Sometimes, when a group of authors gets together, Things happen. Creative Things. Silly Things.
Like the 4-author easter egg that Josephine Angelini, Tara Hudson, Aprilynne Pike and I used. We all managed to get the phrase “Huzzah, death!” into the final draft of one of our books. (That story here.)
Another time, 6 authors swore to get the word “wereboar” into their books. It is a term we made up while staying in the Loire Valley. (I had told the others of how I saw an enormous wild boar cross the road in my headlights late one night, and could totally imagine how, with beasts like that running around, werewolves had been dreamed up. Thus the wereboar was born.)
To date, Natalie C. Parker has put it in BEWARE THE WILD, Tessa Gratton will have it in a novella coming out this year, I tried to put it in AFTER THE END. (It was deleted in edits, so I included it in the acknowledgements.)
Earlier today in my Specially Designed Reading Room (aka the bathtub) I was reading an ARC of Josephine Angelini’s upcoming TRIAL BY FIRE, and there it was on page 283!
So, to make up for the fact that I still haven’t succeeded in immortalizing the term in my own books, I thought I’d give you the deleted scene from AFTER THE END where I tried to slip in the word. It is in Tallie’s cabin, and she’s talking to Juneau. Enjoy!
I swallow my bread and nod toward a rifle resting in a rack over the door. “Is that for hunting?”
She shakes her head. “I’m too squeamish to kill anything unless it’s about to kill me. It’s more for protection.”
“From what?” I ask.
“Oh you know. The usual,” she grins. “Vampires, sparkly or no. Bigfoot. Wereboars.”
I shake my head in confusion. “Cultural references from the last three decades are lost on me.”
“You haven’t heard of Wereboars?” she says, feigning shock. “They’re normal looking men most of the time, but as soon as they step into Washington D.C. they turn into these huge, hairy, slavering pigs. Some people call them politicians.”
I laugh.
“As you noticed, I’m living a bit off the grid,” she explains. “No one knows I’m here. Especially Uncle Sam.”
“Why?” I ask. “Are you running from the law or something?”
She shakes her head. “You’re the guest, so I get to grill you first. But I’m not even going to do that until tomorrow morning. You done with the food tray?”
“Yes. Thanks,” I say as she clears it away. She comes back, pulls the throw blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over me. Poe squawks and jumps down to the floor to avoid being trapped by the blanket, and then hops up to the back of the couch and closes his eyes.
“You sleep now. The door and windows are locked, although I have a feeling that if the people after you were headed this way, we would have already heard from them. But, as to not take any chances, I’ll take this to bed with me.” She grabs the rifle from off the wall and lays it on the ground next to her bed.
I fish my crossbow out of my bag, assemble it, and place it next to the couch. It’s cold comfort, and less powerful than Tallie’s shotgun, but I feel safer knowing it’s by my side.
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