I CAN FIND YOU by Joss Landry Interview

Title: I CAN FIND YOU (Emma Willis Series #2)
Author: Joss Landry
Publisher: Book Beatles Publishing LTD.
Pages: 372
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal

Emma just turned fifteen. Her powers have spiraled to include unusual magic, and she gladly relies on Hank and Christina’s friendship to mark the way. Thomas Carson’s feelings for Emma have changed, her aunt Franka tells her—a young man her aunt describes as a young buck whose testosterone plays a big role in his life. 

New friends around Emma surprise her. They appear to be like nothing she could have imagined, and their goals stir more disturbance than their presence until she bumps into the scourge of her existence: entities who wish to control what humans do and say. She learns they are powerful, vindictive and will stop at nothing to obtain what they want. Will Emma be able to protect the people she loves?

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First Chapter:

Emma’s long hair stuck to her temples and her back in clumps and tangles. A dense fog enveloped her, and though she wore an old style black cloak, the cold mist penetrated her garment and chilled her to the bone.

After walking in this strange land for what seemed like hours instead of the mere minutes she suspected to be the dream’s timespan, Emma still ignored why she roamed about the alien land—a strange dream Emma doubted she would fight to remember upon waking—her attempts to wake up ineffective. 

A carriage strode by, the big wheel close enough to scrape the side of her leg. A disheveled young man sat hunched at the helm of a horse-drawn cart. He nudged the reins of two black Percherons slowly traveling up a cobblestone road. Shabby clothes, unkempt tousled dark hair, his head followed the cadence of the horses’ slow gait, like one of those toys in perpetual motion, and the word mendicant crossed Emma’s mind.

 She caught a brief impression of his thoughts as he rode passed her, warning her, of what? A sense of danger and doom filled her mind, but his words briefly captured dissolved in the fog and disappeared useless to her now.  

An echo surprised her in the distance. Too loud to be a woodpecker, the sound became sharper like the wrap of knuckles on a sturdy piece of wood.

Emma opened her eyes startled by her mom’s words through her bedroom door. She stared at the light coming through the window revealing the late hour. She glanced at the clock and clutched her heart from the thump in her chest kicking her out of bed. “I’m up, Mom.” Gathering her thoughts along with her clothes, she wondered where the word mendicant came from. 

She tripped over a corner of the sheet still caught between her legs and bounced her shoulder against the door frame. Late again, twice in one week to Mr. Wright’s class. Her social studies’ teacher warned them. He would not tolerate tardies. 

“Sorry, Mom. Hope you’re finished with the bathroom. Can’t figure why I overslept this time,” she said more to reassure her mother from worrying that she’d fought all night with frightening dreams.

“I’ll use the one downstairs, sweetie. Are you going to be all right to get to school?”

Sensing her mother’s question to be rhetorical, the light in those big brown eyes flashing the desperation she would be late herself if she drove Emma to school, Emma nodded with a toothpaste filled smile. She gargled to rinse making her eyes water from the burn of mouthwash and toothpaste. “Go, Mom. Don’t worry about me. I’ll hop a bus.” Of course, since her mom now owned the flower shop, she needed to be there earlier than in the olden days when she worked as a mere employee.

With twenty minutes to spare before she needed to be butt in chair, a little math equation ran through her thoughts. Seven minutes to get to school by car. Dad left for work, and Mom is headed in the opposite direction. 

Emma tugged on her long hair with a quick flick of the brush and applied a little pink lip color. Relentless, the math equation continued. Twenty-three minutes by bus, plus a walk from the bus to school then to my classroom.  Even saddling her bike would make her late.

Emma caught her mom’s cheery goodbye while jumping into her jeans and T-shirt, and the front door slammed shut. 

She grabbed her bag, shoved her wallet into the front pouch and realized she didn’t wear the eye of Horus around her neck. No wonder sleep came in fitful images. 

She rummaged through the little jewelry box on the dresser and reached for the oudjat she slipped around her neck as she lifted the thick curtain of her hair. She thanked her lucky stars she no longer needed to remove the piece of jewelry to travel. She now understood how to project and propel herself even with the eye of Horus standing guard, present these days to prevent her from roaming without her knowledge.

Emma still needed to wear the oudjat though not yet having mastered the tranquility she needed to follow her classes with a modicum of sanity. The city’s whines and wails still pounded between her temples without the protection of her pendant.

In the kitchen, Emma grabbed a fruit and a power bar to carry her through lunch. What she contemplated doing weighed on her mind since she still needed to master landing in a tight space, like in a bathroom stall. 

Emma sat on the settee in her living room. She closed her eyes and slowed her heart beats. Little beads of sweat appeared on her forehead below the hairline, and she dabbed at them with the tissue she grabbed from the back pocket of her bag. Strapping her bag to her back, she found her center. She crossed both palms on each shoulder and invoked the sentence: Lift me away, oh Universe, lift me away so I may fly to school on time.

As usual, the haze around her thickened and soon, she became airborne and no longer in her living room. Over the years, she became accustomed to identifying portals when she traveled—flowered arches drawing her forward to wherever she needed to go. Her surroundings made her believe she floated on wings of gossamer in one of Monet’s canvases like the Garden at Argenteuil with its dangling wisps of clouds. The picture portrayed helpful souls eager to lead her home. 

Emma stared at the vaulted blue sky as always mesmerized by its depth. This time, a strange path drew her attention. Bordered by dark crimson roses, an arch dripping with begonias and oleanders magnetized her pulling her closer against her will. Indeed, not Monet colors, and even though she realized mere milliseconds flitted by, no time remained to explore this strange, menacing spectacle. 

She closed her eyes and called for peace and serenity to pull her where she needed to go. She managed to do so, but not before a firm grip on her elbow tugged on her arm to pull her back.

Emma struggled with panic but drew on calm while applying an extra dose of contentment. She spotted the school yard and realized she disposed of seconds to find a place to touch down before she became visible. She landed behind a parked car and prayed no one spotted her. 

Someone called her name. She looked up and caught Tommy slamming the car door running toward her. She caught his dad’s car peeling away from the curve tires squealing against the tarmac.

“We waited for you, but Dad has an early meeting downtown.”

“I overslept again. Did you drive here?”

“Of course. The whole point of Dad driving me to school is so I can fit in all the hours of driving practice I need. I refuse to extend the first phase of my GDL any more than I need to—July Twentieth.”

“Might not be six months to the day from your birthday.” Emma rolled her eyes.

“Oh, yes Ma’am. Not one day more,” Tommy stated with a smile. 

Becoming more handsome with each passing year—years eclipsed in a blur with so many changes—Tommy wore his hair short these days which showed off a square jaw and the dimple in his chin. Tall too, six foot two or more to her five-nine. Even with a short heel, she still couldn’t quite measure. 

 “For your sake, I hope you’re right. I understand how much you want your independence. Did your dad say he might help with the money you need for the car you want?”

They walked at a fast pace toward school. Tommy stopped and reached for the straps around Emma’s shoulders. “Here let me. I can’t figure how you manage to keep your bag so heavy.” Amidst her protests, he slipped the bag off her back to hoist onto one of his shoulders. 

Emma appreciated the sudden sensation of lightness and waited for his answer, a touchy subject with Tommy.

“He’s going to try. Unlike your dad who struck gold these past five years selling insurance to neighbors, and to families at the second precinct, he still has to work hard. My Aunt Caroline might help.” 

She didn’t want to explain how her father now held insurance policies for more than one police division, she told him instead. “I have a little money saved up if you need some.”

“Hey, I’m going to be the one chauffeuring you, not the other way around.”

They climbed the few steps to the large terrazzo featuring open doors. 

“Such a guy thing to say.”

“Stop,” Tommy ordered. He drew her close to him with his arm around her waist. He stood perpendicular to her while a quick hand softly rummaged through her tresses at the back of her nape.

Emma fidgeted, uncomfortable with the personal invasion of her space. “People are watching,” she commented in a singsong tone. 

“I spotted something shiny in your hair.”

Emma fingered her amulet against her chest. “My new shampoo.”

“No. Shine seems more like a bright light—could send a signal all the way to Mars.”

She motioned to pull away, but he barred the way flicking her chin to stare into her face. A few long seconds went by as she gazed into his dark blue eyes.

“Stand still,” he ordered, the twinkle in his eyes daring her to move. 

She mustered the strength to let out a deep breath, and tear her eyes from his with a show of defiance. She thought of last Saturday night at the movies with Tommy when he’d gently pecked her lips for no reason. Even now, the recall of this sensation froze her into inertia creating a tingling sensation inside her. 

Her aunt Franka warned her about a change in Tommy’s feelings toward her. Emma thought it strange she managed to decipher Hank Apple’s mind along with the thoughts of many others, but could not detect this kind of change in Tommy? Were they too close for her to properly read him? Might he be more adept at keeping his mind closed than everyone else?

“A chain and a bauble are stuck in the back of your hair.” Tommy dropped his bag on the ground to use both hands to run his fingers through her hair. An unexpected shyness washed over her as she stood in front of him, unable to move. 

“Impossible. My amulet is pinned right where I place my locket, close to my chest,” she added tugging on the pendant.

“How about I make sure and check,” he whispered in her ear. 

“Stop,” she said without conviction. “We’re going to be late.”

He stroked her cheek with his index finger. “Relax. You’ve got another five minutes.” He tugged on the chain to pry it loose.

“Ouch!”

 “You don’t want to spend the day with a piece of jewelry in your hair, do you? Here.” He handed her the chain with a couple of her hairs twirled around the locket.

“How did this end up tangled in my hair?” She took the chain from him and wondered out loud. “Must have gotten hooked in my pendant. I haven’t thought about this little chain in months.” She picked up on his puzzled frown. “The little oudjat I conjured when I forgot mine in your coat pocket five years ago.”

“I remember.” 

“Hank says police can’t locate the owner if no one ever reports the piece missing.” 

They walked toward the doors. “Why not take out an add? Might jog someone’s memory.”

“My mom did five years ago, and I did again last year and the year before last. Nothing turned up.”

They entered the building, and unsure of what to do with the second amulet, Emma slipped the piece around her neck. She glanced at her watch, and Tommy laid a hand on her arm. “Wait a minute. If you overslept, how were you on the grounds before I even got here?” He gave her the narrowed eyes loaded with reproach. “You promised you wouldn’t do the propelling shit anymore?”

“I even broke the promise to myself. I didn’t want to be late again.”

Tommy let go of her arm and took a step back his eyes round with panic. “Who the hell did that job on your arm?” 

Sensing a slight burn on her arm from Tommy’s touch, she twisted to see why and encountered a red imprint around her elbow, almost like a welt. She remembered the grab while in the haze during the few seconds she used to propel herself and realized something attempted to hold her back or direct her elsewhere. Not some vague impression she imagined, but a real threat.

“Did your dad rough you up? Hank maybe, in his hurry to drag you somewhere?”

“Don’t be silly. My dad would never hurt me, and Hank is always a gentleman.”

Someone called Emma’s name, and she turned to catch Amelia running toward them. Out of breath, her friend paused, bending to haul air into her lungs. “Mom and I stopped by your place to give you a ride.” More heavy breaths.  “Your mom called mine to tell us she worried about you being late.” Amelia checked the time on the clock in the hall. “You almost made me late. How’d you get here?”

Tommy stepped in. “Dad and I waited too. When Dad ordered me to drive on, I spotted her at the bus stop.” 

“Hello, Tommy.” After batting her eyes at him, Amelia addressed Emma. “Come on, Em. Wright is going to cream you if you’re late again.”

Emma appreciated Amelia’s insistence toward her parents o Belleville High. Especially since Amelia’s twin chose to remain in private school, which suited Amelia as she maintained they needed to run solo for a while.

Sensing Tommy’s hold on her arm, Emma told Amelia. “You run ahead. I’ll be there in a sec.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said breathlessly. “This happened while I traveled this morning.”

“What?” Tommy’s eyes bulged with rancor. “How many times did I tell you not to do this? You never listen. One day you’re going to be sorry.”

“I thought of you to release this hold on my arm.” Emma smiled at him.

“You did?” He couldn’t help a faint smile. He smoothed her hair. “Go on. You’re going to be late.”

While running, Emma looked back glancing at the group of friends surrounding Tommy Carson. No doubt whatsoever, Tommy seemed to be elected as everyone’s favorite. 

About the Author

Joss Landry has worked as a consultant for more than twenty years, writing copy for marketing firms and assisting start-up companies to launch their business. She recently made the switch from composing copy and promos, to writing fiction and prose. She is developing her style through courses and the support of other writers and is presently working on honing three other novels for publication.

Blessed with four children and six grandchildren, she resides in Edmonton, Alberta with her husband, a staunch supporter, and enjoys spending time biking, rollerblading, playing tennis, and swimming. She loves creating stories as she says they fulfill her need to think outside the box.

Her latest book is the urban fantasy/paranormal, I CAN FIND YOU (Emma Willis Series #2).


Interview:

Where are you from?

I am from Edmunston, New Brunswick in the Maritime provinces of Canada. I learned how to swim in the Atlantic Ocean. Crossed by the Gulf Stream’s warm current, the salt water is purported to be the warmest North of Virginia Beach. Of course, the jellyfish thrive in the shallow currents of eighty-degree waves. Back then, I found them harmless. I simply needed to keep out of their way.

Eating lobster in the summer was commonplace as was trying to finish a whole portion of fish and chips, the fish just caught and freshly prepared. I grew up loving the summer, the sand and the beach. In fact, all my life, the memories of those days had me struggle NOT to become an avid beach bum.

Tell us your latest news?

I have recently published four books: Mirror Deep, Exhale and Reboot, and I Can See You, the first book in the Emma Willis Series, and Ava Moss, a cozy mystery, and romantic novel. I am now publishing I Can Find You, the second book in the Emma Willis Series. And in July, I will be launching What About Barnum? a romantic/fantasy/Sci-fi, first in the series Binary Bounty. I’ve been busy, yes. I recently moved across the country to Edmonton Alberta, and I love it here. My writing has flourished.

I am now launching I Can Find You, second book in the Emma Willis Series.

When and why did you begin writing?

In my quest NOT to become a beach bum, I suffered many relapses. For instance, I first heard the calling to start writing while walking on the beach with my dog, Chief along the Atlantic ocean in Miami.

When I say calling, I mean characters began holding discussions in my head, and so I went home and began to write.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

On that glorious morning in Miami, I thought, should I be an author? In retrospect, I should have discovered my taste for writing earlier. I began reading novels at eight years old. I read everything I could lay my hands on, in French. Then as a teenager, I started to read in English. Plus, I was the eldest of six siblings and composed the book essays for some of my kid brothers and sisters. Looking back, I was always proficient in two things, well Academia making three. Cooking and baking and writing. I loved to cook, but I disliked to write for some reason. I preferred to swim, play tennis and bike. I also loved to read—until I didn’t. In my twenties, my children came into focus of course, four in a row, but I stopped reading. It seemed to me I had ideas of my own to rewrite the stories I read. Then I thought why not simply write my own. 

What inspired you to write your first book?

I don’t think I was inspired to write my first book so much as coerced into writing my first 200,000-page manuscript. The prompt of dialogue and plots running through my head was impossible to ignore. Yes, it is still in manuscript format, and it is complete. I need to adapt it technologically wise, and there will be two other books to follow it. But it will see the light of day, eventually.

Do you have a specific writing style?

Yes. A little unorthodox some people tell me. I first collect pictures, and photos of would-be protagonists, pics of locations and Universities, cars, friends and family. Maps of the city they are in, favorite spots to visit and attend. Once I have all these pictures, I write what I would like my protagonists to be. Three sheets of paper on their attributes, their weaknesses, their accomplishments, their goals, etc., their astrological signs, their color preferences, their level of education. The research helps me keep my peeps in character, and the story writes itself.

How did you come up with the title?

Strangely enough, anytime a story comes to me through the Universe’s aether or the quantum vacuum as it is modernly called, whatever name you choose, the first thing that hits me is the title. Strange, I know. As though we've all done this before, and I’m peeking into the Akashic records, and the title being the first thing you see on the cover… is how I find the story’s name.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

My messages are often the same, with a little twist. Of course, a message we wish to send out to others is something that matters to us a great deal. Some of the missives are brotherhood, kindness, acceptance, forgiveness, selflessness, perseverance and faith. I guess some of us need to build up a notch or two on our spirituality levels. Faith never hurts. Being well-balanced is the secret to success in life and in most undertakings we choose.

How much of the book is realistic?

All my stories are grounded in reality. No better way to convey a message than doing so by using our own turf. All these incidents are current and of course, the people change, the situation varies, and the story is original and my own.

What books have most influenced your life most?

One would be Le Grand Meaulnes by Alain Fournier. It is also available in English now. When I read this at nine, the only other person who had read the book was my father. He asked me if I understood the book. I said I loved it and appreciated all the subtle textures and lovely metaphors, and was looking forward to the end as I was about to begin the last chapter.

He told me never to read the last chapter if I didn’t want to be disappointed. A man of few words, my father wouldn’t tell me the ending.

For years I kept the book on the shelf and reread it often, up to that crucial last chapter. I would ask my friends and peers if they had read Le Grand Meaulnes and I never met anyone who had. When I was eighteen, I finally bit the bullet and read the last chapter. I cried and cried and wondered why the author proceeded this way. Didn’t he believe in following his search with a beautiful life? To this day I will never know the answer to this. Alain Fournier, the author, died a few years after he wrote this classic, never to be heard of again. The Whiteoaks of Jalna, the whole series of sixteen books, influenced me greatly. A Canadian author wrote them, Mazo De La Roche. Rich and vibrant, they were my first foray into English reading as a teenager.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor? I respect P.D. James. Her mysteries are delicious and her characters depicted with so much depth, no matter where you are when you read her books, it’s like sinking into a soft and comfortable chair. John Grisham is also a favorite of mine.

What book are you reading now? A Dog’s Purpose, by W. Bruce Cameron, and The Prism of Lyra, by Lyssa Royal and Keith Priest.

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