Jodi Lorimer - Author

My new fantasy novel, a subversive faerie tale, is based on a 15th century story. Melusine marries a human, promising all the riches of life - but there is a condition. There always is with faeries. She wants Saturdays off. Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Bookstore.org, Literary Arts, and Powells

Thanks to Willamette Week for a wonderful promotion of my new book, and just in time for the Willamette Writers Convention! https://willamettewriters.org/programs/conference/

Had a great time at the Northwest Book and Media Fest this weekend! Lots of wonderful books, people, and good juju

Happy Solstice. Another turn of the wheel, another adventure.

My granddaughter, Viviana, participating in the coin toss before the FIFA World Cup game between Scotland and Morocco.

My book has been released on Amazon!! EEE!!!

Come see me at table #33 and hear some trailers from our radio drama in the making!

If you're snowbound, what better way to pass the time than getting lost in a good book that takes you far, far away! Take a journey of the soul with Melusine.

It looked different. He wasn’t sure of the route. Damn her infernal building! He didn’t know his way around his own castle! That alone was reason enough to discover her. It was embarrassing, putting a man in this position. In the dark, the passages wound on and on. He felt like he was going in a circle. No, not really a circle, rather, a spiral. No, not even that. The corridor narrowed, then swung off to the left and curved around to the right. Then continued back the way he’d come only to turn again to the left and seem to swing wide, in an arc. What was she thinking? What a ridiculous way to build a castle! And what a waste of materials to have this path that folded against itself time and again to no purpose. There were no branching corridors, only this one, relentless, winding convolution of stone.
It was making him dizzy and impatient. What if he came upon her around one of these turns? There could be no doubt why he was there. What if he met someone else? Or something else? What else could be in here? How fast could he get out if he needed to? Not very. Raymond was beginning to sweat. The halls were narrower, or was he imagining that? Although he knew he only had to turn back the way he’d come to escape, still, he had the creeping feeling of being somehow trapped. It was settling in his gut like cold gruel. Escape. What in all hell was he doing here?
Focus, Raymond. Fix your eye and heart on reclaiming your self-respect, whatever the cost. Do this for your family. My family? My family doesn’t even like me. Do this to save Melusine from gossip. She doesn’t care about gossip. All of this was her idea, was it not? All of this trust and honesty was founded on a lie. A small one, but a lie all the same. “When you return to Poitiers, you must give out that you and your lord were separated in the dark.” Wasn’t that it? He hadn’t wanted to lie. Yet he found it worked just as she said. “People will see what they wish to see.” What had he been seeing all these years that he wished to see, and not what was?
The turns were becoming tighter, spinning him back and forth. This place made no sense! As his body moved, so his mind, back and forth. So much was suddenly so wrong. He had never felt so dismal and alone. All peace and well-being had left him, flown like a murder of crows at sunset. He was becoming frantic with it and contemplated turning back. Maybe best to just let it lie. Do I really want to know? I could tell Bertram anything and he’d have to believe me. I just don’t think I can do this any longer.
He rounded a corner and there, ahead was a straight stretch of hallway that looked familiar. And there, the door. He stood, reeling slightly. It was in the oldest part of the castle. Gray mushrooms clustered along the stone seams and a thick mat of moss carpeted the path. Water trickled from under the door and dripped steadily somewhere in the dark. He breathed deeply, collecting himself, and wiped his face on his sleeve. It has to be the same oaken doors, although he did recall neither the iron bands nor the formidable lock.
The moss deadened his footfalls and for that he was grateful. He put his ear to the thick slabs of oak but all he could hear was the murmuring sound of water. No, there were voices! They blended so well with the muttering water that it was impossible to tell whose they were. None sounded like a man…
Between the oak boards that formed the door was a tiny slit, too narrow for him to see inside. He slid the blade of his knife as silently as he could between them and, by working it up and down very slowly and carefully, enlarged the slit so he could look into the room beyond. He felt very silly, like a sneaky boy, spying at locks. This was madness, spying on his own dear wife! Reminding himself of his larger purpose he tipped his head to the side and peered through.
He stifled his shock, clamping his lips tightly, for, not a room met his eye, nicely appointed with furniture and comforts, but a bower of such wild beauty as he had never seen in life.