Guest Pamela Turner tells about her new book, Death Sword

Today, I'm excited to welcome Pamela Turner as my guest, talking about the fascinating topic of dark angels and their role in her wonderful new book, Death Sword.

Lucifer Rising

(Reexamining Samael’s Role)

by Pamela Turner

When I wrote Death Sword for National Novel Writing Month in 2008, my knowledge of angels was rudimentary at best and flawed at worst. But any preconceived notions I had about angels flew out the proverbial window. Often depicted as merely messengers and/or guardians, I realized their true powers were often diminished. When I decided to revise Death Sword, I wanted to change that.

One such character is Gabriel. While he’s often depicted as an androgynous figure, this is  misleading since he wields a huge and deadly scythe. He’s also noted for being one of the angels of destruction sent to annihilate Sodom and Gomorrah. Yes, that Gabriel, who is not only an angel of the Annunciation but also of death and vengeance. Along with Samael, Gabriel oversees angels of death under the supervision of Metatron.

Of all the angels I researched for Death Sword, Samael has become a key figure throughout the pending series. (Death Sword is the first book in a planned four-book series, The Angels of Death). Chief of satans, Samael is considered both holy and fallen, according to A Dictionary of Angels (Gustav Davidson). Perhaps even more interesting is the entry posted in The Encyclopedia of Angels (Rosemary Ellen Guiley): “Prior to the Fall, Samael is higher than the mighty Seraphim. He has 12 wings.”

If that description brings to mind the name “Lucifer,” you’re right. But there’s more to the Devil than we realize. In their volume, The Book of Angels, (Ruth Thompson, L.A Williams, and Renae Taylor), author Todd Jordan writes, “However, the revered St. Jerome contends that Samael, as Lucifer, may be playing a role for God...Jerome posited that becoming the being known as Lucifer was a monumental task that God assigned to Samael, as he was the only Archangel strong enough to survive the ravages of a Hellish station.”

Whether you agree or not, it’s an interesting concept. And it ties in with the following pitch for the series: “What if the Seraphim, the highest ranking archangels, viewing love as the ultimate weakness, decide they are superior to God and create a world of intolerance and fear?”            

The battle between the angels of death and Samael against the Seraphim has begun.

Pamela Turner claims to be an atheist but she’s probably more of a Humanist. A former magazine freelance writer, she returned to writing fiction in 2003. Death Sword is her first published book.

Death Sword Blurb

The only thing more dangerous than an angel of death is one obsessed with vengeance.

Karla Black has always known she’s different from other people. She learns just how different after she's fatally stabbed and brought back to life as a half-human angel of death.

With newfound power comes a newfound boss.

Samael despises her. He considers Karla impure and resents her relationship with her partner Xariel…who also happens to be Samael's ex-lover. When he takes that hatred to a higher level, Karla vows vengeance - a task easier said than done.

With the loss of their angelic powers, Karla and Xariel face a dilemma – how will they defeat an unstoppable Samael, whose poisoned rapier can kill human and angel alike?

If Karla doesn’t awaken to her true identity, both heaven and earth are in danger of annihilation.

Contact Pam at:

 pamturner97@gmail.com

 Website Links:

 http://pamelaturner.net (website)

 Haunted Dreams, Dark Destinies (blog)

 Twitter

 Facebook Author Page

 Goodreads

 Manic Readers

 Buy Links:

 All Romance eBooks

 Amazon

 Fictionwise

 Lyrical Press

 Mobipocket

Death Sword Excerpt

Karla lay on the sofa, her heart racing, driven by adrenaline-induced fear. Another scare and

she’d go into cardiac arrest.

Samael loomed over her, hands on either side of her head. “Human filth,” he whispered, “the

sooner I’m rid of you, the better.” A dagger appeared in his hand. The intricate markings differed

from the ones on Xariel’s knife. She’d no doubt Samael meant to kill her. Too bad she hadn’t told Xariel she loved him.

He pushed the tip against her throat. “Should I kill you now?” The chief of satans smiled at

her, a cruel grin which didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d love to, but I want Xariel to watch.” He cocked a brow at her distressed expression. “Oh? Didn’t I tell you? He saw his darling Delilah die. I’m sure he’d be very disappointed if he couldn’t see your final moments.”

Karla swallowed. “What now?” She prayed for a swift death. Samael pressed down on the

dagger. The tip sliced through skin, piercing her windpipe, the sharp pain excruciating. A strangled gasp burbled in her throat. Shock laid a merciful hand on her head. She closed her eyes, letting darkness wash over her.

A heavy weight pressed down on her body. Lungs burning, she struggled for air. Minutes

passed. Nothing happened. No tunnel, no white light. Curious, Karla opened her eyes, tried to sit up.

She couldn’t move.

Panic gnawed at frayed nerves. Samael hadn’t killed her. He’d done far worse. Paralyzed,

she couldn’t defend herself or escape.

“They’ll be back soon,” Samael said. “I’ve kept them busy, but no doubt they’ve finished.

We should go.”

Karla tried to speak. Invisible threads stitched her mouth closed. She rolled her eyes, the

only part able to move, and stared at him. “Why?”

Samael noticed. “Frustrating, isn’t it? Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

His fingers closed her eyelids, despite her conscious will to keep them open.

Game over.

At the Bradenton Village of the Arts, celebrating the Day of the Dead

For this week's Magical Monday I'd like to tell about my Saturday visit to the Bradenton Village of the Arts during their annual Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) festival. Southern ways are still new to me and this holiday was something I’d heard of, but never really understood. I thought the event would be more like a Mexican/Spanish Halloween celebration. I was very wrong. Instead, it had its own entrancing magical communication with the dead. Nothing scary. A happy event.

Each gallery presented a lovely altar to honor deceased loved ones with their photos and small memorabilia of their lives. The shrines were decorated in bright colors, gold, yellow, orange. Chrysanthemums, marigolds, candles, smiling sugar skulls, skeletons dressed in party clothing added to the gaiety. These altar pictures were taken at the local celebration I attended.

The intent of the holiday is to encourage visits by the souls, so that the souls will hear prayers and comments of the living directed to them. Celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember funny events and anecdotes about the departed. I saw many loving and humorous mementoes on the local shrines--very heartwarming.

Traditionally, Día de los Muertos is a holiday celebrated by people of Latin American and Latinos living in the US and Canada. The celebration occurs on November 2 in connection with the Catholic holidays of All Saints’ Day (November 1) and All Souls’ Day (November 2). The holiday can be traced back thousands of years to an Aztec festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl. Then it was common to keep skulls as trophies and display them during the rituals to symbolize death and rebirth. In Spain, there are festivals and parades, and, at the end of the day, people gather at cemeteries and pray for their dead loved ones. In most regions of Mexico, November 1 honors the deaths of children and infants, Día de los Inocentes ("Day of the Innocents"), whereas deceased adults are honored on November 2.

Typically today, during the three-day celebration, families usually clean and decorate graves; most visit the cemeteries where their loved ones are buried and decorate their graves with offerings, especially Mexican marigolds. The flower is so important in modern Mexico, the name of the event is sometimes replaced with the term Flor de Muerto ("Flower of the Dead"). These flowers are thought to attract souls of the dead to the offerings. Traditionally, families spend some time around the altar, praying and telling anecdotes about the deceased. Celebrants often wear shells on their clothing, so that when they dance, the noise will wake up the dead.

Catrinas, one of the most popular figures of the Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico

Toys are brought for dead children (los angelitos, or "the little angels"), and bottles of tequila or mezcal for adults. Families will also offer trinkets or the deceased's favorite candies on the grave. Offerings are also put in homes, usually with foods such as candied pumpkin, pan de muerto ("bread of the dead"), sugar skulls, and beverages. The offerings are left out in the homes as a welcoming gesture for the deceased. Some people believe the spirits of the dead eat the "spiritual essence" of the food. Pillows and blankets are left out so that the deceased can rest after their long journey. I saw some homes throughout the Village of the Arts with these offerings on tables on porches, to invite the spirits of loved ones home.

I was very touched by the celebration. Everywhere were fond remembrances of those who had passed away. There was definitely magic in the air.

Gran calavera eléctrica ("Grand electric skull") by José Guadalupe Posada

Voices of My Angel

This is another story inspired by a trip to the beach.  My troubles were swept away.

***

Chased by demons, I rode like the wind. Yet, my assailants kept pace, whirling about me in a frenzy. Their laughter cackled in my ears. Clawing at my shoulders with their icy fingers, a chill gripped my chest, as they reached for my heart. Adrenaline surged from my fear, powering my legs. I heard their calls at my back, like songs of sirens, tempting me to slow. My strength must hold.


Upon rounding a bend, gentle salt air caught my nostrils. Inhaling, my lungs puffed full. From the brush, snowy egrets now bowed their long necks to me. I was honored and awed they would pay respect to me, a lowly human whose karma lured bogies. And then I understood – my angel was before me. It had been so long. My heart leapt. I felt his love encircle me, drawing forth my own magic. Looking back, the furies had abated, replaced by butterflies fluttering along either side of my bicycle. Their essences tickled me. Magic abounded – as sea oats danced with the breeze, with whispers upon wisps of clouds, from squeals of laughter where children played on the beach. Shells glistened like gems at the surf's edge. The tide boomed a reassurance of the magic in my angel's soul . . . I smiled and dreamed to see it in his eyes.