial Philadelphia Experiment, a fact that is discussed only in whispers, behind closed doors."
Excerpt:
The
horizon stretched boundless in front of her – a décor of shape and color,
oscillating in a slow but permanent transformation under the calm, indulgent
blue of a clear sky. As the car moved through the smoky background of the
mountains, the road became more and more sinuous, the curves tighter and more
frequent.
In
the four hours of her journey, the June landscape gradually changed; with the
increasing altitude, the green, smooth vastness of plain – punctuated by the
intense yellow of a few sunflower islands – gave way to an abundance of
mountainous vegetation beyond which wooded ridges filled the view, flirting to
the peaks with waves of fog and snow. At that point, a sort of finis mundi, the sky and the misty
crests seemed to merge into a primordial entity.
Looks
like not only Hell, but Paradise also is on Earth, thought Clara,
while from the audio system inside the car came the perfectly modulated notes
of Alphaville’s Forever Young, conferring a nostalgic vibration to the
ambiance. Stimulated by the evocative music, by the picturesque and strange
beauty of the scenery, a mixture of nameless emotions gravitated in her soul.
For in such moments of melancholy and reverie, one’s spirit yearns for an
undefined something, in permanent search and aspiration to a fulfillment whose
road or purpose almost always remain inexpressible.
Slumped
on the passenger seat, which had been adjusted back as a concession to his
comfort, Tony was snoring gently with his golden fur caressed by the sunlight.
In the first half hour on the road, he had stood with his head out the window,
tongue waving, fascinated by the sights, but even the huge energy reserves of a
dog know limits.
Clara
affectionately ruffled his hairy ears; then, concentrating on the route, took a
slight curve, marked with a traffic sign. On the right side of the road,
visibility was limited by a rocky slope, somewhat oppressive and apparently
interminable. On the left, beyond the edge of a parapet stood a kind of valley,
with a few huts straying in an abyss of vegetation.
After
yet another curve to the right, partially hidden by the mountain and a clump of
shrubs seemingly disposed in an artistic arrangement, Clara discovered a place
which her imagination immediately associated with a mirror-portal to one of
Monet’s impressionist paintings. A small lake, crystal clear, sprinkled with
water lilies, lazily undulating over the illusions of clouds reflected in the
waters. Near the shore, a small boat, archaic-looking, swayed fluidly, carried
by the gentle breeze. A pretty hedge flanked the right half; on the opposite
side, along shore, the exotic landscape was balanced by the rustic touch of a
few cottages.
Taking
advantage of the extremely light traffic, Clara slowed down and stopped on the
verge of the road.
From
there, fascinated by the strange charm and static grandeur of that place, she
contemplated the panorama. Confused thoughts of her own existence – so often
restless and not as stable as she wanted – dripped a vague nostalgia in her
soul. And suddenly, boosted perhaps by the image of the path that detached
itself from the main road to reach the small paradise, she made up her mind.
The
end of the road was divided in two alleys, one of which ended in a small
parking lot and the other, paved with an interesting gravel and marble mosaic,
meandered asymmetrically in front of each cottage.
Clara
got out of the car and opened the passenger door for Tony. Still heavy with
sleep, the dog left the seat lazily and, for a few moments, sniffed the new
surroundings. Then he stretched, shaking himself, extending his paws and tail;
the ritual ended with a guttural groan and a yawn of epic proportions, during
which he displayed a crocodile dentition; now, a preliminary examination of the
area could begin.
The
first of the seven cottages was the largest, a two-story building, having
several windows and a sign that announced simply: ROSE UNIVERSAL, and
below: COTTAGES FOR RENT.
The
rest of the cottages were two-storied as well, but smaller, built along the
shore, at distances that ensured a minimum of discretion and privacy. For an
aboriginal who landed here straight from the noise and infernal pollution
specific to big cities, the impression of heavenly oasis was also emphasized by
an almost tangible quiet, in which the stylized solfeggios of unseen birds
occasionally entwined.
Clara
took off her sunshades, as the strong light was softened through a network of
shadows cast by the cottages and trees surrounding them. Breathing in deeply
the fragrant air, she strolled to the main building.
“Let’s
go inside,” she said, addressing Tony, who was frolicking around her, chasing a
butterfly.
However,
before they got to the door, it opened and an old woman made her appearance.
She was wearing a green dress, and had a shawl on her shoulders. Her curly grey
hair was cut short, and from behind the glasses resting on her nose, a pair of
very sharp eyes watched Clara.
“Hello.
Are you Mrs. Rose?”
For
a moment, the woman analyzed her curiously.
“Depends,”
she finally answered. “If you wanna sell me something, advertise something or
charge me for something, you’ve got the wrong address,” she continued brusquely
and somewhat grumpily.
Clara
laughed, surprised and amused.
“No,
actually I came to find peace and quiet. Do you have a vacant cottage?”
“Yes.
If you want to rent one, you’re in the right place. I’m Rose,” said the woman,
with the same sharp but now jovial tone, this time warmed with a smile. “Cute
mutt you got here,” she remarked, scratching Tony’s ears; the dog collapsed
ecstatically at her feet, bracing his huge paws on her shoes.
“Thank
you, we think so, too. His name is Tony. Quite a place you have here!” she said
admiringly. “I was just thinking it’s like a miniature version of Eden.”
“Yeah...
And the least populated it is, the better! Although that’s not so good for
business. Oh, well...Come in!”
The
big cottage was, according to the sign above, a universal store, where you
could find anything, from food to needles. The merchandise was arranged on
shelves, and along the right wall was a massive walnut desk, a chair and a
small portable TV.
“You’re
well supplied,” remarked the young woman. “But who buys all this stuff?”
“There’s
a small village about four or five miles from here. All the folks there come to
me for shopping, and I use somebody from the metropolis for supplies. It’s only
thirty miles to the city, but I hate all that dust and crowds, where you always
bump into weirdoes on the street,” said Rose. “For now, I’ve got only two
cottages occupied; in one of them live Marie and Robert Axel and in the other
one stays Mr. Garcia. The Axels both work in the city, and the old man, a
fanatical botanist, wanders all day long through the wilderness searching for
unusual plants. The funny thing is he often gathers the most common weeds,” she
added, as if to herself. “Oh, and other times he sits on the shore or floats in
the boat and pretends to fish.”
“Why
do you say he pretends?”
“Cause
I never saw any fish caught by him.”
While
speaking, Rose took out a register book from a desk drawer. After she informed
Clara of the renting fee, the latter decided to stay a month for starters.
“Got
an ID? I have to know who I’m hosting, don’t I?”
Clara
rummaged through her bag and gave the old lady her passport and the required
money.
“Clara
DeVine,” read Rose, noting the data in the register, then she analyzed her
skeptically over the top of her glasses. “You’re twenty-six?” she asked
incredulously. “I wouldn’t have granted you more than eighteen.”
“Thanks
for the compliment,” replied the young woman, smiling, although the tone of
Rose’s remark wasn’t necessarily flattering.
“Sign
here, please, and I’ll show you to your temporary residence.”
After
she signed, Clara followed her outside. Her cottage, the third in line, was
placed at a convenient distance from the others. It was roomy enough, with a
small garden in the back, surrounded by a colorful hedge. Near the back entry,
a table and two chairs that appeared to have been woven from twigs supplemented
the decor.
Inside
was dark, pleasantly cool, and the air carried an intimate and unmistakable
fragrance of freshly polished wood. The cottage consisted of a living area,
simply furnished with a massive couch, a coffee table and, in the opposite
corner, a TV incorporated in a small bookcase; on its shelves were scattered a
few books and magazines.
On
the left, next to the couch, a staircase led up to the bedroom, and on the
right, there was a crescent-shaped bar. Behind it was a limited a kind of
kitchenette. In the center of the living area, on the polished walnut floor,
reigned a unique-looking rug, manufactured, in all appearance, from what had
once been an enormous bear.
When
Clara headed to the stairs for an inspection of the upper floor, Tony remained
to smell the bear fur, intrigued and cautious. Although he was an impressively
built Golden Retriever, courage wasn’t his strong suit, and the nickname Brave
heart, with which his mistress sometimes teased him, was an obscure mystery
for him.
The
bedroom, she noted with delight, was furnished as simple as the rest: a huge
bed, hedonistic-looking, a nightstand on each side of it, a closet and a small
desk in a corner. In the opposite corner, a door led to the bathroom.
During
this inspection, Rose remained in the living area with Tony. When Clara
descended the stairs, the old lady raised her eyebrows and watched her over the
top of her glasses.
“Comments?”
“I
like it!” exclaimed Clara excitedly. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”
“Well,
then, I’ll leave you to get settled. If you need anything, you know where to
find me.”
“Thanks,
Mrs. Rose,” she said, as the old woman headed to the exit. Once she reached the
door, Rose turned around.
“I
hope Tony’s got impeccable… hygienic manners!”
“Definitely.
He’s extremely well educated and clean. We won’t cause any trouble, I promise.”
“All
right, then. Enjoy your stay!”
Left
only with Tony, Clara remembered her travel bag, which she had left in the
trunk of her car, and returned to the parking lot to recover it. Although
initially she had intended to stay for a few days in one of the metropolis’
comfortable hotels, she didn’t regret in the least the decision to stay a while
in this isolated paradise. Getting back to the refuge of shadows and coolness
of the cottage, she climbed the stairs loaded with luggage and entered the
bedroom, where Tony already seemed to feel at home.
The
first things she unpacked were the plastic bowl especially imprinted with the
spoiled quadruped’s name, his food, the small bag containing her cosmetic
products and a bathrobe. And because a small amount of discipline never hurts,
the dog had to eat on the veranda. With this matter solved, the young woman
decided it was time to take care of herself, as she felt the passive fatigue of
the road in every muscle. Not having an established schedule or a certain
destination in mind, she had started her journey late, in her own comfortable
rhythm, which she preferred. Although it was just past 7 p.m., after she
relaxed, taking a long and very hot shower, the monotonous humming of insects
and the conifers’ fragrance were the last things she noticed before falling
asleep, with Tony curled on a rug near the bed.
AUTHOR BIOAnca-Melinda Coliolu was born on the 4th of July 1986 in Alexandria, Romania. She graduated a Mathematics high school, has a Law degree and has been a professional target shooter for ten years, being a multiple National Champion and holds a National Record at this sport.
She has been working as a journalist since high school until present, writing for several newspapers.
She is married to Ionut-Augustin Coliolu and currently lives in Romania.
STALKER LINKS
AUTHOR GIVEAWAY ITEMS
$10 Amazon Gift Card
3 Kindle copies of Rendezvous with Hymera
Thank you so much for being part of this tour - Tonya
ReplyDeleteMany many thanks for the post on your lovely blog!
ReplyDeleteMelinda De Ross