Before we get to Lisa, I just want to say that I absolutely love her newest release, Vision, and she’s been nice enough to give away SEVEN COPIES! You can enter here, on Girls With Books’ blog. AND, because Lisa is awesome, you can also enter here to win a signed copy of Vision, an e-book of Breaking Glass AND some swag!
Now here’s Lisa:
“I’ve noticed occasional murmurings and questions regarding sequels, so I am going to answer them here.
There will not be a sequel to Breaking Glass. It is a stand alone.
There will be a sequel to Vision, which is Book One of the Finder series. The untitled book is tentatively scheduled for early 2016.
That being said, I have not ruled out the return of Jeremy Glass and his snarky, ironic self. But, I’m not sure what Bobby will think when Jeremy turns up in his next book, or the possible Breaking Glass/Vision novella I am considering writing.
So, I figure I’ll start this rumor right on Kelly’s blog, because—well—Kelly is cool and such an enthusiastic supporter of all my work, published and unpublished.
As of now, I’m thinking Jeremy Glass is going to show up in the second Vision book. The Breaking Glass/Vision novella is merely a twinkle in my eye at this time. I don’t know how big a role Jeremy will have, if there is even a place for him or how the two boys will relate to each other—but I’m assuming sparks will fly.
Let’s put them in a room right now and see what they do.
Guest post: Jeremy from Breaking Glass and Bobby from Vision meet by chance in New York City.
It’s a winter day. Bobby is in the middle of his first year at the prestigious Morton Academy—his senior year—and enjoying it. He and his family have settled into their new home near the school, but Bobby is still undecided as to whether he can bear to leave Aaron alone with his dad to attend college. Gabe has already been accepted to the Columbia University School of Music in Manhattan, and has been invited by the University to perform with other students at a local venue.
Bobby has accompanied Gabe to other performances. He’s recovered well from his surgery, but has told no one about his final encounter with Maura Reston or the yellow gloves on the Scratch Lake dock.
Manhattan, Broadway and 105th Street, Early March
Bobby stood on the stage beside Gabe, frozen and trembling. Seated behind her piano, Gabe was too lost in the music to notice how his guitar was about ready to slide from his slick hands or how his fingers were as thick and unwieldy as a fistful of uncooked hot dogs.
After a heated argument, tears, and threats to break up, Gabe had finally convinced him to join her onstage for just one of her three songs at Student Review night at the Smoke Jazz and Supper club on Broadway and 105th street in Manhattan.
The stage lights stabbed so viciously that even his blind right eye registered the pain. It was a rowdy group, mostly Columbia students who’d come to cheer on their friends. The applause and catcalls of the crowd, hidden behind the painful white haze, roared and reverberated like a jet engine inside his head.
It was hard to tell if it was just nerves or one of those recent spells he hadn’t told anyone about—how on occasion the sight in his good eye doubled over like film shot through a rain-washed window. How on those rare intervals, the doubled vision would be joined by a deep throbbing pain along where the scar from his surgery had been covered over by a new growth of thick black hair.
So he stood, feet nailed in place, dutifully forcing a smile while the audience cheered and Gabe reveled in her virtuoso key-pounding glory. Gabe’s jazzy original songs had gained her a growing fan base, and the last thing Bobby wanted was to throw her off balance tonight.
Her love for him was the improbable thing he’d never believed possible. She’d been nervous about playing again in New York City after such a long absence. And he’d already caused enough trouble for her, as well as for everyone who cared about him. He’d rather, he had decided, lose his remaining sight than risk losing her.
But now, his surroundings swimming in a smear of light, the pain grinding at his eye sockets, Bobby soldiered through the song, his own voice barely audible over the blood pounding in his ears. “Stage fright can be fatal,” he thought to himself, and kept the idiotic smile pasted on his face. He hoped that if Gabe did happen glance up at him from her piano, she’d interpret his blank stare as his usual state of raw fear. Though forced to perform frequently at school, Bobby still hadn’t adjusted to it.
With his heart hammering behind his ribs, the song seemed to drone on forever. He blinked crazily into the unfocused abyss and willed his sight to clear, so that he could at least make it off the stage when it finally ended.
Then he saw it. Amidst the sea of misted lights and fog, in perfect focus, was the chalk-white face of a young man with hollowed-out sockets, staring straight back at him.
And he could see the thing with both of his eyes.
Bobby squinted at the terrifying sight, demanding his vision to return to its normal split screen view. But the apparition held steady, high-definition clear in the blurred soup of his sight. Somehow, he managed to keep his damp fingers on the chords and his voice in tune. Eyes squeezed shut, he hoped the audience would interpret this as a deep passion for music and not the state of panic it was.
At last, the song ended and the crowd, already noisy, erupted into even louder applause. Bobby bowed deeply, eyes still closed, and on opening them, found that, miraculously, the world had snapped back to his version of normal and that the headache had vanished like a receding storm. The awful face was gone.
Relieved, he turned to Gabe and received a melting smile from behind the damp strands of copper-gold hair that clung to her flushed face. He returned the smile and meant it, the warmth briefly flooding his chilled insides. Still shaken, he left the stage to watch the rest of the show from the sidelines. Gabe was to remain on stage as part of the band, and he hoped that by the time he had to face her, he’d have gotten a grip on himself.
He’d meant to sit at the back of the club and take in the rest of the show. Though the thought of standing around the streets of New York City still scared the wits out of him, the club’s noisy pulsing darkness with people pressed in all around started to strangle him. He needed air. Gabe would understand. She wouldn’t even notice if he slipped outside for just a moment.
He’d thought he might wander over to Riverside Park. He was in dire need of trees and open spaces. But it was late and the city was a dark and hungry menace to a half-blind country boy. Instead, he sat on the bench outside of the club and tried to get his heart to slow.
He couldn’t accept that it was happening again—that the visions that had nearly taken his sight a few months ago and made him the target of a crazed serial killer were returning.
Sitting and watching the occasional person stroll by, eventually, Bobby’s heart did slow and he knew he should go back inside to watch the rest of the show. He was just about to get up when a tall kid around his age burst through the door of the club, talking excitedly into his cell phone. and paced the sidewalk in front of Bobby with a slightly uneven gait.
“What did you expect me to do, Marisa?” the guy shouted into the phone, “Prowl the streets while you sit around talking philosophy all night? Can’t you tell them your boyfriend is a poor helpless cripple, alone on the streets of New York? This leg can only take so much. It’s not made of plutonium. I think—wait—what?”
Bobby tried not to look like he was eavesdropping, but the guy was clearly having an argument with a girl and other people’s problems were sometimes the best distraction from his own. The combination of the limp and the lanky athletic build perplexed him.
“Jeez, Marisa. They’re not going to serve an underage—yes, yes, I remember that party. I slipped up—but I’ve been good ever since. It was just a—I was listening to music. That was all. It was—yeah, Yeah. I’ll meet you at the café at 11:45. Bye.”
The guy stuffed his phone in his pocket and whirled around. Lips clamped in a tight line, sweat stuck his curly brown hair to his brow. He was about the push back through the door to the club when his gaze fell on Bobby. He smiled and stopped, studying him with a brown-eyed gaze—shrewd, but not unfriendly. Bobby had the distinct urge to get up and run the other way.
“Hey. You were the kid that played with that amazing redhead. Not bad, man. Not bad.”
Bobby mustered a smile. “Uh, thanks.”
“Not from around here, are you?”
“Um, no. I mean, I’m not, really.”
The guy smiled and extended a hand. “Sorry. Just a little cranky tonight. I came in this morning on an epic bus ride from Duke just to see my girlfriend and she’s stuck in a study group with a bunch of other assholes. Oh. I’m Jeremy.” He sighed and plopped on the bench beside Bobby and rubbed his leg. “Too much walking today. Ouch.”
Bobby tried to keep his eyes from going wide as Jeremy lifted the leg of the black jeans to reveal a thin metal contraption instead of an actual leg.
Jeremy looked at him and smiled, clearly enjoying the shock value. “Nice, isn’t she? Meet Veronica. But she’s been sticking lately. I think I’ll have to bring her back to the shop. What’s your name?”
Bobby stared from Jeremy’s face to his metal leg. “Bobby. Bobby Pendell,” he choked out. At that moment all Bobby really wanted was to bolt back into the club, but that would be rude. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know how Jeremy lost that leg, though he was pretty sure he’d be happy to tell him.
Instead, Jeremy said breezily, “You were awesome, dude. Where’d you learn to play guitar and sing like that? Man, all I can do is run.”
Bobby swallowed hard and tried to choke down the obvious response. How could a guy with a fake leg run?
Jeremy laughed. “Ha! Most people are too polite to ask, but I’m not shy about it. I was a sprinter. Fastest in my school. Until—well, until the accident. But now I’ve got a Teflon blade. Like that guy from South Africa? You know, the Blade Runner, the one who they say killed his girlfriend?”
Bobby cleared his throat again. Something about this Jeremy dude was unnerving him. The guy eyed him with one eyebrow raised, as if he didn’t actually expect a response.
“Um, it was nice to meet you. But I really should be getting back inside.” Bobby rose to leave.
Jeremy continued to stare back at him. “Who’s your friend, then?”
A shiver rolled up his back. He wanted to get away from this Jeremy. There was something irritating about him, as if he could pull back Bobby’s skin and locate his deepest and most irrational fears. Ever since his last brush with Maura Reston, he’d been paranoid and had the distinct feeling he was being watched. Jeremy seemed to be probing him for something.
Jeremy’s gaze shifted to Bobby’s left shoulder. He nodded casually with his chin. “That guy.”
Bobby’s blood turned to ice in his veins. He pivoted and saw a brief white flicker, then nothing.
Jeremy laughed. “Yeah. You’ve got to learn to ignore them. They’re everywhere.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Jeremy’s smile froze then vanished. “I don’t like it any more than you do. But I can always tell when I meet someone like me.”
“Like you?” Bobby got up swiftly, wanting nothing more than to escape this annoying one-legged person.
“You may have two legs, dude, and in that way we’re not the same, but you can see them, too. Things no one else can.”
Jeremy pressed a card into Bobby’s palm. He didn’t have to look down at it to know what it said. They’d gotten to him. This Jeremy guy was working with Maura Reston and her paranormal goon squad.”
Thanks again, Lisa!