Silver Buckshot

My banter-packed novel, Silver Buckshot: Magic, Mystery, and a Most Aggravating Boyfriend, is available for your reading pleasure. Read the first chapter here.

Description

Thirteen-year-old Princess Flavia has endured a lot recently. Polio crippled her legs and killed her mother, her father is sunk in grief, and her servants veer between negligence and cruelty. She takes refuge in her books and never complains.

But she draws the line at being murdered. Fourteen-year-old Frank Barron, a contender for the most aggravating boy in the universe, conceals her when the shooting starts. This is no accident: a letter told him what to do. It’s signed, “Love, Flavia.” She has no memory of it, and, anyway, she can’t tell the future! Or fall in love. Can she?

The story is set in 1972, the year I was the same age as Flavia. This lets me use an early teen’s experience of the zeitgeist for free. I leverage my own experiences in other ways, too, in spite of the fantasy elements. For example, Flavia’s polio is based on my father’s.

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Chapter 1. First Handshake

I met Frank just minutes before the first attempt upon my life.

It was a beautiful June day in 1972. I was sitting at my favorite table in the palace library, reading. As usual, I had the library to myself. My servants were supposed to be with me, but they knew I never tattled and took full advantage.

The hush was shattered when a boy walked in, whistling. He caught sight of me and approached, revealing that he could whistle and smirk at the same time. When he reached my table, he fell silent and stood smiling at me. It was a good smile, much better than the smirk. It invited me to smile back, which I didn’t, of course.

He was a handsome boy of about fourteen, a year older than myself. He was tall for his age, with a haircut from the California side of the gateway. This being the palace, he wore a good suit, a fashionable brown one, also from the California side. He had loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt, which would earn him a scolding from any adults who noticed.

I liked him at once, which annoyed me. I don’t get along with my fellow children. His likability made me self-conscious in spite of my beautiful blue dress, for I was pale and thin where he was tan and fit. I envied his dark blond hair and light green eyes. Mine are dark brown and dark brown, respectively.

I gave him a cold stare. “This is a library, you know.”

He looked around in pretended astonishment, so I added, “You can tell by the books? At least, I hope you can.”

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