Character
Interview with The Night Angel, Peter Hergovich
How did you first meet your writer?
The first
time I met Sera, she was walking out of Professor Strejan’s office at Oak Haven
High. She almost ran into me and I had to steady her. This is told of in the
first book, Key of Mystery.
Did you ever think that your life
would end up being in a book?
It’s about
the least unusual thing about my life! Sera decided to record the history of
this journey when she met the Inscriber for the International Order of
Denizens. I can understand how the Inscriber convinced her to do this. If the
story wasn’t recorded accurately, many would come forward to try and tell it
with lies. This we know from the histories written of humans. They are filled
with lies. So, although I would rather remain anonymous, at least the telling
is accurate.
What are your favorite scenes in
your book: the action, the dialog or the romance?
I am a
distinctly private person. Therefore, the telling of our romantic encounters makes
me uncomfortable. On the other hand, our romance was beautiful and it is what
made it possible for us to endure what came after. I suppose, in relation to
that, my favorite scene would be with Sera on the balcony of Strejan’s castle.
The first time we kiss. It is…well, I suppose you should read what Sera says
about it. And then, the moment is gone, and she wants more from me and I try to
explain to her how impossible that is. I am ancient while she is just a baby. She
becomes hurt and angry. She doesn’t yet understand how important memories are
to the immortals. I tell her to hold onto this memory; that it will sustain her
in the times ahead, when the evil rises and she might have cause to doubt me. This
ends in an argument—as so many of our encounters do—and I leave her. And I am
right, of course. That memory, made in a moment of clarity when there were no
outside influences trying to sway us, is something we never forget. In the
midst of battle, in darkness and despair, when we face our greatest enemies and
are falling into the void, that moment returns to remind us of what is good and
true and right.
If you could rewrite anything in
your book, what would it be?
Ah, this is
a terrible thing to remind me of. If I could, I would rewrite Sera’s Turning. I
would save her from the fate of becoming a denizen and all that the curse
brought on her. But if I try to think of how that could be done, or what the
alternate story would be, I cannot. Who else but Sera could possess, and be
possessed, by the Key of Mystery?
Would you be interested in a sequel,
if your writer was so inclined?
Well, there
six books in this series and Book of Angels is number two, so the story has a
way to go yet. It has all happened and I won’t tell you where I am now. Or
where Sera is. That would spoil the telling, wouldn’t it? But I can tell you
the titles: Key of Mystery; Book of Angels; Cave of Secrets; Land of Talismans;
Throne of Desire; Door of Destiny.
What is your least favorite
characteristic your writer has attributed to you?
My arrogance
and my seeming to not care about her. Okay, perhaps I am a bit arrogant. Do I
not have a right to be? I am a Night Angel. I was born of nobility in a Slavic
land, and as a boy, given to Mehmet as a gift. He made me into what I am. I
have lived five hundred years of death and violence and I have survived and
grown in strength and wisdom. Yes, I have a right to be arrogant. But to even
question my love…is there a reason for that? Is my love completely honest and
without ulterior motive? Judge for yourself as you read!
What
do you do for a living?
I am a Night Angel. No
one kills as well as I do.
What
is your greatest fear?
I have no fears.
What
is your most prized possession?
My most prized possession
is my sword. But more than that, I cannot talk about now. It will become
apparent why further into the series.
Who was your first
girlfriend/boyfriend and what do you like most about them?
I am five
hundred years old. I have never called anyone a “girlfriend” or a “boyfriend.”
I have had relationships, both frivolous and profound, with both sexes. The
first was a young boy, just my age. It wasn’t that we had sex. We were both
just ten years old, although at that time, many had sex at that age. He, too,
was training to be a Janissary in the Sultan’s army. He had been captured in an
area that is now Germany. He was tall for his age, taller than me, and slim,
with long golden hair. I, myself have golden skin and black hair. My mother was
Mongolian. One night not long after he had been captured, I found him cornered
by the other boys, they were making fun of him and he was crying. I fought off
the others and that night, we lay down and held each to comfort ourselves in
the loneliness. We became inseparable. I loved him because he was honest and
full of dreams. He was happy no matter what the circumstances. And he kept his
word when he gave it. All such traits are almost impossible to find in a human
or a denizen. I have no doubt our relationship would have developed if we’d had
more time. But he died not long after he had arrived. He contracted an illness.
It was terrible to watch the life slowly leave him, to see his beauty fade when
he was so young, to see him shrivel and become nothing but bones. He was like a
poem to me.
What do you think your greatest
weakness is?
I have no
weaknesses.
What do you think is your strongest
attribute?
My strongest
attribute is the knowledge I have accumulated and my ability to still find the
acquiring of it interesting. This is the danger for an immortal creature, that
life will become uninteresting and interminable. This has never happened to me.
What is something no one knows about
you? Why do you keep it a secret? And what would happen if everyone found out
about it?
I am sure
that there must be people who answer this question. But please, do you really
think someone like me is going to reveal such a secret? If I have kept it in my
heart for five hundred years, do you think your question will bring it out now?
But there is a secret that is revealed in the Night Angels Chronicles and you
will have to read the series to find out what it is. I am not directly
responsible for its being revealed. And looking back now, I can’t say I’m sorry
that the truth came out.
What is your vivid memory of your
mother and father?
My vivid
memory is of my parents standing in the open gate of our castle and watching as
I was taken away by the Sultan’s emissaries. It was a cold spring morning and
dew lay heavy on the ground and dripped from the trees. I was terrified, I did
not understand what was happening to me. I felt betrayed by my parents. How
could they send me away with such barbarians? Didn’t they love me? I had been a
happy, innocent child. That moment was the beginning for me of becoming bitter,
angry and vengeful. My last view of my parents was of them both standing still
and silent. My father held his head high—talk about arrogant. He did not want
to give up anything that really mattered, so he gave up me. My mother, her
expression was stoic. After all, she herself had been captured by invading
armies. My father had fallen in love with her and married her, even though she
was a Mongolian and a slave. But I knew that beneath my mother’s façade, she
was dying inside. And in fact, she fell ill and did die, a year after I was
taken. I only found this out many years later. They say it was from grief. But,
my father’s lands were protected and remained free. Fortunately, my tutor,
Augustine Strejan came with me to Constantinople. He helped me understood the
sacrifice my father had made and how he had no choice but to obey. I vowed I
would never place myself in such a position that anyone would rule me. Or that
anyone could take from me what I loved.
What word makes you the happiest?
Salam, which
means peace. It is a new experience for me to want peace when for so long I
fought and killed.
What is your least favorite word?
I cannot say
here my least favorite word. Words have power and it would be dangerous for me
to say it. But I can tell you I have a great distaste for swear words. Sera
swears and it makes me exceedingly angry.
What sound or noise do you love?
I love the
sound of Sera’s voice when she whispers my name.
What sound or noise do you hate?
I hate the sound of
Fabian Gore’s voice when he starts pontificating. I want to tear him apart and
feed him to the wind demons.
Would you ever use a voodoo doll
to hurt anyone?
What a laughable idea. I use my sword or my bare hands. Or a knife. I look
a person in the eyes when I kill them. I used to bite into their flesh and drink
their blood. It is no secret that although I did not actually do it myself, I
stood by while thousands of humans were impaled on poles during the Ottoman
Empire. I was a vampire then. I knew no better. The angels have forgiven me. Voodoo
dolls are for weak and ignorant humans who play with forces they do not
understand.
What’s your favorite animal?
For the most obvious of reasons it is a panther.
Have you ever thought about
getting a tattoo, what would it be and where? If not, what if you had to?
I will never get a tattoo. I am not like Dante and the rebel denizens. And
the idea that someone could make me
do anything I do not want to do is preposterous.
What do you admire about your
parents?
This is a difficult question for me. My parents are so far in the distance,
it is hard for me to bring them back into my consciousness. They were mere
humans and as such they were frail and flawed. I admire the courage of my
mother. I despise the weakness of my father. And I understand that has humans,
they did the best they could. They are long dead. I live. A denizen has no
attachment to humans. Attachments to humans, especially one’s human family, is
the way of madness.
Thanks again for visiting
with us today !!!!
****
Book
of Angels
(Night
Angels Chronicles, 2)
by K.H. Mezek
81K /
Evernight Teen Publishing
Romance,
Fantasy, Suspense, Urban Fantasy
All Sera ever wanted was to solve the
mystery of her dad’s death and find out whether or not the Night Angel, Peter, really
loved her. Now, there are bigger issues at stake. After being saved from death
by the Night Angels, Sera returns to Oak Haven to find her brother, Salem, has
been saved by her nemesis, the sinister Los Angeles mayor-to-be, Fabian Gore.
Sera and her brother meet again in their hometown of Oak Haven as powerful
denizens. And as enemies. Someone is channeling power to the Queen, imprisoned
in St. Catherine’s Monastery. If she escapes, the Ancient Ones will rise up
from their sarcophagi beneath churches throughout the world and wreak vengeance
on denizens and humans alike.
To thwart
the Queen, Sera has no choice but to form an uneasy alliance with Gore.
Meanwhile, Sera’s power and her connection to the Key of Mystery is growing.
Only she can open the Book of Angels. But whoever does that will become
something that Sera never wants to be: the Seventh Angel. How can Sera solve
her own problems when everyone else wants her to solve their problems as
well?
14+ due to adult situations
Excerpt:
The next thing I knew I had leapt
into the air with the two of them, my mind on St. Catherine’s Monastery, and I
found myself hurtling through the Passage, horribly aware of every atom in my
body and the indomitable forces of the universe that were trying to pull me apart.
As if it were a part of my very
being, I held myself together, “remembered myself”, and traveled through the
Passage.
Within seconds, I was floating down
from the sky, surrounded by the immense, desolate beauty of what looked like a
moonscape. Except that the moon shone brighter and bigger than I had ever seen.
Behind me, sand stretched, wave upon wave of it, with not a hint of grass or
trees, while in front rose a sheer cliff, taller than a skyscraper. The
monastery seemed to grow out of the rock, so closely was it pressed against the
cliff.
“All looks peaceful,” observed Peter.
“Maybe too peaceful,” said Blanca.
Together, we jumped over the fortress
walls, landing in the empty courtyard. We entered the sixth century basilica.
We walked from the vestibule into the ornate nave and down the aisle, toward
the sanctuary. I gazed in awe at the ancient artifacts and the icons shining
with gold. Hundreds of lamps hung from the high ceiling like glittering
galaxies, bathing the vast room in an eerie light. Out of the shadows the
figure of the Abbot appeared, wearing a long gray robe and a cylindrical,
flat-topped hat. His long black hair was tied in a knot at the nape of his
head, a frizzy beard spreading out from his face like tangled wire. His large,
hooked nose resembled a bird’s beak and his dark eyes burned uncannily from
deep sockets.
He greeted us with a humble bow and
wordlessly led us through a dark and narrow arched doorway into a small,
circular, windowless chamber, padding silently on bare feet. The chamber was
empty except for one plain wooden table. On the table sat the black lacquered
Life Box, looking just as insignificant as the Object Holder had when I had
first seen it and fought over it with Salem. This box, though, was about twice
the size of the one that had held the key. And, whereas the Object Holder had a
gold lock and tiny gold key to open it, the Life Box had no lock and no visible
way to open it.
On either side of the table stood two
impressive Bedouin warriors. Each had one hand resting on a curved scimitar and
the other holding the hilt of a knife tucked into a belt. Their faces were
lined and weather-beaten and expressionless, as if carved from the rocks of the
mountain. The desert surrounding the monastery was home to many Bedouin. They
were devout Muslims with a long history of guarding the monastery. They had
made a vow to guard the Life Box with their lives.
The Abbot motioned for the Bedouin to
stand at ease.
Bowing low to us, the guards said in
unison, “Assalamu alaikum.” It meant, “peace be upon you.”
Along with Peter and Blanca, I
responded, “Alaikum assalamu.” This meant, “upon you be
peace.”
Like everything else in my crazy life
these days, I had no idea how I knew to say that, but I did.
The Abbot didn’t speak, just gestured
for us to gather around the box.
“He has taken a vow of silence and
hasn’t spoken in thirty years,” said Peter.
My attention was drawn to the box. I
realized it vibrated and hummed in an almost undetectable manner. Only when I
remained completely still and stared fixedly did I notice it.
“This it does without stopping and
just today, it gained in force,” said one of the Bedouin.
Sure enough, as we watched, the box
jumped slightly, shuddered, and jumped again before falling back into its
continual vibration. It hummed a little louder now.
As I watched in fascination, I slowly
became aware that the key around my neck was growing heavier and beginning to
burn.
The box vibrated more violently and
hummed louder. As it did, it rose into the air and hovered about two feet above
the table. The vibrating and humming grew so loud I thought the box might split
apart.
The key was searing my skin and I
yelled in pain. I tried to tear it off, but it was stuck to my chest and my
hand burned when I touched it. I felt the Queen’s presence, reaching out to me.
It was pure evil and I felt attracted to it. I wanted to bow down and worship
the Queen, give her the key. I became brutally aware of her perfections and my
own failings. I loved the Queen! I despised and hated myself! Horrible thoughts
rose in my mind, the impulse to do horrible things.
Blood was pouring from my eyes. Tears
or something worse, I didn’t know.
“Take me away!” I cried out to the
others. “She’s grabbing at me. Take me away. Please!”
The Bedouin had drawn their swords
and whipped out their daggers, but there was nothing they could do except stand
there, at the ready. Blanca and Peter had drawn their swords, too. They’d
placed themselves as a shield between me and the box. The Abbot ran in front of
us all and pushed Blanca and Peter back.
He turned to face the box, bracing
himself as if against a great wind, and raised his hands to heaven in prayer.
Peter and Blanca were then able to
pull me out of the chamber. I don’t think I could have moved before the Abbot
faced the box. As soon as we were back in the nave, I collapsed onto the
ground, gasping great gulps of air, thankful to find the heat of the key
subsiding. With a great cry, I tried to take it off, but it was stuck.
Completely stuck now. To my skin.
“Fuck this key! Why am I cursed with
it?”
My entire body was bathed in red
sweat. I looked down at myself in horror. What had I become? What nightmare had
I entered? I pushed back my hair and swallowed, my throat dry and constricted.
I had to get control of myself. I breathed in and out deeply.
“She’s getting stronger all the time.
She’ll get out. Maybe soon. And I was ready to help her!” I shuddered.
“But you didn’t,” said Peter.
“At least now we are sure she is
still inside,” said Blanca.
“She won’t stay there.” I could see
my fate, as I had already seen it in my Turning, and it was clearer than ever.
One day I would face the Queen.
And I would fail! How could I not,
when she was so easily able to deceive and confuse me?
One of the Bedouin exited the
chamber. “The Abbot wants you to know he is now sure someone is channeling
power to the Queen, but he cannot see who.”
“It’s just not possible,” said
Blanca.
The Bedouin bowed respectfully. “I
only tell you what the Abbot believes.”
“Thank you,” said Peter.
The Bedouin continued. “The Abbot
further believes that you must discover who is doing this. You must stop them
or she will escape.”
He bowed again and returned to the
nave.
“He’s right,” I said, as we walked
out of the sanctuary and into the vestibule. “She and her sons will kill me and
take the key.”
“Coward.” Blanca kicked the church
door open with her foot. “We might as well be protecting a pile of trash! If it
weren’t for the key around your neck, I’d kill you myself!”
For the first time, Blanca’s words
didn’t bother me. “You can call me what you want, I don’t care. But you better
listen because she will escape and we won’t be able to stop
her. We need to figure out what to do instead of arguing all the time.”
“Well said,” said Peter. “Let’s get
back to the castle and tell the others.”
We were outside of the basilica now
and we stood for a moment, surveying the courtyard, the full moon casting eerie
shadows across the ground. I looked more carefully and saw that some of the
shadows moved like living things.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Peter and Blanca looked up to the sky
and I did the same. A gathering storms of wispy black tendrils snaked across
the sky, mirroring the moving shadows on the ground.
“What the hell…” I said.
“Wind demons,” said Blanca.
I looked at Peter inquiringly.
“Seventy-two demons were captured by King Solomon and then released by mistake.
Up there you see maybe twenty of them.”
The Abbot and the two Bedouin had
joined us in the courtyard.
“We have never seen them here
before,” said one of the Bedouin.
“And so many,” said Peter. He sighed.
“I hate wind demons.”
The Abbot was motioning us to follow
him. We hurried across the courtyard, which was now filled with a howling wind,
the shadows of the wind demons slithering back and forth across the stones like
snakes. A group of monks appeared, running in the opposite direction, heading
for the church.
“They will pray,” yelled one of the
Bedouin above the din.
This was not making me any happier. I
had just escaped the clutches of the Queen and now I had to contend with wind
demons? Was there no end to the problems I had to face in one day?
The Abbot led us into the Fatimid
mosque that stood across from the church. Standing on its own, opposite the
gigantic bell tower, was the minaret and we entered and climbed swiftly up the
stairs. It was from this highest point that the muezzin sang across the desert,
calling the followers of Islam to prayer, five times a day. We climbed out onto
the little platform that ran around the top of the minaret, and from here, I felt
the full force of the gale. The shadows screamed and I could see cavernous,
greedy mouths appear and disappear as they whipped around the tower, creating a
whirlpool of darkness. Only when I looked straight up could I see clear sky and
stars. But that opening was growing narrower by the minute. All around was
completely empty of light, as if the very sky itself had been sucked into a
giant black hole of whirling mouths and tails, into which we, too, would be
sucked if we tried to fly upward.
Peter and Blanca unsheathed their
swords and I did the same.
Peter pointed with his sword. “We
must fly straight up. They don’t dare come too close to the minaret.”
The Abbot nodded, making motions that
we should hurry.
“Put your sword away,” Peter said.
I began to object, then obeyed. This
didn’t seem like the time to argue.
He gripped my arm. “Listen carefully!
Jump onto my back. Once we’ve achieved the Passage, we’ll be safe. Until then,
you must hold your breath—don’t breathe, understand? If you do, the shadows will
enter and steal your soul.”
I nodded, terrified.
I jumped onto his back and held on
tightly.
The Abbot raised his arms, while the
Bedouin brandished their swords at the swirling darkness. It seemed to abate a
bit, and Peter and Blanca seized that moment to leap into the air. I breathed
in deeply and held onto my breath.
All was chaos in the tunnel through
the shadows, the terrible wind trying to push us back down, a screaming noise
like a thousand pigs being gutted. Flying straight upward, the two Night Angels
fought the demons with their swords, slicing into the tendrils that tried to
encircle them.
I was sure we had almost made it when
I felt an icy tendril touch my leg. I almost opened my mouth to scream. As it
was, I let go of Peter with one arm and tried to reach down to bat at the
tendril. I felt myself slipping halfway down his back and scrambled to pull
myself back up again.
I was falling!
The snaky thing had my ankle now. I
tried to kick with my foot to shake it off, while struggling to get a better
hold on Peter. I was growing weaker. I had to take a breath. My chest was
exploding.
And then, the Passage was achieved
and we were through. I pushed away from Peter with relief, feeling the now
familiar force of my molecules trying to split apart and me holding them
together, as we rocketed through space and time, landing within seconds in the
little garden of the castle.
About the
Author:
Karen
Hunt aka KH Mezek is
the author and/or illustrator of nineteen children’s books and numerous essays
and short stories. 'Reflections from Istanbul,' an excerpt from her childhood
memoir, won the 2015 New Millennium Writings Nonfiction Award. She is the
co-founder of InsideOUT Writers, a creative writing program for incarcerated
youth in Los Angeles, and the founder of the MY WORLD PROJECT, connecting
youth in remote areas around the world through art and writing. She is a 2nd degree
black belt in Tang Soo Do, a first degree brown belt in Eskrima, and a boxing
and kick-boxing trainer. As a child, she and her family escaped out of Egypt
right before the 6 Day War, lived in a 17th century castle in
Switzerland and smuggled Bibles into communist countries, to name a few of her
adventures. As an adult, she continued her adventures, living between London
and a village in Yugoslavia. Key of Mystery and Book of Angels, volumes
one and two in the NIGHT ANGELS CHRONICLES, are published with
Evernight Teen.
Blogs: http://khmezek.com/
NIGHT ANGELS Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/nightangelschronicles/
* * *
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