Blog Tour - Excerpt and Giveaway - Portal by Imogen Rose

 

I am pleased to be able to participate in Imogen Rose's, Portal blog tour through

Bewitching Book Tours.

Portal

by Imogen Rose

Blurb:

Come Find Me Two Years Ago...

Six words that propelled ice hockey playing tomboy, Arizona, into an alternate dimension.

She suddenly found herself in the past. In one moment she went from being an ice hockey playing teenager in New Jersey to a glamorous cheerleader in California. She found herself transported from a happy life with her dad, Dillard, to a new, strange one living with her mother whom she hates. Apparently it's a life she's always lived in.

Everyone knows her as Arizona Darley, but she isn't. She is Arizona Stevens.

As she struggles to find answers she is certain of one thing- that her mother Olivia, a brilliant physicist, is somehow responsible...

PORTAL is the story of the repercussions of Olivia Darley's attempt at creating a perfect world for herself and her children. Arizona's quest for answers threatens to undermine the seemingly perfect world that her mother has so carefully constructed.

PORTAL is the first book of the Portal Chronicles. Fans of time travel, romance, and the supernatural will enjoy Arizona's quest for answers

Smashwords  Paperback  Kindle

Equilibrium Portal Book 2  Quantum Portal Book 3   Momentum Portal Book 4

Meet Imogen Rose

Imogen Rose is the author of the bestselling YA series, the Portal Chronicles. She was born in a small town in Sweden and moved to London in her twenties. After obtaining a PhD in immunology from Imperial College, she moved with her family to New Jersey, where she’s been based for the past ten years.

For as long as she can remember, Imogen has dreamt stories. Stories that continued from night to night, from dream to dream. So, even as a child, going to bed was never an issue, just an anticipation of the story to come.
PORTAL, Imogen’s first novel, would have remained in her imagination, to be shared only with her daughter, Lauren, had her eight-year-old not insisted that she write it down. In the course of a month, Imogen typed while Lauren waited eagerly by the printer for the pages to appear, and a novel took shape.

The warm reception PORTAL received encouraged her to continue with the story and the Portal Chronicles. The Bonfire Chronicles is Imogen’s new YA paranormal series.

Imogen is a self-confessed Hermès addict who enjoys shopping, traveling, watching movies and playing with her dog, Tallulah. 

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EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

LONDON, 17 Years Ago

Serendipity

Olivia looked up at the sky and caught sight of a shooting star. It was the start of the Orionid meteor showers. She made a wish.

She ran her hand across her belly, hoping she’d be able to give her daughter a perfect life. Sadness enveloped her as she realized she needed to accept the inevitable. Her marriage was over. Olivia braced herself; that epiphany was more chilling than the cold October wind biting through her thick wool coat. How would

she give her daughter the life she deserved without a father? She’d lost her own when she was just eight, and it had left a hole in her life that had been impossible to

fill. All she had left of him were fleeting memories; her favorites were those of their last family vacation in Arizona. And that was what she would name her daughter–Arizona.

Perhaps she should stay in her marriage. Maybe it would be better for Arizona. She was torn. Was this what was in store for her, a lifetime of compromise? She needed a drink to help dull the pain of this possibility. But, she’d have to start her new life by settling first for a

glass of sparkling water to celebrate her best friend Celia’s birthday, which was, after all, why she was waiting outside the Alexander Fleming pub in Paddington on such a bitterly cold night. Celia and the others finally arrived, stumbling toward the pub. They had started their pub crawl hours earlier, while Olivia was finishing up in the laboratory. Celia planted a wet, alcoholic kiss right on Olivia’s pinkglossed lips as they hugged, and then she pulled her in

the direction of the pub. The group of nine made a noisy entrance as they pushed their way to their regular table. Olivia could feel all eyes on them, but was used to it. Their striking looks had landed them in the modeling job where they had instantly bonded. They had

remained friends, though most of them had long since given up modeling and gone their separate ways.

“Let the rounds begin!” Celia declared, flicking her glossy blond hair over her shoulders, and smiling brightly. Olivia put up her hand to indicate that she would get the first round and tried to remember the orders her friends shouted.

She plowed through the crush of bodies surrounding the bar and reached it feeling out of breath. She leaned against it, inadvertently knocking something over with her foot. She looked down and just managed to rescue a guitar from hitting the floor. When she looked back up, she locked onto the intense icy-blue gaze of a man standing beside her. Olivia was unprepared for the tremor that jolted through her when she looked into his eyes. Embarrassed, Olivia gave herself a shake, forcing her eyes to disengage from his.

 “I am so sorry. That was clumsy of me. Is this yours?” she whispered, handing the guitar to the man.

His lips curled into a smile as he reached for it. Olivia flushed when she felt a strong urge to touch his lips. Quickly composing herself, she turned to the bartender. She recited her order and waited while he placed nine full glasses on a tray.

“Would you like some help with that?”

Olivia turned back to the man with the guitar and nodded gratefully. As he slung the guitar over his back, she pointed to the table in the corner, and he deftly maneuvered the tray through the crowds.

“Ladies, your refreshments!”

“My! Where did you find him, Ollie? He’s adorable!” Celia grinned, looking the guitar man up and down.

Olivia examined him carefully. She had been so enthralled by his eyes that she hadn’t noticed how irresistibly attractive the rest of him was. He was about six foot two, lean but with clearly defined, taut muscles under his dark jeans and black polo shirt. With his

sparkling blue eyes accented with thick dark lashes, perfectly arched brows, and a head of short, sun-kissed brown hair, he was beautiful.

“I’m the birthday girl, so I get the first kiss!” Celia giggled as she stood and puckered her lips. Olivia felt a strong wave of resentment, but couldn’t understand why. She looked up at the man, who must have noticed her obvious irritation because he smiled at her reassuringly before heading over to Celia and kissing her gently on the top of her head.

 “Is that all I get?” Celia teased. “How about a tune on your guitar, at the very least? It is my birthday, after all!”

Olivia was relieved when he walked back over and sat on the arm of her chair. He plucked his guitar as Celia got up and sang along.

Olivia tried to analyze her erratic reactions to this stranger. Why did she feel so possessive of him? It didn’t make any sense. She was even envious of Celia singing along to his music. How absurd!

When the song came to an end, he moved to leave. She felt a shot of pain tear through her body. As if reading her thoughts, he turned to face her. Gently, he pulled her hair away from her left ear and moved in so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath.

Softly, he whispered, “Ollie, I’m your Rupert. Take a leap of faith with me.”

Then, just before he left, he added the words that changed her life forever.

“Come find me two years ago.”

I’m going to take him out! I clenched down on my mouth guard so hard I could taste salty drops of blood on my tongue. I gripped my stick firmly and zoomed over to Number 4 in less than a heartbeat. Snarling under my breath, I lifted my stick, brought the end down hard onto his thigh, and pounded my shoulders into his chest. He was down. Mission accomplished. The whistle sounded. Typical! The two minutes in the penalty box would be worth it… seeing the look in his eyes as he realized that the girl had brought him down…

I inhaled. Slowly. What was that smell? I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt like they had been glued shut. I rubbed them with my fingers, and the smell got stronger. Was it coming from my hand? Could it be coming from my sleeve? I took another deep breath, and the sweet aroma wafted up my nose.

It wasn’t technically a smell, like the stink from my sweaty hockey gear, but more of a scent. I don’t have a good nose like my little sister Ella, who’s like a

bloodhound. The only perfume I can recognize is my mother’s. She uses a very heavy French perfume. This was different, much more delicate, almost pleasant with a hint of cinnamon.

I tried opening my eyes again, but couldn’t be bothered dealing with the eye gunk. My whole body ached, so much so that I wondered if it was I who had gone down in that game, and not Number 4. No, that game had taken place weeks ago and had since become one of my favorite go-to daydreams. In fact, I hadn’t even played this morning, being forced instead to take the SAT. And the pain from that was purely mental. I felt unbearably tired and tried to take my mind off my stiff body by attempting to recapture the thrill from my hockey dream, but drew a blank. So I concentrated on the sound of the heavy rain clatter instead, a perfect lullaby.

Lily Allen’s whiny singing rudely interrupted my thoughts. When would Mom ever move on to new tunes? She’d been listening to the same playlist forever.

Wait… Mom? What the heck was I doing in her car? Dad had picked me up at school after my SAT. Mom doesn’t even live in New Jersey anymore. She and Ella had moved to California eight months ago, after Mom was offered a job there. My parents’ marriage had been over for a long time, so the move hadn’t come as a  surprise to either Ella or me. I had chosen to stay in Princeton with my dad, since Mom and I butted heads all the time.

Anyway, what was I was doing in Mom’s car? I shook myself, clearly remembering getting into Dad’s Chevy after the test. What was going on? I forced my eyes open.

It was dark! That made no sense. I had finished my SAT at one in the afternoon; it should have still been light outside. I struggled to focus, trying to drown out the noise from the rain pelting against the roof and the Lily Allen racket.

I felt around for the control knob to the DVD player, so I could turn something on to help me concentrate, but it was missing! How could it have disappeared? It was one of those built-in entertainment systems. Ella and I had insisted on having two monitors installed so we wouldn’t have to deal with each other. I looked to my left. Ella was fast asleep with her mouth

slightly open.

I like Ella, my annoying eight-year-old sister, best when she’s asleep. She even looked kind of cute at the moment, sleeping soundly. Although very different in personality–it’s a princess versus tomboy thing–we kind of look the same, pretty much like our mom. We all

have the same chestnut brown hair–though I suspect most of Mom’s comes out of a bottle–wide mouths, arched brows, and slightly upturned noses covered in small freckles. But there was something different about Ella today. Something was out of place.

I squinted to get a better look. Ah! Ella’s hair had blond highlights going through it! Even in the dark, her light hair glistened from the streaks. I reached over and touched her blond-tipped strands. She stirred ever so slightly, but didn’t wake. It wasn’t a total surprise; she’d been talking about going blonde since she was five.

As I pulled my hand back from her hair, I felt a warm, rough tongue run across my palm. I looked down at Gertrude, who lay between us. I had disturbed her sleep. She stretched lazily, rolled onto her back for a belly rub, then yawned and closed her eyes again. Gertrude, my five-year-old Chihuahua, is the love of my life. She looks more like a Jack Russell terrier than a Chihuahua. She’s supremely lazy, but friendly and incredibly cute. I absentmindedly stroked her tummy as I turned to Mom. My eyes caught a gleam from the

driver’s seat. It suddenly occurred to me that the seat looked like it was made of leather. Strange, Mom’s Hummer had fabric seats.

A set of perfectly manicured nails–dark nail polish,

Chanel, no doubt–grasped the steering wheel. Long, straight, brown hair… no, wait. It looked lighter than my mom’s. An uneasy feeling came over me. However, I caught a reassuring whiff of her perfume. What was I doing in her car–was this a new car?

She turned her head and glanced back at me. She must have heard my shuffling.

“Arizona, are you up?” Mom asked in her annoying British accent. Although I look and feel like an all-American teenager, I’m actually British. I was born and raised in Wimbledon, London. We’d moved to New Jersey nine years ago when Dad was relocated there by

his company. My parents’ marriage was pretty much over by then, but Mom decided to stay in the marriage, because she was pregnant with Ella at the time. Still, that was nine years ago. You’d have thought Mom would have gotten rid of her accent by now. I had. The move had been difficult enough, and I made sure to promptly get rid of my posh British accent to fit in

better. I still slip sometimes, though.

“Could you hand me a Starbucks from the cooler?” Thankfully, Mom turned off the music.

If I absolutely have to, I thought, as I rummaged through the cooler at my feet and extracted two glass bottles, one for her and one for myself. I handed one to her, carefully making sure not to touch her. I always avoid physical contact with her.

“Thank you, baby.”

Baby? Had she completely lost her mind? My mother and I have a complicated relationship. We fight so often that we practically don’t have a relationship anymore. In fact, I don’t have a relationship with my sister, either. Mainly because she and my mom are like BFF’s. I found myself getting annoyed with Ella, once again. How come she got along with Mom so well? They were so similar, it was irritating. The scent from my wrists wafted up my nose again, adding to my frustration.

“Mom, Ella sprayed perfume on me while I was sleeping!” Not that I expected her to do anything about it; she never did. She always took her princess’s side.

 “Arizona, she played with your perfume bottle earlier, but I asked her to put it back in your bag. It smells lovely. What is it?”

My perfume? It certainly wasn’t mine, but I decided to let that slide, for the moment.

“Mom, where are we? Where are we going? Where’s Dad?”

“Home, of course. I have to concentrate on my driving; I can barely see out the window. The rain is pretty horrendous. You’re going to have to be quiet. Listen to some music for a while.” She turned up the stereo.

Phew, I was relieved to hear that Dad was home. Not that he’d win any parenting awards, either, spending most of his time in Atlantic City playing poker.

Mom must have come back to Princeton early to pick me up from school after the test. It was strange, though. I clearly remembered Dad picking me up from school after the SAT. Had I been so tired out from the test that I was confused? No, that didn’t make any sense.

“Mom, how did I get in your car?”

“Arizona, I really have to concentrate!” I could hear that she was on edge. She’d never been happy driving in the dark, and I guess the rain really had her stressed. The street lighting seemed nonexistent, which was strange. Maybe the power had gone out in the storm.

My eyes felt unbearably heavy again, so I closed them to allow the sedating sounds of the raindrops to lull me back to sleep.

Instead of dozing off, I began thinking about the SAT. What a disaster! It was my fourth time taking the test, after having completed both the Kaplan and the Princeton review classes. Not that I had paid any attention. Both courses had been numbingly boring. I guess I could kiss the Ivy League colleges goodbye. I decided to cast off those negative thoughts for happier ones–memories from my last hockey game. Now, there’s something I’m really good at.

When asked to describe myself, like for the local newspaper last year, I always reply, “I’m Arizona Stevens, ice hockey player at Princeton High School.” Ice hockey defines me, and I’m very proud to be the only girl who has ever played for Princeton High’s varsity hockey team. My pride and joy is my hard-earned varsity jacket with my name and number on it: I’m number 11, and I play defense. Although I’m pretty petite for sixteen–I’m still waiting for that promised growth spurt–I have strong shoulders and arms, and I pack a serious punch. I’m about half the size of my teammates, who are fairly big guys. However, despite being small, I’m not exaggerating when I say that I can look after myself. No one messes with me.

I love playing for the varsity team, though it was hard at first, with the boys not being used to having a girl on the team. That quickly changed when they realized how awesome I was, and now they treat me just like one of them. Although I hang with them most of the time, I make an effort to be friends with girls as well. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m totally weird. However, I wish I had done a bit more studying. The next step in my life, as my mother endlessly reminds me, will be trying to get into college. I really want to play college ice hockey. It seems that colleges want you to have good grades. That’s where I’m really screwed. I blew off my classes, and my grades are worse than poor, just good enough to be allowed to play on the varsity team. It’s a pity, since Princeton University has an awesome hockey team and Mom said I could have her Princeton apartment if I managed to get into the school.

There’s no chance of that, though, not based on today’s SAT performance and my rather embarrassing GPA. I guess I’ll be taking the SAT a fifth time.

My head was suddenly thrown forward, then slammed back into the seat. Seriously bad driving! We must have been on a rough road. I looked at Mom, who gripped the steering wheel tightly as she leaned forward

to peer intently through the windshield. She seemed to be having a hard time keeping the car under control. I held onto the seat in front of me with one hand and protected Gertrude with the other. Ella didn’t stir, despite being thrown around in her seat. The car came to a sudden stop, and my mother turned off the engine.

“Girls, wake up! We’re home.”

It was still dark and raining heavily. I looked at the dashboard clock–three in the morning. Where the heck had we been? Had the storm delayed us?

“Arizona, can you wake Ella?” Mom turned around and looked over at her. “Is she okay? Sorry about the ride. It was rough going there. I’m glad we made it.”

 “She’s fine.” I tried to peek through the windows to see where we were, but they were fogging up since Mom had turned off the engine. I could barely see, but one thing was for sure, this was not home–not mine, anyway.

The house didn’t look the least bit familiar. I tried to clear my mind to figure out where we were, replaying my steps from the last twenty-four hours. I drew a blank between getting into Dad’s van after the test and waking up in Mom’s. My stomach tightened to the point I thought I would hurl. I wanted to scream questions at Mom, but I held my breath until the feeling passed.

Although I consider myself a fairly normal teen, I have anger management issues when my mother’s around. Perhaps issue is putting it mildly. It had been a huge problem, one that landed me in behavior therapy, and almost on meds, after a few huge overreactions by Mom to some minor structural damage to the house. Big deal. What were a few broken doors and bashed-in walls in the grand scheme of life? I had to be able to deal with the hatred I felt for her in some way, right? The one thing my time at the behavioral center had taught me was how to suck in my anger in front of her, but it made me even more wary of her. Of course, I also learned how to pick locks from the inmates, a trick that was bound to come in handy someday. I’d had sessions with numerous therapists over the years. Many had tried, and failed, to get to the bottom of the conflict between us. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Simply put, I didn’t like anything about her. She was a pain, and she was totally to blame for splitting up our family. No one could be expected to live with her. She was totally impossible and controlling. The worst thing was, at any sign of inappropriate behavior, she was quick to call my therapist. My biggest fear was in-house treatment. That would totally mess up my hockey schedule. I really had to watch myself and try to never react to anything around her. It was a huge relief having her out of my everyday life.

So I sucked in my questions, deciding to ask Dad what was up instead. I looked out the window. He’d better show soon. All I could see through the torrents of raindrops were tall, looming trees. I could vaguely make out the dark shape of what looked like a building, but it was too hazy to see any details.

“Get your wellies from the back and put them on. It’s muddy out there,” Mom instructed in her usual direct, no-nonsense way. I was slightly annoyed at her use of the word wellies and wanted to shout rain boots, not wellies; we’re in America! However, after looking around,

I had some doubts. I looked around for the wellies… no, rain boots! I couldn’t see a thing, so I switched on the dome light. This was definitely not the H3; it looked more like an H2. Mom must have changed cars.

I turned around and got up to have a look in the back. It was full of junk, but I managed to scramble around and found some boots. One of my nails broke

as I dislodged the boots from under a box. I instinctively went to put my finger in my mouth, but stopped when I noticed that the nail was painted a hideous pink. I was horrified. What had they done to me? I was going to kill Ella. Spritzing me with cologne while I was asleep was one thing, but sticking on fake nails was a flayable offense!

“Ella, wake up!” I yelled, irritated.

Ella yawned as she stirred. She squinted at me through sleepy eyes. “What’s up?” Then, she looked at Gertrude and smiled. “Hello, doggie!”

Gertrude wagged her tail, then settled back to sleep.

“Put on your rain boots, Ella.” I impatiently handed her a pink pair.

“Thanks.” She clumsily put them on, stretched, and closed her eyes again.

“Mom, where are we?” I was really annoyed now.

“Home, silly!” she said, as she tapped her cell phone. Home? That didn’t make any sense. This wasn’t my home. I held my breath again, trying to keep myself from losing my temper. Mom turned off her cell and looked back at us. She looked different. The lighter hair made her look

younger.

“We’ll wait for Dad to come out to the car. He’ll bring some umbrellas.”

Phew! Dad was here. Everything was going to be okay after all. There had to be a simple explanation, and it would be easier to get answers from Dad.

When there was a sharp knock on Mom’s window, she opened the car door. I was expecting Dad, but instead a man I didn’t recognize appeared. He had dark hair and blue eyes that gleamed as he kissed Mom right on her mouth. Disgusting. He scooped her up in his arms with a laugh as she ruffled his hair.

Ella shouted a delighted, “Dad!” as she tried, unsuccessfully, to scramble into the front seat. Gertrude wagged her tail furiously, but thankfully showed restraint and stayed by my side.

“Hi, girls!” The stranger smiled. “Let me carry your mom in, and I’ll be back for you guys in a jiffy!”

As they disappeared, I felt my stomach tighten again. Where was my cell phone? I felt for it in my hoodie pocket where I usually kept it, but couldn’t find it. So, I bent down and looked around for it on the floor. Nope, not there, either. This was getting scary. I looked over at Ella. She didn’t look the least bit concerned as she traced stars on the fogged-up window and tried to look outside. There was a second knock, this time on Ella’s window. Her door was opened, and the man reappeared.

“Dad, look at the doggie!” Ella grinned excitedly.

Dad? I thought I’d misheard her before, but this was the second time she’d called him that. Had she lost her mind? It was late and dark, but that man looked nothing like Dad. He was over six feet tall with dark hair and light-colored eyes. Our dad is a balding blond with brown eyes and a beer gut—not from beer, but from those enormous New Jersey diner breakfasts. I felt a sense of panic wash over me again and could hardly breathe.

This had to be a dream! Some sort of post-SAT nightmare. What else could it be? I would just have to dream it out.

However, I found my mouth saying, “Stay, Ella. Don’t go anywhere with that man!”

“You silly!” She clambered into his arms, as I tried to grab her legs.

“Come on, Arizona, it’s wet and muddy. Can you carry the dog in?” The strange man furrowed his brow at me, clearly puzzled, as he picked up Ella.

I looked at Gertrude. She was wagging her tail at the man. Okay, this had to be one of those dreams where one dreams one is awake, but one is actually still fast asleep. I lifted Gertrude into my arms and followed Ella and the stranger through the muddy darkness. My feet sank into the ground with each step. The rain boots were no match for the mud. My feet were soaked by the time we got to the building I had spied through the trees. I still couldn’t tell much about it through the rain. I just tried to make it to the front door as quickly as I could while shielding Gertrude inside my hoodie.

Mom was standing by the door with her arms full of towels. She threw one around Ella, then proceeded to pat me dry… Yikes! Too much physical contact.

“Go to your rooms, shower, and get into your pajamas. Then, come down for hot chocolate.” She turned to remove Ella’s rain boots.

“You can both sleep in tomorrow,” the stranger added.

I had no idea what to do or what to say. I wanted to scream and shout, but that would only land me in the psych unit, so I clenched my mouth shut, held my breath, and decided to wait for the dream to end.

I looked around. We were in a ginormous hallway, dominated by a double stairway. Five archways from the hallway led to… I had no idea. I had a room here? If so,

I had no idea where to go. As houses went, this one wasn’t too shabby. I followed Ella up the stairs. Gertrude ran past us and disappeared. There were a number of doors at the top of the stairs, so I hung back to see where Ella would go. She went straight through the first door on the left and shut it behind her. The door had a pink sign on it that read Ella’s Room. Very

handy. Hopefully, mine would have a nameplate as well. Arizona’s Room

Perfect! Well, almost. The sign was pink, my least favorite color. This was where I hoped I was in a dream, rather than a nightmare. I was really hoping my room wouldn’t turn out to be a cave full of tarantulas. I gingerly pushed open the door and went inside. Everything looked normal. No giant insects, monsters, or murderous beasts. It was, in fact, almost exactly like my

room at home in Princeton, which would be weird if this wasn’t a dream. My bed sat in the exact same spot as at home with my Edward Cullen poster–hey, maybe this would turn into a romantic vampire nightmare!– above it. On closer inspection, I did spot some differences from my real room. For one thing, a pink monstrosity had replaced my New Jersey Devils bedspread. Ugh! However, a huge flat-screen TV, which covered part of one wall, made up for it. Cool!

I noticed two doors on the far wall. Could those be the nightmare doors that had zombies on the other side? I slowly walked to the first door, opened it, and peered inside. It was pitch black. Hoping not to lose my arm to a beast, I felt around for a light switch. I found the knob

and turned it.

Wow! My own bathroom! I was beginning to like this dream. Though small, the bathroom had a shower, sink, and toilet. I opened the cabinet under the sink and found towels and extra toothpaste.

Feeling more confident, I walked over to the second door and opened it. I was overwhelmed. Now, I knew I was in a dream–a walk-in closet. It was huge, at least three times the size of the bathroom. All of the clothes hung neatly above some drawers and even a few shoe stands. But, I didn’t recognize the clothes. I would have to inspect them later. First a shower–I stunk.

I took off my muddy jeans and hoodie, threw them into the laundry basket, and stepped into the hot spray of water. It felt so good, soothing my aching back. That ride must have been long; I was stiff. I shampooed my hair, then wrapped myself in the large, pink towel that hung on the railing outside the cubicle before stepping back into my room. After drying off, I located a comb on a very prissy-looking dressing table and sat down on the bed to untangle my hair.  

I absentmindedly relived my last hockey goal. It had been my finest moment on the ice this season. As I reminisced, I idly glanced into the mirror at the far end of the room and was jolted back to the present. Who was that staring back at me? I slowly walked over to the mirror and gaped into it. My hand wandered up to my hair. I yanked at it. Ouch! It was attached to my head, but it couldn’t be mine. It was blond… platinum blond! I looked ridiculous, like an awful Barbie doll. I pulled it again, harder this time, willing myself to wake up, but winced as I pulled out a small clump. I stared at the hair in my hand, feeling the strands with my fingers in disbelief. I felt a sense of dread, and then lost control. I screamed.

“Mom!”

Still wrapped in my towel, I ran out of my room and stumbled down the stairs. Halfway down, I stopped. I held my breath. I wanted to shout and scream, but I held it all in. The last thing I wanted was another trip to the psych unit.

This was a dream; it had to be. I needed to stop with the hysterics and get a grip. In the grand scheme of nightmares, blond hair was nothing. I sat down, put my chin on my knees, and felt my eyes getting heavy again. I got up and went back to my room. Looking in the mirror at blond Barbie again, I laughed, a little hysterically. When I heard Gertrude jump onto the bed, I turned around. A bed was the best place for dreams, so I climbed in beside her and buried my face in the pillow. Gertrude made herself comfortable, nuzzling against my legs, and fell asleep, and I listened to her comforting snores until my mind went blank.

GIVEAWAY

Imogen Rose is kindly giving away the following:

1. Kindle Fire

2. 5 signed paperback copies of PORTAL

Open to US Shipping only

a Rafflecopter giveaway  Please click HERE for the full tour schedule