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Dancing with the Moon: Book One of the Dragon's Tear Chronicle

by David Conlin McLeod

309 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0449; ISBN 1-4120-0086-6; US$25.50, C$29.50, EUR21.00, £15.00

13 year-old Amy has a secret wish to dance with the moon. Amy's grandmother has a secret too: she's a vampire who's harboring an artifact that endangers both their lives.

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about the book      about the author      reviews      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Amy Cavanaugh is a mentally challenged 13 year old with dreams and wishes of being a ballerina. Colette Paul-Michelle is Amy's loving grandmother, whose wish is only to keep her dark secrets from getting out. At the source of these dark secrets is a amber hued jewel, "The Dragon's Tear", a mysterious necklace that seems to threaten Amy and Colette's peaceful life in East River. Amy and her grandmother's pleasant and peaceful life may come to an abrupt end when Colette's secrets are about to be revealed. When a stranger from her distant past calls Colette out and threatens to take all that she holds precious, will the "Dragon's Tear" alone be enough to protect Amy from Colette's hunters? With the help of a few unique friends, Colette must try to destroy the past that hunts her, and save Amy's future.

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About the Author Dancing with the Moon is David Conlin McLeod's first published work. David was born on August 17th, 1975 and currently resides in West Hartford, Connecticut. When he isn't writing and conjuring up manuscripts, he enjoys painting, hanging out with his friends, role-playing games, eating sushi, playing drums if he can, and watching the Hartford Wolf*Pack - the local AHL hockey team in the town next door. David had attended Northeastern University in Boston, Mass. and studied Elementary Education and History, before seriously dabbling into Psychology and Music Literautre. At Middlesex Community College he focused more of his interests into History and Psycholgy. David has been writing seriously since the summer of 1997, having produced two novels and several manuscripts which he hopes to see published at some point. His most favored genre is horror fiction, particularly vampire novels. He claims his literary influences include the works of Stephen King, Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle, and such science fiction masters as Arthur C. Clarke and Issac Asimov. You can send David your thoughts and feedback by writing to vampie_gram@yahoo.com.

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Reviews

The first book in an intriguing vampire/fantasy trilogy tips its hat to Charles Dickens, Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Lemony Snicket, and Harry Potter, but this time Harry's counterpart is a mentally disabled but suspiciously wise (of course) 13-year-old girl, whose special magic is a boundless optimism not unlike Troy Tomler's in TROY'S AMAZING UNIVERSE: M FOR MALL. Mental disability, a topic no one likes to think about, gets a mature treatment in contemporary literature (and in this case far more believable than "Forrest Gump"). David Conlin McLeod combines this with a riveting, action-packed, well-planned-out vampire blood war, and the tender portrayal of a girl's relationship with her vampire grandmother.

Thirteen-year-old Amy Cavanaugh doesn't know that in addition to being mentally handicapped because of her father Adam (who gets the Mike Tyson Award for violence and immaturity and the Enron Award for greed), she's the target of centuries-old vendetta against her loving grandmother Colette, transformed by being bitten by a vampire in WWII France. It seems the vampire elders, including one Whitworth, dislike anyone getting into their vampires-only club, and for Whitworth in particular, a would-be Viktor Frankenstein, the idea of a female receiving immortality is particularly disgusting. Interestingly, in a subtle comment on sexism and prejudice, Amy's father Adam creates the mental handicap he so loathes because Amy isn't the son he desired.

But Amy and Colette, through their deep affection, prove stronger than sexism, ancient blood feuds, Whitworth's Stepford house of horrors in England, and Whitworth's gruesome creation that hunts Amy and her Colette-sent protectors, a pair of ancient gypsy vampires named Tsigane and Moon, who find Amy's personality more powerful than Colette's magical Dragon's Tear jewel, a mysterious artifact from a sinister vampire bloodline that Colette promises to Moon. Amy's ability to see the truth, her pure love, and her passion for dancing transform lovers Moon and Tsigane so that they emerge as fully rounded dimensional people, not just the stereotypical evil vampires, although there are plenty of vampire villains. The riveting surprise cliffhanger ending makes us, like Amy, eager to continue the dance with the moon.

Reviewer, Kristin Johnson, is the author of CHRISTMAS COOKIES ARE FOR GIVING, co-written with Mimi Cummins. Her third book, ORDINARY MIRACLES: My Incredible Spiritual, Artistic and Scientific Journey, co-written with Sir Rupert A.L. Perrin, M.D., will be published by PublishAmerica in 2004.

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Sample Excerpts

Prelude: Two miles east of Lyons, France - October 30th, 1939

Nurse Colette Paul-Michelle first accepted her post at this mobile hospital with a heightened sense of determination to do her part for the war effort. Her country was at war with the evil Germans and it was everyone's responsibility to do their best to defend their homeland from the monstrous Nazis who were reportedly killing Jewish women and children.

Colette had since changed her optimistic outlook. As the months rolled by, it didn't feel as though the war was ever going to end. She only saw waves after waves of wounded soldiers parading in her wards with the looks of death about their faces. The grizzly side-effects of war had made themselves known to Colette and the eager determination seemed to falter out of fear and self-doubt. In face of all this pain and suffering, what could she really do? What difference could she alone make when faced with hundreds or thousands of wounded and dying?

It wasn't clear to Colette who was winning the war and who was losing it. One thing was certain though, the war wasn't ending anytime soon and there would likely be no end to the long parades of wounded.

Sipping from her coffee cup and sighing as she starts her rounds in the recovery ward, once again Colette must work an extra shift. These days she has gotten used to the long hours and sleepless nights.

Colette thought she could make a difference. She doesn't regret anything, but wishes she could do so much more. So what if she's forty-something and feeling arthritis in her joints? She still has a pair of steady hands and a cool head on her shoulders. 'There must be more that I can do, but already there seems like more and more obstacles to overcome'. Colette thinks to herself.

On any given night the mobile hospital might have to pick itself up and evacuate or move closer to the front. So much of France was in a state of panic and confusion. Germans were invading from the north and west, while the Italians were planning invasions from the south. Lyons seemed stuck in the middle.

The more she eyes the wounded, the more she wishes this was a nightmare she could wake from.

In one bed, across from the room, a man with an arm in a sling and half his face wrapped in blood soaked gauze eyes her slow approach. Colette's eyes meet his briefly. The man appears to have burned over three-quarters of his face. Another man appears to have lost his leg thanks to grenade shrapnel. Surrounded by a wall of curtains, another young soldier, barely nineteen, is sobbing for his mother.

The soft silence of the recovery ward is instantly disturbed by the distant sounds of artillery shells slamming into the earth. The rumbles and brief flashes of light rattle a few of the soldiers' nerves as they jolt upright in their beds and shoot quick glances about.

Any night now they'll all get the call to evacuate, maybe it will be tonight. More artillery streaks through the sky outside the shaking windows only to bore into the earth and make craters. There will be more wounded tonight.

Two stretcher bearers carry in another wounded soldier into the recovery room and place him carefully on an empty bed in a corner. The man's face is as white as the sheets on his fresh bed. His eyes catch and lock upon Colette's instantly as she approaches to check his charts and attend to him.

The man's eyes are a deep, penetrating blue. The man looks Colette over from head to toe. His smile is like that of a teenager appraising a street walker or actress' pin-up poster. The man is in his late twenties. His dark hair is matted to his face and caked with mud and grime. Blood appears to soak through a bandage wrapped around his neck.

Colette is speechless as the man continues to lock this penetrating gaze upon her. He reaches out a frail looking hand and rests it gently upon the center of her chest, just above her breasts. He touches the soft warmth of her skin and his smile seems to fade into a saddened frown.

"I am truly blessed." The man finally speaks.

Colette tilts her head in curiosity, but can't move away. She gets down on one knee by the man's bedside and actually finds herself leaning in closer to hear his whispery, dry voice. The man's hand still resting firmly above her breasts, now wanders close to her heart. Colette feels her heart beating loudly in her chest and the pounding pulse ringing in her ears, drowning out even the distant blasts of artillery. v The man reaches into his breast pocket with his free hand and extracts something wrapped in a monogrammed handkerchief. Colette's eyes wander immediately to the little, palm-sized bundle in the man's trembling hand. "Take this and close your eyes." The man says as he places the bundle in Colette's outreached hand.

Colette, still silent, unwraps the handkerchief to reveal an amber and crimson hued tear shaped jewel of many precisely cut facets. The jewel fit inside the palm of Colette's cupped hand and was arranged to dangle from a length of silver chain. The facets were sharply edged, but Colette held it carefully. The stone felt warm to the touch, it was like holding a smoldering coal that had been taken from the edges of a fireplace. It glowed softly as she studied the way it shimmered in the overhead light. The color was unique. It was like the color of crystallized honey and rich, red wine.

"Close your eyes. I give this to you because you are blessed." The young man whispered, leaning close to Colette.

The man's hand had yet to lift from Colette's beating heart and chest.

"You have precious life in you. I wish only to feel it." The soldier revealed his fangs and lunged at her neck.

Prelude: Montreux, Lake Geneva, Switzerland - November 1st, 1939

The distinguished Englishman, Lord Whitworth of Hampshire, stood waiting impatiently under the cover of a well lit gazebo overlooking the distorted reflections in the lake under a clear autumn night. Ordered to appear before his counsel of elders, Whitworth half expected a sentence for execution. For years his elders seemed to raise their eyebrows over his affairs and kept him pretty much in the back of their minds and yet under their retainers' thumbs for quite some time. Rumors had begun to circulate about forbidden experimentation and secret rituals passing hands from nefarious sources to Whitworth.

Among many rumors, it has been said that Whitworth was involved in genetic research. In hushed whispers throughout most of the academia of their exclusive society, it had been suggested that Whitworth was, "making himself a mutation".

As much as Whitworth had attempted to prepare for this impending meeting, there was nothing he could learn or hide from the rumor mills. Whitworth was on the verge of making a great discovery in genetic and blood manipulation. His experiments were nearing their final stages. Getting the summons had put yet another halt on his progress. The war in Germany was another cause for many more delays. He needed to be back in Hampshire as soon as possible. The war is driving many of his bloodline from Europe while others attempt to remain behind in hopes of scavenging what power they can from the Nazis. It is a dangerous time to be in Europe and an even more dangerous time to be at the mercy of paranoid elders. The results of his experiments could turn the tides and bring more strength to his bloodline.

From around the gazebo and promenade along the lonely beach, there was not a soul to be found anywhere. Most pedestrians were in their homes cozying up to warm fires in the fireplaces and comfortable homes that offered safety and familiarity. In these surroundings, Whitworth feels alone and uneasy. So accustomed to being in his luxurious estate in the English countryside, surrounded and comforted by his many young servants and slaves, Whitworth felt himself completely on edge.

A man had been gradually approaching the gazebo from behind Whitworth. He was making his presence obvious, but Whitworth had been too concerned with worries and missed comforts to allow his senses to fully awaken him. "I have a message from the counsel, sir." The young man spoke up. The young man looked to be a courier dressed in a grey uniform jacket with gold buttons fastened neatly up to his high collar. The young man could not have been a few years out of the university. The scent of youthful ignorance and fear was like a tidal wave in the air.

Whitworth looked at this young, fresh faced man and sent him on his way with a quick nod as he took a wax sealed envelope from the young man's shivering hand.

Whitworth quickly tore open the envelope and skimmed the brief message scrawled upon dry parchment and crumpled it into his hands. The message wasn't what he expected at all. It was something of a reversal in fortunes. Whitworth was being given the opportunity to conduct a hunt for an abomination.

In few words, Whitworth was told that his transgressions were being set aside and forgotten on the condition that he complete a task requiring the destruction of a recently discovered abomination of the bloodline. His search for the abomination would start in France, at an allied army hospital.

As soon as the young messenger had left the beach, Whitworth dropped his outward charade and assumed his true visage; that of an old, withering man with twisted bones and stretched leathery skin. His body seemed to demand so much to maintain the charades and illusionary masks for too long. If he could just go a little further in his experimentation, then perhaps he wouldn't have to see himself as a twisted thing.

At the very least, this summons only brings more delays upon those already imposed upon him. The war was thinning out his bloodline's numbers, soon he may be the only one left behind. His superiors demanded a stop to his risky experimentations, but at the same time, his peers desperately needed help.

Whitworth is no soldier, nor is he a lackey or grunt. His help would come in the form of augmented, animalistic hunters- beasts of such predatory nature they would kill anything- mortal or otherwise. An army of these hunter beasts would almost insure him a seat upon his bloodline's counsel, which is really what he seems to want the most. A seat of power meant absolute freedom. Absolute freedom meant unobstructed paths to even greater experimentations.

His current project was little more than a man with psychotic episodes. Field testing him with pursuing an abomination is an unlikely option.

Whitworth's gnarled face frowns and sags as he retreats into the darkness and the narrow streets behind him. The elders of his line asked for him specifically. They want him to hunt the abomination and no one else. It sounded like a test. A test of loyalty or a test of ability? Certainly with all the rumors flying about his direction, failure meant his destruction.

Whitworth saves his thoughts like a man stuffing his last penny in his pocket. Some things are best kept secret and better saved. In this city, even thoughts are not safe from eavesdroppers. The wind carries.

Prelude: East River, Connecticut- August 17th, 2002

It's a mild summer's evening. The sun is nothing more than a little glowing ribbon of red and gold behind the tree line and shadows of East River, Connecticut. The sky is clear and there's not a cloud in the sky. The moon is slowly peeking out from the east, full and bright red.

It's a Friday night at Grammy's house on Persimmon Hill. Amy was here for another week while her father was off to New York for an extended business trip.

The world is just perfect tonight. Amy is safe and happy as can be sitting with her grandmother just outside of Amy's guest room window, on the sloping roof. It only looked dangerous to be up there on the roof, but they did this all the time. They were just sitting on the roof enjoying the last few minutes of the sunset and the gorgeous view of the sky so full of bright shimmering stars and little sparks of light.

Amy loves spending time with Grammy; she's her best friend in the world and does the coolest things with her whenever she visits. Grammy makes awesome chocolate chip cookies and brownies. Grammy also plays a mean game of Connect Four. Amy gets to do lots of things with Grammy. Things she can't do at home when Daddy is around.

Amy can dance as much as she wants when she is here in Grammy's house. She can be a ballerina and wear pretty tights and twirl ribbons as much as she likes; and what is so great about this, is that Grammy will dance with her too.

Amy snuggles next to her grandmother and gazes up at the sky and exhales a long, dreamy sort of sigh. The sky looks so large to her and she feels so very small, like a tiny little speck in the universe. In a way she's jealous. Amy wishes she could be a star in the sky looking down on everyone. She wishes she could be as bright as the stars at night, or just a little brighter.

"Grammy? I have a secret!" Amy announced proudly.

"Oh? What's your secret, Jelly Bean?" Amy's grandmother replied, curious.

"I want to dance with the moon." Amy whispered in her grandmother's ear.

"Do you now? Well what sort of dance will you do?"

Amy looked up at the moon and smiled to herself. The moon was so much prettier than the stars tonight. The moon was so much bigger and so full.

"Grammy I want to dance like the pretty girls did when they showed off at my school that time." Amy replied with determination.

"You want to dance ballet like the girls who came to your school at that assembly?" Grammy inquired.

Amy nods emphatically. "They had pretty tights and looked pretty, like the moon up in the sky!"

It didn't surprise "Grammy" one bit to see her granddaughter so interested in dance. The child was very active and seemed attuned to moving with music. She was a very bright and creative thirteen-year old, despite what her father and the others have said.

"Amy, you can dance with the moon anytime you like. No matter how you dance, the moon dances with you."

Amy looked squarely in her grandmother's eyes and stared in awe.

"Really? I can dance with the moon?" Amy asked, surprise written across her soft face.

"You bet! If you like, I'll take you shopping tomorrow and get you some special dance clothes." v "Pretty tights, right?" Amy asked instantly.

"The moon would want you to look your best." Grammy smiled.

"Do I need lessons?" Amy asked.

Grammy twitched her nose and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Some dance school would have a hard time teaching a special girl like Amy. They might not have the patience or show her much kindness.

"I'll buy you some leotards and tights and I'll teach you ballet, like when I was a little girl." Grammy stated.

"Did you dance with the moon too?" Amy leaned in.

"I still twirl on my toes once in a while. The moon and I are kind of like old friends."

Amy couldn't believe it! Grammy was going to teach her ballet! She was going to get pretty leotards and tights too! What was more amazing was that Grammy dances with the moon and they're friends!

"You're the best Grammy ever!" Amy cheered.

"I have a secret for you now." Grammy calmed Amy and patted her on her knees.

Amy pressed her ear close to her grandmother's lips and waited anxiously to hear every syllable of her grandmother's secret.

"I know that no matter what people say about you... no matter what mean names they call you... you are going to be a very good ballerina and you'll always be perfect to me."

Amy hugs her grandmother and smiles nonchalantly. "Grammy, I know that secret already!"

Prelude: Outside Bistria, Transylvania - October 31, 1131

Half a world and some time away, a circle of Gypsies gathered around a crackling campfire under the cover of dense woods, and mountainous shadows to consider the coming of age of a young man of their family. A circle of their covered wagons was neatly arranged around them, protecting them from their untamed and uncharted surroundings. Nestled in the seclusion of a mountain valley in the southern portions of the Carpathians, these family elders gathered to initiate new blood into their ranks.

The clouds hovering over the sky suggested a heavy downpour and yet another storm. For the council of family elders, it seemed like an ill omen to initiate new blood under such an uncertain sky.

"Above us, it appears we are between night and coming dawn, yet time is shrouded from us. The sky holds questions and God cannot witness, nor can He offer answers to us." The eldest of the family spoke sullenly.

The initiate was a young man in his twenties dressed in the garb of academia. He had the scent and aroma of city living about him. His long black hair was neatly pulled back and tied in a ponytail. His face was smooth and his body was lean and slender. It was evident that the young man had been accustomed to comfortable living.

"His mother is one of us." An elder muttered.

"The People are in his blood, the clothes and trappings are but an illusion." A young looking woman spoke up as she approached from behind a wagon.

The council considered the young woman who interrupted their gathering. The young woman was Tsigane, the daughter of a knife dancer and the granddaughter of Carmella, the fortune teller.

"I believe he is truly one of us, returned from the grey of the cities and the dullness of easy living." Tsigane added, eyeing and bowing to her elders respectfully.

"The sky offers us ill feelings. There is much mystery surrounding him." The eldest remarked.

The initiate sat in the center of their circle by the campfire pit and remained silent, but stole occasional glances at the beautiful young Gypsy woman speaking on his behalf.

"The young man will grow accustomed to his new life among his true family with time. His mother had asked me on her behalf to see to his education." The woman smiled.

The eldest among the men called for silence, raising his hand as if to salute the flames that kept them warm and offered them light within these dark surroundings.

The elders bowed their heads down low and muttered amongst themselves until their combined voices seemed like a low hum and a murmur. They exchanged glances and studied the initiate carefully with narrowed eyes. After a long restless silence, the eldest of the family council rose and stood before the initiate and invited Tsigane to stand within the circle.

"We shall consider him, but you must name him for he shall belong with you." The old man spoke solemnly.

"Will he ever truly be one of us? It is unclear." Another elder spoke stroking his scraggly beard.

"Only time will tell." Tsigane agreed, feeling somewhat disheartened.

"What name do you give him?" The council asked.

"I name him Moon," Tsigane replied without hesitation, "for I have hopes that he shall offer us light in times of darkness."

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Catalogue Information

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