01 March 2018
Read our suggested rewrite of a reader's supernatural thiller novel
The Fall is a supernatural thriller by self-confessed "Middle Ages nerd" Sara Rowe. Read the full critique in the April issue of Writing Magazine
Cadence ran her hands over her face in frustration. Eight months ago she had lost her wife in a car crash, and was determined to find a way to bring her back. Every time she found a new lead, she got excited. This could be it, this could finally be the way to bring the dead back to life, but no. Always no. It was like a door slamming shut in her face. Every Wicca, Black witch, Voodoo Priest – anyone and everyone connected to spirts, magic or anything supernatural seemed to rejoice in saying it was impossible.
She lowered her hands and placed them on the steering wheel, her wedding ring glinted back at her, the sunlight reflecting off the perfect diamond that sat at the heart of a simple design. She reflected on the latest ‘no’ she had been given. A young woman, no older than she was, telling her that “No mortal can raise the dead.” No mortal. What about immortals? Could they? But no, she had already spoken to the Vampires, they had all but laughed in her face. The Fae were an option, maybe. She would have to investigate. What other kind of immortal was there? She wasn’t sure, but she would find out.
'What brings you to me, child?' Cadence has tracked down her last hope. The old lady sitting across from her was half Fae, half ‘other’ possibly demon, or she had heard. She had bags under her eyes and she looked soft, gentle and yet at the same time stern, hard. Her eyes were a deep brown, almost black. Despite being old (Cadence had heard rumours that the woman was at least 85), she looked no older than 45. Her hair was a shiny, bouncy black. Her skin a beautiful shade of brown.
'What brings you to me, child?'
‘You’re my last hope,’ said Cadence.
The woman nodded, waiting. She was apparently 85, but looked 45 with her dark Mediterranean eyes and lustrous black hair.
‘I’ve spoken to the Wiccans, the black witches, and a voodoo priest,’ said Cadence. ‘But they’ve all said it’s impossible. They all say ‘no. The vampires, too.’
‘What is impossible, child? Calm yourself. Start at the beginning.’ If her face was kind, her eyes were hard and frank.
‘Yes. Yes. Sorry... It’s the frustration... My wife – she died eight months ago. I want to bring her back. I’ve been told no mortal can do it. But could an immortal?’
‘And you’ve come to me because...?’
‘Because... they say you’re half-Fae and—’
The woman seemed to smile.
Cadence allowed ‘—and half-demon’ to go unspoken. She instead looked down at her wedding ring, its diamond brilliant even in the candlelight.
‘There may be a way,’ said the woman.
Read the full critique and commentary in the April issue of Writing Magazine