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The Protagonist Speaks

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Tam Haworth (of Dancing in the Purple Rain, by Judy L Mohr)

Dear readers, tonight we print a confession note from an antagonist. They’ll present quite a different view on the telepath they tried to guard, in world ravaged by pandemics and poisoned by acid rain, where experimental pharmaceuticals are used to genetically engineer the population to adapt to the toxic atmosphere.

If you are reading this, then things have gone horribly wrong. I tried my best to keep Michaella safe, watching over her ever since she was a child. But destiny has a lot to answer for, and my cover will soon be blown. When that happens… Well… The ones in control will try to wipe the memory that I ever existed from her mind. And if they are unable to wipe those memories, no doubt they will turn me into the antagonist of Michaella’s story.

Before it is too late, I need to set the record straight.

My name is Tam Haworth, and for the past twenty years, I have been Michaella’s psychiatrist. For the past ten years, I have been her handler, for the lack of a better term. It was my responsibility to ensure that Michaella was never able to fully control her abilities. I knew, just like the Pregutor knew, that if she gained full control over all of her faculties, there would be no stopping her. However, we needed her to help us keep what little control we have over the others like her.

Some of them are… shall we say violent? It is in their personality to dominate others. Michaella, on the other hand… Her heart is pure. She is caring, though lost. All we need to do is ensure that she is given a reason to fight. At that time, she will volunteer to be our champion—but a champion against what?

I have tried to explain to them that we have nothing to fear. She is the next generation—our last hope at reclaiming the Earth’s surface. We can no longer live under the false environments of the domes. The technology to keep the systems running is failing. If we are unable to find a way to live outside, the human race will die.

However, they have taken the experiments too far. And they have kept their secrets for too long.

The Pregutor has recommended that Michaella’s involvement become more active. They have recommended that she be moved into STAR.

I do not know how much longer I can prolong the inevitable. If she is given the medications that is given to all STAR… No, it is not even worth thinking about. Instead, I pray that she continues to favor the calmness of purple. I know she still has that purple stuffed cat that her mother gave her when she was born. And every time I see her purple hair, it brings a smile to my face—though I can never let the smile show.

The others can never know that I can still see what they cannot. Instead, I wear my white, embracing everything about it. I must remain in control for as long as I can—even if the control is just a façade.

Only moments before I sat down to write this message, I followed the Pregutor’s orders to send Michaella to one of the outer sectors of the city. No doubt, she will perform her duty admirably, and another threat to the Pregutor will be gone.

However, the Pregutor does not know that I have also sent another courier to the other side of the city to set into motion a chain of events that will eventually bring the Pregutor’s unfeeling control to an end.

I have chosen to sacrifice one that is very close to the child that I watch grow. I regret that such an action was necessary, but I have very few options left.

In a few hours, there will be no turning back. Events will need to unfold the way Michaella sees fit. I know that my actions will mean that my life is forfeit. No doubt, the Pregutor will choose Michaella to be the one to remove me from the equation, because I have become the threat from within.

There will be many who will see me as the evil mastermind behind everything that is about to happen. But I am doing this for the sake of the future.

They need to be set free.


Kiwi Judy L Mohr is a writer, developmental editor, writing coach, amateur photographer, and a science nerd with a keen interest in internet technologies and social media security. Her knowledge ranges from highly efficient ways to hide the bodies through to how to improve your SEO rankings for your websites. When she isn’t writing, editing, or doing something within the local writing community, she can often be found with a camera in her hand enjoying the world around her—no doubt scouting for locations to hide the bodies. (Shh… Don’t tell anyone.) Follow her crazy adventures on her blog (judylmohr.com) or on Instagram (@JudyLMohr).

You can find Tam Haworth on the pages of Dancing in the Purple Rain.

Browse our archives for past interviews, or follow the site by email (bottom-right) to know immediately when your new best-book-friend makes an appearance.

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Sabine Sacton (of The Serpent’s Chains, by Sylvia Conley)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young woman sold as a slave to a war dragon and heir to the throne. But instead of cruelty, she found that behind the brutal exterior lies a man at odds with the future forced upon him and a dragon with plans of his own. She is here to tell us about the dangerous magic which stirs in the east and the building royal pressure, while she and the prince are drawn together in a bond neither expected.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was your life like growing up in servitude?

I couldn’t tell you the name of the village I grew up in or even point it out on a map of Estroria. My first nine years were spent in the loving care of my mother who taught me magic and about the beauty of the world. She didn’t have time to educate me on the world’s horrors, but I learned when the self-proclaimed “law enforcement” of the village beat down our door one night and took her life for refusing to cast spells for them. Their leader was in possession of an ancient magical artifact he bound around my neck, a collar that restricted my magic and made me his property. Only to use the powerful flow in my veins when he allowed me brief, and highly monitored, access to my magic.

Once I was taken as a slave, my childhood ended and I lived in a slave house with a violent foreman carrying a whip and broken down men, women, and children beholden to a careless master. What I experienced of the village was limited to glimpses as I was escorted from the slave house to my master’s workshop where he had me perform spells and act as his bodyguard against other overly-ambitious, power hungry thugs living outside the reach of the crown by their own laws.

Your ownership was recently transferred to the powerful War Dragon, what do you do in his service?

If by ‘transferred’ you mean Prince Cole’s dragon, Talon, claimed me as a prize in the middle of an auction during a festival in the capital, then yes, my ownership was ‘transferred.’

As for what I do in the prince’s service, the palace has more maids, servants, and staff than the royal family needs, and formally trained royal mages who are far more educated and talented than a slave. I learned magic based on my former master’s needs and those spells don’t carry over into palace life. There is little I have to offer a prince, let alone the fiercest warrior in Telasia. But he seems keen to keep me around, at the request of Talon, and finds menial tasks for me to assist him around the palace.

What was it like facing off with a dragon?

When my former master decided to sell me at auction, I was prepared to enter the service of another ruthless slave owner, perhaps a noble who wanted a personal spell caster. Instead, when I was presented to the court, Talon, the dragon bonded to Prince Cole, and the fiercest creature in the known world, chose to claim me. His mouth was large enough to swallow me in one gulp, and even though he’s burned entire armies with a single breath, and expanded Telasia’s borders through conquest, I wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, I welcomed death in his gullet rather than facing another brutal master and further meaningless existence.

But Talon had other plans for me, and I went from being an unwanted nobody to the prize of a powerful dragon and the property of the crowned prince. Though, I’m not sure if I can live up to the palace’s expectations.

Continue reading “Sabine Sacton (of The Serpent’s Chains, by Sylvia Conley)” →
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Tarra and Skar (of The Last Ritual, by Dragos Gaszpar)

Dear readers, tonight we listen in on an in-story episode, that still didn’t make it to the final publication. It is a form of interrogation, from a novel about sacrifice, ruin, and philosophy made manifest.

Woman: What. How. Ow… my head. Are those hooves I hear? Daisy? Bolt, girl! Gallop to Kroll, Mel, Voss! Get ‘em to—

Voice: Can you understand my words, human?

Woman: You don’t sound like Daisy… godcrap!

Voice: The blindfold remains. I will ask you things. You will answer. Who—

Woman: May as well start boiling water and gathering potatoes! My lips are sealed, Leath!

Voice: Potatoes? Another cursed weapon? My kind are no strangers to pain, receiving or inflicting. Your healing works against you; even the strong-willed have limits. There is no need for this. What is your name?

Woman: Tarra. Or maybe I’m lying; I’m not betraying my friends—so start smashing!

Voice: Your friends have stopped searching. Resumed their raids. Their third has left… little. As for lying, do not mistake questions for ignorance. I am Skar.

Tarra: There were rumours some could speak, but I didn’t… Where’s Kaatesh?

Skar: Kaatesh? Ah, a name. You were… the only one taken. Tell me of your tribe. How many of you remain? Your command structure makes no sense.

Tarra: Tribe? Oh, the others. Hordes! Zounds! We’re legion! If you’re so curious, untie me and I’ll go get them!

Skar: Indeed? Quite the number to fit into a few settlements and a single stronghold. I offer you a bargain, human: answers for freedom. Consider your position. Before my patience ends.

Tarra: My eyes may be brown and yet to see two centuries, but I’m not stupid! Ironwall won’t fall because of me!

Skar: This exchange displeases me as well, in spite of its necessity. We are the least of your worries. If you truly wish to protect your own, cooperation is your best path forward. Most of your secrets may remain yours.

Tarra: Least of my worries? How’s that?

Skar: All in due time. Ironwall. Is that the name of that abomination?

Tarra: You stinking goat! Take that back! If my hands were free, I’d slap you! Ironwall’s home. It’s where I was born and earned my name after a century’s basic, and I’ll not have your savage tongue tarnish a single rusted merlon!

Continue reading “Tarra and Skar (of The Last Ritual, by Dragos Gaszpar)” →
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Beth Shoner (of The Abandoned Theater, by Dana Robertson)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a thirteen -year-old girl, here to speak of an abandoned theater and the people who disappeared there.

Welcome and thank you for joining us. Let’s begin with a little about yourself.

Thank you. My name is Beth Shoner. I’m almost thirteen years old and I go to Abigail Public School. I start grade eight in the fall.

Tell us a little about where you live.

I live with my aunt in an old Victorian home with a wraparound porch in the small town of Springvale. Our house is in one of the original neighborhoods, with big oak trees and colorful flower gardens. The smell of lavender is in the air this time of year.

My school is downtown, just before Main Street. Main Street divides the old part of town from the new end. Everything is brighter in the new end. The streetlights are always on.   

Have you always lived in Springvale?

No. I lived in Koyo City with my parents until I was about four years old; until the car accident. My parents didn’t survive it, which is why I live with my Aunt Debra now. She said it was a miracle I survived.

Then, not long after that, our house caught fire. Debra said the cause was faulty wiring. We lost all of our family photos in the fire, including every picture of my parents, except one.

After that, she decided we needed a fresh start, and we moved to Springvale. She described it as a perfect place, idyllic and peaceful. Personally, I find it more ominous, like some secret is lurking below all the quiet.

Do you have memories of your parents?

No, none, which I actually find strange. My aunt says it’s because the accident was so traumatic. I thought if she talked about them, shared her memories, it might help with mine, but she says it’s too painful. And she doesn’t want to risk me having any traumatic memories of the accident.

This locket I wear around my neck is the only thing I have from my parents. It has a tiger engraved on the front and a symbol on the back. I don’t know what the symbol means, though.

Continue reading “Beth Shoner (of The Abandoned Theater, by Dana Robertson)” →
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Lucifer (of The Fall, by Izabela Raittila)

Dear readers, tonight we have a special guest with us. Introducing the Light-bringer, the former King of Hell, the morally grey Archangel Lucifer. He’s here to tell us about his past and how it feels to be in Heaven after several centuries of ruling Hell.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I’m one of Almighty Father’s (‘God’s’) first creations. I emerged as a fully grown adult angel so I never really had a childhood. I was one of the eight “First Born”, the original seraphs, the Archangels. Three females and four males. Almighty Father created me and my brother Michael at the same time. Our home was Heaven, a massive golden palace in the sky. We all had our own chambers in the first sphere, the closest to our maker’s throne-room. He called us “his children” and gave us thrones so we could sit by his side. I felt special to be there. We witnessed the creation of various classes of angels and the universe.

Did you have any cherished memories?

Yes. For example, some of my early duties as a watcher. I’ll never forget my first sunrise. It was marvellous. The day I learned to fly. Spreading my wings for the first time and flying into the night sky for a closer look at the moon and the stars. They were absolutely stunning. Then there’s the day I discovered my ability to shape-shift. I was keen to show off my new skills to Michael. I transformed myself into the animals that would annoy him the most just to see his reaction. I took the forms of noisy birds, buzzing insects, pesky little rodents, monkeys etc. Needless to say that Michael wasn’t impressed or amused. I still recall the look on his face… A mixture of shock, confusion and rage. So funny. (He smiles.) Sadly, Almighty Father didn’t find it amusing. He forced me to apologize.

You mentioned watcher duties. What does a watcher do exactly?

Well, as the name suggests, a watcher observes. Our duty is to keep an eye on the humans but we are forbidden from interfering with their lives. The mortals must make their own decisions. Almighty Father decides their fate when they die. The righteous souls are taken to Heaven by their cherubim guardians. The sinners are sentenced to Hell. The demons there open their portals for the new arrivals.

What can you tell us about how you ended up back in Heaven after centuries of ruling Hell?

What happened was that Almighty Father offered me forgiveness and invited me back to Heaven after the final battle of the Apocalypse. I had no choice but to accept. I ascended to the celestial realm. My descendants fought each other for the throne. There was a Purge and the realm was divided.

Almighty Father created a new Earth and populated it with humans. Now, two thousand years later, I’m still here. I can’t say it’s been easy but I’m relieved now that Hell is finally at peace.

Continue reading “Lucifer (of The Fall, by Izabela Raittila)” →
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Jean René Joseph de Lorraine and Alison Mitchell (of Next in Line, by Donna Marie West)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young woman recovering from the death of her mother, and the mysterious French man she met on her way. They are here to speak about the unlikely circumstances that brought them together, and about making choices that could affect not only their own lives and families, but the future of the entire world.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Alison: Nothing special here. I was born and raised in New Haven, Connecticut, and I still live here with my dad. I haven’t traveled much—at least not yet—but I hope to in the near future.

Joseph: I was born in Carcassonne, France. I went to school in Scotland, Switzerland, Israel, and Paris. As a wee boy in Scotland, I learned my English the hard way. I’m now studying at Yale University here in New Haven.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

A: Sure, I had the usual toys—dolls and stuffed animals and such—and I loved horseback riding. I used to go riding all the time with my mom (she takes a moment to settle herself at the mention of her mother, who passed away a year ago). I need to get back into that.

J: I’ve always played football—uh, you call it soccer here—and I still play at Yale. I also like to ride (he looks fondly at Alison). Perhaps we should do this together one day soon.

What do you do now?

A: I took a year off school when my mom died, but now I’m at the University of New Haven in the psychology program.

J: I’m in my second year of international law at Yale. There was a fire in my house, so I’m currently refurnishing it (he pauses here and I feel he’s keeping something back). Alison was kind enough to invite me to stay with her and her father until my house is ready.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

A: (looks at Joseph). I’ll let you answer this one.

J: Ah, Dieu. Where to start? My best friend was killed, my house set on fire. I was kidnapped. I escaped and was hit by a car. This is how I met Alison (he smiles). These past months have been quite a trial for both of us.

Continue reading “Jean René Joseph de Lorraine and Alison Mitchell (of Next in Line, by Donna Marie West)” →
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Sheerie (of The Only Song Worth Singing, by Randee Dawn)

Dear reader, tonight with us is one of the Irish fae, inspiring poets and musicians for decades. She’s here to talk about unseen worlds and working with a touring rock band.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I’m not human, you see, so I can’t exactly give you warm and fuzzy tales of my idyllic “childhood.” I’m actually a leanhaun sídhe, or as you might call me, a “fairy mistress.” Like many fae, I exist because I am believed in, and the more powerful the belief, the more powerful I become. I was created out of a string of folk and fairy tales from Ireland, and I believe my true father was none other than the poet W.B. Yeats, who first gave me form in his 1892 book Irish Fairy and Folk Tales. I visited him more than once, though once he left for France he was out of my reach. In those days I couldn’t travel across the waters … but today it is different.

What do you do now?

My duties involve inspiring your poets – or, in the case of The Only Song Worth Singing, your rock musicians, driving their inherent creativity to heights of near (or total) insanity. What do I ask in return? So very little. Just a bit of life, taken bit by bit. It’s a fair exchange. It’s also why your poets die so young….

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Fae exist in a world “beyond the Veil,” sometimes considered “under the hills,” but in any case, a place separate from the human world. All fae can pass through … and a few humans, if they are particularly special. But when a human and a fae comingle and create a new … being, it can be distasteful to us. One such exists, and we’ve been keeping an eye on him his entire life. Then he – and his band – left to share their music in the New World, and the orders came down from the Seelie Court: Find him and decide if he’s allowed to live. What can I say, though? I got distracted and found his bandmate far more interesting.

Continue reading “Sheerie (of The Only Song Worth Singing, by Randee Dawn)” →
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Carloman (of Shadows & Sorcery, by Sean Hill)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a metaphysical adept – also known as a wizard. He’s here to speak about wandering his lands, about his adventures, betrayal, and the practicality of red robes.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

Oh. *laughs* That was so long ago, and so much has happened since, I can barely recall. You see, I am an itinerant, a nomad, I have no fixed abode but the earth itself, and it is my pleasure to call every person my friend. I am as happy on a bed of moss as I am in a tavern spare room or manor’s guest chambers, alone or amidst the roars of the beer house. But home for me will always, wherever my feet may tread, be Voerlund, in the small towns and villages and wilds as much as the ancient splendour of Lundermark. Background, though, background…well, I spent many years as the official court wizard of a Knight out east, that was a rare thing, and they are dear memories, now long ago.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Well, as I said, I spent quite some time as a court wizard for a Knight out in eastern Voerlund, in a small county called Zagrest, a fair ways in from the borderlands. The lord of the keep back then was a Sir Kobyla—that’s koh-bill-ah, make sure you write that down. He was a good-natured fellow with a stern but fair streak, and held to his duties, his responsibilities, and his obligations with absolute conviction. Was a real follower of the Lunderman honour code. Now, I ended up there as part of some retinue, I think I had come in with a caravan or something, and the Knight hired me, a budding sorcerer, to help him with a particular issue in the keep. It was badly haunted, you see, and the ghosts were terribly grotesque, owing to some grim, forgotten deed amidst the colourful history of our nation. It was, in due time, and with much difficulty, cleared out. But we made a fine team, and Sir Kobyla’s son Harrik took to me so well, that I was offered a place in the castle. Now, Kobyla was a practical man, and having a magician he could trust around helped cover every base. Under his roof I gained access to much magical literature, and I was no slouch before, believe you me. But with Kobyla’s resources, Castle Zagrest was probably the most secure keep in the entire nation—Lundermark aside, of course. His son was a student of mine for years, too, partly at Kobyla’s behest. Clearly I’m not there anymore, because like much of Voerlund, old rivalries bubble to the surface between old families, and Kobyla and his people, including myself, found themselves ousted by an overwhelming invading force of treacherous bastards, excuse my language. The Knight didn’t survive. Oh, if I could do then what I can do now… But I suppose it also means I wouldn’t have been able to help all the people I have these past few decades. I suppose part of me does this for Kobyla and Harrik.

What do you do now?

I have been a metaphysical adept—that’s what they call strange folks like myself in the Arragad College in Silverden, everywhere else I am a wizard—for my entire life, or close enough. I like to think of myself as a steward of the land and the people, if that’s not too presumptuous. *laughs* I wander where I may, or where the gods give me little nudges as needs be. I have variously been described as an enigmatic sorcerer, nonsensical mystic, noble magician, old sage, rascal, and strange old man—all of it true, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?.

Oh, Serpent’s Breath—again, my language—where was I last…oh yes, yes, that bad business in the capital—in Lundermark. Glad to oblige the Lunderman lords when I can. Before that…I think it was Silverden, yes, that poor child. Only a little girl, she was. Now that was nasty work. Took no small effort to do what I could. And no meagre measure of anger, I don’t mind saying. I’m glad to report she made it through, but she very nearly didn’t. Not with what that bastard had done to her, and he’s a pile of rotting cinders now. Apologies for my language again. Before that, I think I was somewhere north of Baletor, east of Voerlund, on the coast where I’d encountered—ah, well, helping deal with some curious weather and sickness. All gone, too. Very little gets away from me!

Continue reading “Carloman (of Shadows & Sorcery, by Sean Hill)” →
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Paul Landrum (of The Promise of Unbroken Straw, by Ken Steele)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a boy on the cusp of teenagehood, growing up in a US small town while WWII rages on.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

[Interviewer’s note:  Paul glances away, begins fidgeting] Well, I’m not sure I want to talk about that. But since you asked, I was born on a wheat farm in Wyatt County, Oklahoma, though I got out of there as soon as I could. I guess I can’t really take credit for the escape, as those circumstances sort of fell in my lap.

So, you’re asking about life on a farm in the 1940s. Every day, and I mean every day, starts a couple of hours before dawn. Feeding the livestock, milking cows, repairing whatever just broke. And staying ahead of all sorts of things that can stunt the growth of the wheat. Then on school days, you get sidetracked for hours on end with a bunch of worthless gobbledygook, come back home, and pick-up where you left off until sundown. On a farm, it’s all about the crop, end of story. Maybe next year there will be time for fun. But realistically, probably not.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Toys? Yeah right. Like we could actually afford stuff like that. Sorry, toys weren’t in the budget, other than my comic book collection, that is. I did get a new fishing pole one Christmas, and Grandpa and I trotted it out as often as we could. For fly fishing, that is, not that other sport where everyone gets their hands filthy messing with live bait. I do have a lot of memories of Grandpa . . . and my brother, Tim, of course. Both gave me tons of advice, wanted or otherwise, but I suppose most of it was worth hearing. Jake, on the other hand, he didn’t waste time on advice. He wasn’t like most fathers, in that way at least. In other ways too, if we’re counting. And then, of course, there’s Momma, who died when I was young. But I don’t want to talk about that.

What do you do now?

Well, I eventually ended up in some line of work that I’d never even heard of back on the farm. Never saw that coming. But I suppose I was always fond of math even though most of my classmates poked fun. My fault that they even knew about that, as I usually keep such things to myself. You know, just to blend in. There’s a lot to be said for blending in when you live in some corner of nowhere.

What can you tell us about your biggest adventure?

I’ve gotta be careful here as I don’t want to get ahead of myself. But I will say that we had plenty of ups and downs not long after my fourteenth birthday. For starters, I thought we were actually going to starve. Hand to heart, I didn’t see how we were going to get by. Even Jake was scared; I could see it in his eyes. But the way we climbed out of that hole, now that was something else. I guess I can say this much. Things took an . . . unexpected . . . turn. Some would say for the better; others would say that anyone who felt that way was certifiably crazy. At any rate, I wasn’t remotely prepared for the changes. None of us were. But we did the best that we could. Looking back, I just wish we’d have done some things differently.

Continue reading “Paul Landrum (of The Promise of Unbroken Straw, by Ken Steele)” →
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