Monthly Archives: January 2015

DIE ONCE MORE, excerpt #3: How to Kill Numa—New York Style

From DIE ONCE MORE, chapter 2

“With effort, Faust manages to pry his eyes away from her and hands me a leather belt with a holster on each side. ‘Two weapons?’ I ask.

He nods as I strap it around my waist. ‘Short-sword,’ he says, handing me the blade. I inspect it before slipping it into my belt: It’s brand-new, unlike the antique models we use in France, but well made. ‘And a Glock,’ he says, handing me a pistol.

I look up at him in surprise.

‘It’s enough, trust me. You don’t really need an automatic,’ he explains, misunderstanding my expression. ‘We never come up against more than a few numa at a time. And even that’s pretty rare, unless we’re zombie hunting. Today’s just a regular walk around the block.’

I glance at ‘Whitefoot.’ She’s amused by my confusion. ‘Like it or not, guns are the American way. Shoot to the head to stun, then use your blade,’ she clarifies.

That’s the way Lucien cut down Gaspard to get into La Maison, I remember. Gunshot to the head, then—while the projectile worked its way back out of Gaspard’s bullet-rejecting flesh—decapitation by sword. American way, huh? I wonder if Lucien made any trips to the States before meeting his end at the tip of Kate’s blade.”

DIE ONCE MORE releases February 3. You can get it here: (Amazon/B&N).


DIE ONCE MORE, excerpt #2: Meet Ava

How about another excerpt of DIE ONCE MORE to liven up your weekend? Just over a week until it releases! (February 3.) But if you really want to, you can pre-order it here: (Amazon/B&N).


Here’s your first view of Ava. (Yes, her!) This is near the beginning of the book when Jules meets the Council of New York bardia.
A woman sitting next to Gold jumps in. “For those of you who don’t already know of him, Jules Marchenoir is an accomplished artist. Perhaps those involved in the visual arts could provide him with necessary supplies, get him set up with a studio, and tell him when the life drawing group meets.”

The woman is stunning—in an exotic kind of way: long black hair, copper-colored skin, almond eyes, and high cheekbones. I rack my brain but am sure I haven’t seen her before. I would have remembered. So how does she know me?

“Thank you,” I acknowledge gratefully.

She nods, but frowns, like the interaction is distasteful to her. Like I’ve offended her.

How bizarre. I must have met her before—it had to have been at a convocation. Did I try to pick her up or something? I doubt it—I restrict true flirting to human girls for just this reason. Why risk offending someone who could hold a grudge for eternity? Not to mention the danger of them falling in love. And who wants that?

Or at least that’s how I used to think. Pre-Kate. She changed my game. Now I’d give up all the flirtations in the world just to be with her. Something pings sorely in my chest, and without thinking, I raise my hand to press it, drawing concerned looks. My kindred think I’m mourning. Let them. I am.

Gold breaks the silence. “Anyone else have a question?” He peers around the table. “No? Well, then I’ll speak for all of us to say, ‘Welcome, kindred.’ We’re glad you’re here, Jules Marchenoir.”

“Welcome!” several say together, like a cheer. People rise to go, several crowding around me to introduce themselves. Several ask about the French Champion—Kate. They want to know more details about how she emerged, and it is quickly obvious that their own numa problem is beginning to approach what we experienced in France.

My gaze drifts across the table to the girl who spoke earlier. A group of people stand around her, and the face that was stony with me is now radiant as she speaks with them.

A beautiful girl. Normally that would draw me like a moth to flame. Even with my no-kindred-lovers rule, a bit of playful banter and a shower of compliments (and the enjoyment of her inevitable response) would do my spirits a world of good. But not now. I don’t even have it in me to say hello.

Her eyes lift and meet mine, and the coldness is like an ice ray.

What? I ask her silently, shrugging my confusion.

She rolls her eyes—actually rolls her eyes!—and turns her attention back to the person she’s talking to.

Disconcerted, I look back to a man standing with his hand out and remember that I’m supposed to shake. No bises—cheek kisses—of course.

Faust appears and stands by my side as the room empties. “Need
anything?” he whispers to me.

“Yes,” I whisper back. “I would give my immortal soul to get out of here and walk.”


Concorso per i miei lettori italiani / Contest for my Italian Readers


italianGuardate cosa mi sono appena arrivate dall’editore italiano, De Agostini! Le copie in copertina rigida di Die For Me. (Con Aprilynne Pike che mi pubblicizza sulla fascetta del libro :D).

Voglio fare un giveaway, solo per i lettori italiani, che durerà per alcuni giorni. Quello che dovete fare è postare in un commento sulla mia pagina facebook qui sotto l’immagine di un attore italiano o attrice italiana che vi ricordi uno dei personaggi del libro. Sceglierò a caso tra tutti i commenti il vincitore lunedi mattina (26 gennaio) e gli invierò una copia firmata con dedica. Vi do un paio di giorni per trovare la persona giusta (e per condividere la notizia con i vostri amici italiani).

Pronti… partenza… Via!

(This is a contest for my Italian readers where they’re supposed to post photos of Italian actors they think could play the parts of the characters in DIE FOR ME. Participate on my Facebook page!)


DIE ONCE MORE excusive excerpt

Yesterday I told my Facebook followers I would run an excerpt today, and asked who (besides Jules) they wanted to be in it. Almost everyone says Kate or Vincent. And since I don’t have a good representative scene with both of them, I’m going to give you part of The Talk. Are you ready?

die-once-more-coverFrom DIE ONCE MORE, Chapter 8

Walking into my room is like traveling back in time. It’s like nothing ever happened to drive me away. I breathe in the paper-and-ink smell of my workspace and realize how much I’ve missed my home. I brush my fingertips over my drafting table and know how much I love my kindred. I belong here, not in New York City. What the hell is wrong with me? I think, as I stretch out on my time-worn couch in the middle of my attic room. Surely this thing with Kate isn’t traumatic enough to keep me from all of this. My mind wanders and I begin to relax, cocooned in the safety of the familiar surroundings.

And then there is a knock on the door and she walks in. And all those thoughts disappear READ MORE…


Exclusive interview with budding journalist from California

Hi Chloe,

You recently interviewed me for your school newspaper regarding my experience living in Paris near where the Charlie Hebdo massacre occurred. Your teacher cut the article, saying that it wasn’t something they did for the school newspaper. Well, interviewing readers isn’t something I do for my blog. But there are these things called BEING FLEXIBLE and DOING THE RIGHT THING that I think are pretty great. However, I am not running a school newspaper, so I should probably shut up and start asking you questions.

Amy: How old are you and what grade are you in?
Chloe: Currently, I am 18 and a senior in high school.

Amy: Is your school public or private? How many students? And is there a lot of cultural and religious diversity or it is mainly one race and/or religion?
Chloe: My school is public and there is a lot of cultural and religious diversity on campus with a student body of 728.

Amy: Have you written for the school newspaper before or was this going to be your break-out article?
Chloe: I have been writing for my school newspaper since I was a junior last year. This year I am actually the section editor of news and opinion, so you would think I would have more freedom in choosing what articles READ MORE…