Brenda Drake has a fun little contest going on on her blog this week, and first prize is a 10 page critique by C.A. Marshal, a freelance editor, author and literary agent intern.

The rules are simple: post a 500 word scene with a cliffhanger. A few non-participating readers will pick the top 6, and then you readers will pick the top three to win the prizes. A critique from Marshal will go a long way to helping me land that much sought after agent, so please take a moment to help select the best *cough-mine-cough* entry. So without further shameless vote-grubbing, here is my entry from my current work in progress, Banshee.

Detective Gilbert Evrard was waiting for Orton when he arrived home from his duel. Exhausted and wounded, Orton eased himself from the carriage and greeted the detective as politely as he could, choosing to ignore the two officers in steam-armor standing not so subtly off to the side.

“Well Orton,” Evrard grumbled around his cigar, skipping the usual niceties. “Are you going to give me access to the girl, or not?”

“I would rather not,” Orton said, taking a moment to gather himself. He would not allow fatigue and minor blood-loss to weaken his mien. The clothes make the man, his father used to say, an ordered mind is reflected by proper dress. Orton adjusted his coat and gloves before speaking again, standing proudly before the rumpled detective, already counting the battle of appearances as his victory. “She has nothing left to add to the case, and I will not have her intimidated and accused for no reason other than to sooth your pride.” Evrard had failed to make any progress on the case for days, and was under a great deal of pressure from the Citadel to wrap it up before another judge was killed, or worse, a cabinet member. Evrard glowered at Orton, and spat out his cigar.

“I aint askin’ this time, I’m tellin’” Evrard said. He pulled an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Orton. He did not need to open it to know what it was: a warrant.

“Very well,” Orton said. He stood there for a moment, staring at Evrard. The detective looked away first. He knows he’s wrong, Orton thought, must be desperate. Evrard stepped aside to allow Orton to limp up the stairs to his home.

His servant Anaru was waiting at the door, his expression deliberately blank. He coughed politely, his way of asking for permission to speak. Orton paused, and turned slowly, a knot of fear tangling itself in his guts: Anaru was not normally so forward, something must be wrong. He waited for his servant to speak.

“Lily is gone,” Anaru said, “She snuck out after your discussion with her this afternoon. I set the Goblins to find her, but you know the girl, if she does not wish to be found, she won’t be.” Orton’s carefully maintained control slipped.

“Shadows of Hell!” he swore. First Rosie, now Lily. Every woman in his life had run off, at the worst possible time. He turned back to the detective. “Evrard, I am sorry to say the girl has fled my estate.”

“You did this, you told her to run!” Evrard accused.

“I did no such thing,” Orton said, ignoring the insult to his honor. “I would rather she be in your custody, than loose in the city without protection, while three ravenous Banshee hunt for her. They have her scent, and nothing will stop them from killing her. Let me back on the case, for her sake.”

So there it is, hopefully I have left you cursing me for ending where I did, or at the very least I entertained you for a few minutes. Please check out the other participants by following this link, and read their entries as well.