Winter Sparrow

Praise for
Winter Sparrow
and Estevan Vega:

“Estevan’s writing reminds me of a fever dream. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Keep an eye on Estevan Vega.”

—PJ Carroll,
Lytherus.com

“
Winter Sparrow
is a twisted fairy tale where the happily ever after is just within reach but instead you are led through a maze of love, loss and betrayal, never quite sure where you are headed or what you want to happen next. Estevan Vega challenges the reader to go deep within their psyche and leaves you with this cautionary thought: Be careful what you wish for.”

—Karen,
For What It’s Worth Reviews

“Estevan Vega is a fabulous storyteller. He’s highly prolific and young—I can’t wait to watch his career roll out; I have a feeling he’s going to be a major force in fiction.”

—Robert Liparulo, bestselling author of
The 13th Tribe
and
The Dreamhouse Kings
series

“Never have I been left thinking about a story for days after reading it as much as I have been with this one. To say that it is beautifully written is an understatement.”

—Holly Warner,
Bookworm in Barrie

“The first words that came to mind as I read
Winter Sparrow
were raw elegance. Estevan Vega’s poignant tale will carry you through the seasons of one couple’s life with an artistry befitting the main character. From spring to summer to fall I thought I knew where this story would surely take me. But by winter’s end my certainty had given way to sheer wonder.”

—Tim George,
FictionAddict.com

“Vega has a knack for complex characters with deep personal struggles. He really makes you feel what the characters are feeling.
Winter Sparrow
is a powerfully redemptive story that gets to the heart of the human condition.”

—Tom Farr Reviews

“Like an Edgar Allen Poe poem. Lovely and creepy all at once.”

—Abigaile Reale,
ReadingTeen

“Vega’s unique style and original treatment of a redemptive theme suggest great potential as an up-and-coming author.”

—Karri Compton,
Title Trakk

“There are some writers whose styles work for me—from the way they describe things to how they string words together and create a picture; I find it absolutely astounding. Estevan Vega is one of those writers.”

—Kari Olson,
A Good Addiction

“Flat-out amazing!”

—Aaron Patterson, bestselling author of
Sweet Dreams
and
The Airel Saga

“Estevan Vega is one of the best writers out there today.”

—Preston Cain,
FableFreak

“Prepare to lose sleep when you enter Vega’s dark literary landscape.”

—Scott Nicholson, bestselling author of
The Red Church
and
Liquid Fear

“
Winter Sparrow
is beautifully written. Poetry on every page!

—Darcie,
The Indie Bookshelf

“No matter which story you read, Vega’s writing puts you right dead in the center of the story. You experience everything that the characters experience. Feel everything they feel. Be warned: You’ll want more. It can’t be helped. That’s just the way it is. I’m realizing it’s just part of the Vega-effect.”

—Missy Wadkins,
Missy’s Reads and Reviews

“
Winter Sparrow
has an ending that will leave you in shock and awe.”

—Michael Loring, author of
Dehumanized

OTHER PUBLISHED WORKS:

Arson

Ashes

The Forsaken

Music Box

When Colors Bleed
(Short Story Collection)

Baby Blue

Vanilla Red

The Man in the Colored Room

Books published prior to
Arson
:

Servant of the Realm

The Sacred Sin

For the bride

IT WAS MARY’S FIRST TIME
in the country. She’d driven through secluded parts of the state before but never like this. In her youth, she didn’t have the chance to linger anywhere long enough for the place to really get to know who she was or for her to be anything more than a passing shadow.

Her father had it set in his mind to expose his children to a diverse life and a number of experiences she now kept tucked away in some deep, dark closet of herself. In spite of his unusual way of loving, it was never Mary’s intent to run away like she had. But the
never-looking-back
part came a little too easily.
I have to be free.
That’s what she’d said. Thought, actually. The words were never fully conceived. She supposed they lived somewhere inside of her too, with the items she preferred to leave nameless.

She glanced down at the ring on her finger; it told her she had become a skilled actress waiting for a cue to dash onto the stage. Waiting for the crescendo of jeers to label her a phony. But she couldn’t be that. She was a bride to be, after all; “the perfect sparrow,” as Joshua called her.

Mary pulled her eyes away from the engagement ring for a minute, long enough to study Joshua’s profile. Such an effortless piece of art it was. The shadow of the evening sunlight poured in from the windshield and from the blue skies beyond, making his features seem even more magical.

She liked how the hair on his chin graced it just so she’d know it was there. Nothing fancy, nothing pretentious, just simple and handsome. Mary especially liked the pattern his teeth fell into. A mouth had never looked so accurately composed, and without the aid of cruel metal and overpaid professionals. It was a smile that could melt any girl’s heart.

Mary didn’t realize she had been squeezing Joshua’s hand or that cutting off his circulation would cause him to swerve unintentionally. She sank back into her seat, a little embarrassed, mostly thankful they didn’t crash.

“Sorry,” she eventually said in a hush.

He reached for her hand again nonetheless, after letting the blood return, and kissed it. “It’s nothing.”

That smile revisited her in the stillness of the sedan. She felt so safe here with him. So known. But it wasn’t at all like she had thought it would be. Her love for Joshua wasn’t the stuff of fairy tales or high-gloss Hollywood productions; it was deeper.

Then why did it take so long for you to say yes?
her mind intruded.

She didn’t have a good enough answer. Perhaps it was because this world had left its mark on her somehow. Even though she was young, it was like a year could be a lifetime. She’d fallen behind. Joshua reminded her what it felt like to be alive. She had given up on relationships before meeting him, claiming they were nothing more than an insecure girl’s ego trip. A trip she had sworn off.

But oaths could be broken, couldn’t they? Couldn’t she mask that part of herself that believed love could never really work? She felt sure she could, and she would.

Mary rolled down the window and invited the April breeze to kiss her face. With every blink, the car carried them deeper into the country that she inwardly confessed still made her uneasy. “It’s not the place that bothers me,” she had told Joshua before agreeing to the Sunday drive. “It’s something else.” That something else never came out. That something else was still hiding at the back of her tongue.

Buying a home had always been one of those unmentionable things. The scary things couples rarely talked about, like getting pregnant or meeting the in-laws. She wasn’t necessarily against owning a home, even though she was already beginning to dread the amount of energy she’d be required by default to dedicate to something that wasn’t even alive; the truly scary thing was the implication of the idea itself. She knew what it really meant: She was committed. Truly committed, not just to a man but to a piece of property. In what right world were people ever supposed to commit themselves to bricks and stones?

She inhaled a long, cool drag of wind.

But this wasn’t just a home, was it? It didn’t even require a down payment from them. Not a signature, not a bribe to the loan clerk at the credit union. It was a gift. Joshua claimed the deed had been in the Clay family for generations. Mary was tempted to try and convince Joshua to sell it before she even laid eyes on it. Something about not wanting to get attached, she would’ve said.
As if.
The truth was that she doubted it would appeal to her—a secluded structure out in the middle of some serial killer’s fantasy? No, thanks. Besides, chances were good that it had a rodent infestation and was crawling with spiders; and surely the walls boasted the heads of wild animals. Or maybe the place was condemned and in need of a good exorcist.