Estevan Vega is here today with his main character, Arson, courtesy of the Teen Book Scene blog tour for his newest release, Ashes. Thank you for being here today, Estevan and Arson! You can follow along with the tour here, or by clicking through the banner. Enjoy!
Wake Me Up
steph arson gable
Hello? I guess this is where I talk and we pretend like you hear what I’m saying. I’m supposed to tell you about myself, the who-I-am bit like you see on the back of those corny young adult books. But who’s to say you can even hear me. Come to think of it, who’s to say you wouldn’t shut off right from the get-go? Sorry. I guess I’m not so good at this honesty thing. The whole, share your emotions stuff freaks me out a bit, to be honest. Grandma’s better at this than me. Although she hasn’t really opened up to anyone since…
Forget it. I don’t want to talk about that. And don’t ask me to. Let’s just say things haven’t ever really been great in my life. Don’t worry, this isn’t a soapbox, and I’m not Emery’s dad, so you’ll get no preaching from me. Crap, that sounded a little harsher than I meant for it to. Anyway, Grandma’s got this love-hate dynamic with me. Not sure what else to call it. It’s sick in a way, but I guess I love her more than I hate her. I only got one, right? And when she’s acting…you know…normal, she’s actually kinda nice. ’Course there are some days when she’s tossing plates at me because I let out a burp “rudely” in her presence or telling me what she really thinks of me, in the dark of her, but when you choose to love somebody you make excuses for why they treat you like garbage.
If you really want to know, she’s particularly fond of a few choice words. She hasn’t ever been much for cussing, so she resorts to harsh names like demon or killer when she’s upset with me. She likes those names. I don’t.
But I s’pose she’s not far-off. Anyone who knows anything about me (which isn’t a whole lot of people) knows that my past sort of earned those ugly nicknames. No, I’m not gonna go into here. I’m not pathetic like that. This is not a diary or a neat little bio; it’s the truth. So…without any wild intro, I guess I’ll rewind a bit and try to start over: I can create fire with my mind. With my thoughts, really. Don’t freak out. After all, if you think about something long enough, chances are it can become reality. My powers work a little but like that, just more literal. The fire can come out at any time if I’m not careful. And it’s happened. I’ve been trying to keep it contained. Trying to create some kind of order from all the chaos.
But for now, things aren’t looking so great. I haven’t seen Grandma in God knows how long. I haven’t seen the cabin or the lake. I haven’t walked the halls of my high school. Well, I have, but it’s different now. Way different. It’s like a dream, but you can’t open your eyes. Not really. Is anything making sense yet?
Right. I almost forgot. You probably can’t even hear me.
Worst part of all this is that I haven’t seen Emery. Not sure she’s even alive or where they’ve taken her. She’s so real, you know? So freaking compassionate…the greatest girl. We met this past summer. She wears a mask, but she’s not some weirdo. Cross my heart. Well, she wore a mask, actually. Tell you the truth, I’m kind of okay with the mask being gone, even though I can still picture the scars on her face. Still, that mask made any possibility of making-out nearly impossible. Not that her parents would be thrilled of us doing that. Well, her mother might not possess too much of an opinion, but her father would never let it go if he caught us. I’ve already had two awkward conversations with that man, not sure I can handle a third.
No. That last part was a lie. I would. If it meant I could see her again. If it meant I could get that summer back. Get my life back. My sad, pathetic, dysfunctional, freak life. I knew how that world worked. Well, more like I was figuring it out. I hadn’t mastered the control thing like I wanted to, but I was trying like crazy.
It’s so weird; no matter how often I blink, I’m still alone. I’m talking to you with no response. I pray, but God’s delivery boy must be out sick. I’ve even called out my grandmother’s name a few times in the darkness. But the emptiness grows. It hurts even. My head’s pounding. There’s this pain, like a knife’s splitting open my chest and my forehead. It won’t quit. I keep swallowing, but I’m just sucking down dead spit. I’m ready for the nightmare to stop. I’m ready to go back. To wake up.
Help me wake up.
Thank you for introducing yourself, Arson! I hope that the nightmare ends for you soon! =(
Thank you Estevan for being here today as well!
And experimented on.
Salvation Asylum is more like a prison than a psychiatric facility. Unknowingly, Arson has become a vital instrument in a campaign set to genetically alter mankind. Enraged, confused, trapped, and unable to fully manifest his abilities, he wonders if he will ever see Emery again. His new existence is one crawling with questions. Is Grandma alive? Where does the fire come from? Can he become more than a monster?
In Ashes, book two of the ARSON series, nightmare and reality collide as Arson must embrace what he is and the haunting realization that there may be others out there, others like him.
Synopsis taken from goodreads.