Cate Lawley's Blog, page 2

Beyond the Pages: SPI Episode 2, the Golem

What follows is a small piece of backstory for Spirelli Paranormal Investigations: Episode 2. SPI is available for sale at most major e-book retailers.

**********That means SPOILERS follow.**********

Conrad

He’d loved his master—tried to please him, to follow his commands, to anticipate his needs. Until his master, the man who’d given him life, who’d sustained his life, had gone away. Conrad thought he’d died, but he’d never found the body.

Time passed, and Conrad no longer knew what do, whom he should please, what his purpose was. Then the fear had begun. His life—no longer sustained by the man who’d created him—began to slip away. How would he live? He needed to live. So he turned to the strange, dark tomes in his master’s library, and, for the first time, he understood what he was. Knowing that taught him how he could survive without the carefully doled out sustenance from his master. He could steal the memories, the emotions of others, eat them, and he would be sustained. He would live.

So he stole the memory of a man’s favorite dog. A snack.

Then he stole the memory of a child’s dear friend. A meal.

And then he stole the memory of a woman’s loved one. A feast.

For a time, he was satisfied. But then he wanted more.

Anger, loss, love, pain. If he couldn’t find it, he made it. Then he ate. He no longer merely satisfied his hunger—he gorged on stolen emotions. Widowed men and women and bereaved parents became his newest, his best victims. He wallowed in the surfeit of grief, leaving behind only the empty husks of his prey.

He would never be full, because his hunger was endless.

But he would gorge; he would live.

If you haven’t read the first Spirelli book (Entombed), which chronologically follows SPI Episodes 1-6, it’s available for sale on most major retailers!

Adventures in Accidental Vegan Cookie* Baking

This post was originally a series of posts on Facebook. If you follow we there, then you’ve already read this in a less organized fashion. =)

*These Accidental Vegan Cookies are not Mallory approved due to the solid state of the cookie. She might give them a whirl if Wembley threw a few in the food processor with hemp milk. Not that I’m recommending you do that, because that sounds like it might be pretty disgusting to the non-vegan vampires amongst us. 

Accidental Vegan Cookie, Part 1

A local friend posted on Facebook about a local candy company that was struggling. They put out a plea and offer. Local orders delivered for free; please help them with their vast accumulation of stock in anticipation of the holidays. 

Candy? Someone needs me to buy candy?

YES

This is them, and they ship for a fee outside of the local area:

https://www.leescandies.com/

 

Accidental Vegan Cookie, Part 2

I ordered candy (YES), arrival early next week. But…

I now wanted candy! Like now. Cause candy. Except I have no candy in my house, because if I have candy I eat candy. Yeah, I’m so that person. Anyhoo…

I decided to check out my stash of cupboard stuff and look online for recipes.

The result of my search, based upon a desire to finally use up the rest of my salted sunflower seeds:

https://www.allrecipes.com/…/442…/sunflower-oatmeal-cookies/

Note: these are not the cookies currently baking in my oven. The saga continues with part 3. 

 

Accidental Vegan Cookie, Part 3

I started to gather supplies for my sunflower oatmeal cookies (see previous post) and then realized I didn’t want to use any of my very few remaining eggs. Hence, CHIA SEEDS. (They are your egg replacement friend.)

I had no butter. Hello, Crisco!

I didn’t have a ton of flour, so why not sub some of the hemp hearts I have stashed in the fridge? Half flour and half hemp hearts, done.

And while I had a ton of white sugar, not much brown – so why not just add less sugar?

See pic for result.

 

Accidental Vegan Cookie, Part 4

I started to swipe the bowl to taste the batter, had a moment of hesitations–raw eggs!–realized there were no eggs in this recipe, then had a second realization…

I’d accidentally made vegan cookies!

Note: I’m not saying they’re healthy, y’all. Just vegan  Keep reading the next post to see how they came out.

 

Accidental Vegan Cookie, Part 5

Not bad.

I’d say if I did it again, I’d use some kind of oil replacement. They’re a bit too fatty for me. But I love all the seeds and oats. I’d also cut back on the white sugar in addition to the brown.

But overall, a total win (I’ve already eaten 2!) and absolutely gonna be my candy replacement until my candy shows up.

Now off to go run 

The Selection Shenanigans Cover Reveal!!!

Yay – my cover is here! I mean, our cover, because not only do I get to enjoy it but so do all of you, my reader peeps. = ) 

And for those of you who haven’t been keeping up with excerpts, here’s your excerpt recap…

Excerpt posted February 27th

Excerpt posted March 13th

Excerpt posted March 20th

The Selection Shenanigans is on preorder now, releasing April 18th.

Excerpt: The Selection Shenanigans

The Selection Shenanigans cover is currently cooking and the timer should be dinging shortly, so keep an eye out for that announcement. And in the interim, another excerpt, raw and unedited, just for you!

***Snip Begins***

Anton’s in love.

He scowled at me. “Says who?”

I really needed to keep my thinking voice inside my head. I hated when that stuff slipped out into the world without my permission. Then again, the circumstances were extreme. Cupid must have gotten high the day he zapped Anton with a love arrow.

I was always in it to win it with Anton, so I barreled forward with confidence. “Totally obvious. You have a glow.”

He blinked again, then turned to Alex. “I’m glowing?”

I sneaked a peek at Alex and found him trying not to laugh. The man was biting his lip, he was trying so hard. He cleared his throat. “Not literally, but you look, looked, happy when you walked in.”

Anton scrubbed a huge paw of a hand across his face. “It’s kind of wonderful. And kind of terrible.” He shot us both a dejected look. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

He had it so bad that he’d forgotten for two seconds that he hated me with the burning passion of a grease fire in a fried chicken joint.

Which had my squirrel brain headed down so many paths. What kind of woman inspired such passion in a guy like Anton? What did she look like? What did she sound like? What planet did she come from? Could she take him back with her to a galaxy far, far away?

***Snip Ends***

The Selection Shenanigans is coming soon! On pre-order now, releasing April 18th.

Excerpt: The Selection Shenanigans (Vegan Vamp Mysteries) #6

Good news, bad news…

Good news: The Selection Shenanigans is coming along fabulously! I’ve got another excerpt for you below = ) Missed the first excerpt? You can find it here.

Bad(ish) news: Because Pretty in Peep-Toes was delayed, so is The Selection Shenanigans. It’s clicking along really well but will release April 18th (instead of March 19th).

Good news: Since VV6 is going so well, Fairmont Finds a Baker doesn’t look to be delayed and should still be coming out June 2020.  

Even more good news: Love Ever After folks, you’re gonna love this excerpt. =) 

And here’s your excerpt! Raw and unedited, just for you…

***Snip Begins***

“How do you feel about fairies?”

I’d opened the door, since we’d arrived and all, but when he said fairies—really fairies?—I closed the door again. “Fairies, like Tinker Bell? Or fairies, like the Fae?”

“Uh, somewhere in between, I guess? Maybe more like Tinker Bell, except, yeah, not really.”

“Are you being intentionally vague?” He was, he definitely was. “Why are you being intentionally vague?”

He cleared his throat. “So, fairy godmothers exist.”

I blinked.

Then—I’m not proud of this—I squealed. Like a twelve-year-old girl who’s been told that unicorns are real and they really do fart magic sparkle dust.

“Oh. My. God. Do they wear cool dresses and have sparkly wands?” Yes, I asked that question, and no I wasn’t kidding. When my happy sees a moment to shine, it shines.

“Ah, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You know all the things.”

“I don’t know all the things.”

“But you’ve lived for, like, forever.” I totally tease Alex about being the older man in the relationship, because he was ancient in human years and not exactly a spring chicken in enhanced years either, though aging was just weird in the enhanced community.

He chuckled. “Thanks for that.”

I smiled back at him. “No problem, hon.”

I loved it when he laughed. He was doing more of it these days, and I liked to think I was responsible. I even liked to think he was laughing with me, not at me. Who was I kidding? My hunky boyfriend adored me. Of course, he was laughing with me.

“FGs don’t mingle with the enhanced community, so however old I am—and I’m not that old—it’s not odd that I haven’t ever met one.”

“Our case has something to do with fairy godmothers,” I whispered in an awed voice.

“Yeah, which is why I’m telling you in the car. Get the stars out of your eyes. Cornelius is pissed. He thinks we’re under attack, and it might be tied to the selection. So before we walk into his office, you need to get a handle on that.” He motioned generally in my direction.

‘K, maybe I was a little excited. Maybe I was bouncing in my seat. Maybe I was vibrating with joy. And maybe there was a special shiny something in my eyes.

Because fairy godmothers were real.

Then an unpleasant thought occurred. “Wait a sec. This isn’t one of those times were the magic seems all sparkly and fun and then turns out to be of the sharky and lethal variety, is it?”

Mandy with her waiflike figure, dimple, mint green hair, and cheery expression came to mind. Because she seemed to be all fun colors and sparkles…right up until the teeth came out. So many teeth.

“I can’t be sure, having never met one.” He arched an eyebrow. “But I don’t think so. They’re supposed to be all about helping humans sort out their lives.”

There was a hint of an eyeroll with that last statement but I ignored it, because… “Just like in the movies!”

Alex rubbed his right ear. He was such a drama queen. I didn’t squeal that loud.

“Do you need to get out of the car and hop around like a little fluffy happy bunny for a while?”

“Hey, watch it, mister. I thought we’d already covered this. I’m no fluffy bunny.”

“Uh, huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

It’s possible I got out of the car and did a happy dance.

I did not, however, hop around like a cute little ball of fluff. Seriously, I was so much more dignified than that.

***End of Snip***

Now on preorder, releasing April 18th. Google Play link will be available when VV6 goes live.

Keep an eye out for the cover reveal soon!

 

 

 

Excerpt: The Selection Shenanigans

Raw and unedited, an excerpt from The Selection Shenanigans, Vegan Vamp Mysteries #6, just for you! 

***Snip begins***

The morning started so well.

Gorgeous weather, good food. I was sucking down a mango smoothie that I hadn’t lifted a finger to make. Food made by others was the very best sort of food.  

Wembley, my ex-Berserker roommate, was a complete softie. The bearded teddy bear loved feeding me, and since I loved almost all of the concoctions he whipped up, it worked out pretty darn well.

Wembley was a teddy bear. Even if he’d gotten all fit and ridiculously cut and decided to date my mom, he would always be my teddy bear roommate. And when my mom alluded to crazy shenanigans in the bedroom or to any of Wembley’s physical attributes, I plugged my ears and sang the toddler tune. La-la-la-la wasn’t quite enough to wash the images from my brain, but it sent a message—here be dragons—and she changed the subject.

My brain could be a weird place, but it wasn’t any great stretch for it to squirrel hop from Wembley to my mom to sex (ick!) to my own love life.

And that’s when the morning took a turn for the worse.

“What’s that look?” Wembley asked. He sat across the kitchen table from me reading the paper and drinking…something.

Not blood.

Blood I could smell, even in small quantities. That came with being a vampire. I might be a broken, not-quite-right vamp, but I still met some of the criteria.

Vamps had no problem detecting blood; ditto for me.

I, unlike most—okay, all—vamps, had a thing about blood. Some people liked to throw around the “phobia” word. I’d disagree, but either way, I was working on it. For now, Wembley kept his blood stash in the garage—he definitely did not partake at the breakfast table—and I didn’t ask too many questions about what he was consuming or where (who?) it came from.  

“Oh, now you’ve got to tell me.” He waggled his eyebrows. Another aspect of my teddy bear roommate that had changed lately: his personal grooming habits. My mother would say for the better. His formerly shaggy eyebrows were now neatly trimmed, as was his beard.

I shrugged, because nope. I didn’t have to tell Wembley about every aspect of my life…specially not this particular aspect.

He discarded his newspaper. One hundred percent of Wembley’s attention was not what I wanted right now.

“Whoa. Say it isn’t so.” He leaned forward. “Is there trouble in paradise?”

As I sipped on Wembley’s latest vegan shake concoction—thank you mangos; thank you coconut milk. Was that perhaps a touch of coconut cream, as well?—I considered possible responses.

Alex and I weren’t having trouble.

Things were good.

Complicated, but good. Steamy. Hot.

Frustrating.

“No.” I made a dismissive sound. “Of course not. Please.”

Maybe that had been overkill.

His blue eyes lit up. His rabid curiosity was probably partially due to the hole my mother’s recent trip to the Bahamas had left in his schedule. A bored Wembley was an overly curious Wembley. “Don’t tell me the lovebirds have hit a snag? Do tell.”

What was that saying about protesting too much? Dang it.

Now that the bearded softie knew something was up between Alex and me, he wouldn’t leave me alone until I spilled. Worse, he might withhold yummy shakes. I clutched my mango, coconut milk (maybe coconut cream) smoothie closer.

I liked my shakes.

“Right. So here’s the thing…” Ugh, I didn’t want to share, but I wanted my shakes…but I didn’t wanna share. I could feel my inner child surfacing. That wasn’t good for anyone.

He leaned his elbows on the table and then propped his chin on his hands. “What trouble has naughty Alex gotten himself into?”

Which made me laugh, because that was the problem.

Or rather, wasn’t the problem?

I used to be convinced that my boyfriend had slept with the majority of the female enhanced population. Not true.

He did all things in moderation: food, exercise, sleep, even sex. Something to do with meeting basic needs and not being in a situation where he was weakened by illness or fatigue or—I don’t know—excessive lust?

His motivations I understood. My man had some dark secrets that weren’t so secret from me, and his “moderation in all things” strategy was one of the ways he dealt with his troubled past.

But Alex’s past wasn’t the issue. It was Alex’s present that was currently driving me slowly mad.

I groaned. “I really don’t think this is a topic we should discuss, Wembley.”

“Look, something is obviously bothering you. Don’t let it fester. Talk to me, or better yet, talk to Alex.”

Talk to Alex? Um, no. Even the thought made my stomach do all sorts of fluttery things. Bad fluttery things. The I-might-puke-if-I-think-about-this-much-longer kind of bad.

Small problem with the avoidance strategy. I was trying to be a grown up these days. Taking on Society cases, saving people’s lives, revamping the wonky justice system that existed within the paranormal community.

What was a little direct conversation when compared to those big bad goals?

Wembley was right; speaking with Alex was the mature choice. I should get right on that.

And there went the fluttering.

“Are you going to puke?” Wembley asked. “I swear there’s nothing new in that shake.”

“Pfft. No. Of course I’m not going to puke.”

I also wasn’t going to have this conversation with Alex, so… “We haven’t slept together.”

Wembley blinked. Slowly.

And always one to babble when nerves hit me, I said, “We’ve cuddled, we’ve kissed. I feel like we’ve grown closer, but…” I shrugged.

“But no nooky.”

“Ew. Don’t use that word.”

He grinned. “You’re thinking about me having nooky with a certain family member, aren’t you Ms. Andrews?”

Darn him, yes, my thoughts had drifted in the vague direction of my mom, Wembley, and nooky, and that was just wrong. So wrong.

Thankfully, a knock at the front door provided a reprieve from this unwanted—dreaded, even—conversation about Alex and my lack of vigorous, acrobatic, chandelier-swinging sex.

Not that my lust-fueled imagination had been running in overdrive or anything…

Before I could get up to answer the door, Alex’s voice called my name. And the sound of his voice, while welcome, chased away the brief feeling of relief I’d felt at the interruption.

I turned to Wembley, shot him the glare of death (also, the glare of I-will-slice-you-with-Tangwystl-should-you-breathe-a-word-of-this-conversation), then called out, “In the kitchen.”

I wasn’t expecting Alex today. He was supposed to be working on a case—without me, thanks very much, Cornelius—and I’d planned a chill day at the house with Boone.

When I turned back to Wembley, he had a grin plastered to his face.

“Seriously, not a word, you big overgrown man-child.” I’d have threatened to tell my mom he was making my love life miserable, but Alex’s hearing was absurdly good. So I whispered, “I’m gonna tell on you,” and left the rest to his imagination. That wiped the smile right off his face.

Since my mother and Wembley were doing the dirty—ick, I needed to bleach my brain—that should carry some weight with him. My mother was quite keen on me having some kind of love life, and up until recently she’d about given up on me.

As Alex joined us in the kitchen, my soon-to-be-dead roommate said, “Hey, Alex. Take your pants off.”

To Alex’s credit, he didn’t flicker an eyelash. “Why am I undressing in the kitchen?”

“Figured you were due an equipment check.”

Alex looked confused—thank god—but I didn’t care.

“Tangwystl!” I was going to kill Wembley. Ex-Berserker or not, I was taking him down.

She appeared in my hand with a squeak of joy.

Stab, stabby?

Alex’s gaze flew from Tangwystl to me and then to Wembley. But it was me he addressed when he said, “I don’t have a clue what kind of bizarre roommate argument I’ve just walked into, but we don’t have time for you to maim Wembley. We have a case.”

***End snip***

The Selection Shenanigans is available for preorder now! 

 

Skeptic in a Skirt, 1st Chapter Preview

Skeptic in a Skirt, book 2 in the Love Ever After series, is now on pre-order. Here’s a pre-edit sneak peek of Chapter 1!

Raw and unedited, just for you =) 

***

Best. Dream. Ever.

I was dressed in a gorgeous gown. And by gown, I meant gown. Never in my life had I worn a floor length dress, let alone one made of a fabric so fine the material alone probably cost more than my used Corolla, and that didn’t even take into account the embroidered detail that was clearly handstitched.

And I would know—about the cost, the hand stitching, the fabric, everything—because my BFF Hillary was a professional shopper with excellent taste and a need to share all things fashion with her bestie.

What gown was complete without accessories? Or so the dream version of myself had decided, because I was decked out.

Gloves covered my forearms, past my elbow to the middle of my almost nonexistent bicep. (Someone needed to get to the gym more often.) The cool weight of a necklace rested against my neck. A flash of brilliance at my wrist had me wondering if I was sporting a matched set, and if I was—wow. If I wasn’t dreaming, I’d be worried about getting mugged, even standing in a rose-scented garden with the sound of people and music trickling in from the distance.

Paranoid much? Nope. The stones on my wrist looked expensive. As in house-down-payment pricey. Big sapphires surrounded by diamonds, and there they were, hanging out on my wrist, looking fabulous.

I knew my jewelry, and this bracelet was gorgeous, vintage, and not crystal. I even had a rough estimate of its worth in my head. Like I said, house-down-payment level wow, and that was just the bracelet.

A deep and abiding love of jewelry was a dark secret I kept squirreled away from Hillary. She’d have me “investing” in period pieces in two seconds flat. I was practical; she wasn’t. I was a planner; she wasn’t. I loved rice cakes; she loved Funyuns. I had a retirement account; she had four struggling businesses.

We were opposites, not in the ways that really mattered when it came to friends, but certainly when it came to men, money, and work.

But if Hills ever discovered my love of jewelry… I shuddered. She’d have my fiscally cautious side in detention, and I’d buy all the sparkly things. I wasn’t usually susceptible to her spontaneous, Funyun-eating influence, but throw a little bling in front of me and the combination of my bestie and my biggest weakness would be too much.

Speaking of sparklies, the piece of jewelry encircling my wrist begged for further inspection and admiration and maybe a little stroking and petting.

I blamed my love of sparkly things and the exquisite beauty of the particular piece I was examining for my inattentiveness. Also, hello? Dream. Who paid attention in dreams?

That was why the voice caught me so off guard.

Two simple words: “Pardon me.”

I turned. All right, I tried to turn, but floor length gowns and I have never been on a first name basis, and it didn’t go well.

Strong arms and a spicy, woodsy scent enveloped me.

Did dreams smell good?

Whatever. I was dreaming, and it smelled amazing.

He smelled amazing.

“Excuse me.”

That voice. My insides might have melted.

“Are you unwell?” the man attached to the very nice arms asked. He probably made it to the gym five days a week.

Wait…

Dreams didn’t have lovely smells, nice arms, or British accents.

***

Skeptic in a Skirt is now available for pre-order! And the first book in the series, Heartache in Heels, is available on most major ebook retailers and in paperback. 

 

Heartache in Heels Excerpt – Pre-Order Available!

The first story in Love Ever After, Heartache in Heels, is now available for pre-order on Kobo, Nook, and Apple Books! Amazon’s coming – don’t worry :)

If the story looks a little familiar, that’s because it was previously released as Ghostly Love. I’ve expanded and significantly changed the story for it’s re-release as Heartache in Heels. While there are some similarities, the story is quite different and much longer. 

Here’s a snip, raw and unedited, just for you!

***begin snip***

I wouldn’t kill for the right wardrobe.

Maim? Possibly, but only an old pair of jeans that would rock as cut-offs. Okay, that was a few seasons ago, but the point remains that while I love clothes (and shoes—let’s not forget shoes), I’m not completely off my rocker.

My family, my friends, and an ex-boyfriend or two think I’m obsessed.

I say I’m committed.

As a professional shopper, it’s literally my job. Granted, it’s one of my many jobs…part-time personal shopper, part-time blogger, part-time dog walker, and part-time errand-runner. I’m aware that’s a lot of part-times, but a girl’s gotta pay her bills and—this is the important part—for at least part of the week, people pay me to shop.

Best. Job. Ever.

And also what’s brought me to my fave vintage clothing shop on this gorgeous morning.

I’m at Every Woman’s Fairy Godmother today because I need to make my client feel fabulous.

The right slinky slip dress, one with silk lining and seams that feel like they’re not even there, can make a gal feel sexy.

But if my client needs the equivalent of a full body hug, then stretchy skinny jeans (the kind that hide flaws instead of showcasing them) and an incredibly soft cotton tee paired with a handknit sweater might be the way to go.

That is the beauty of my job—the beauty of my favorite job. I can lift a client’s mood with the right outfit. Make her feel sexy or flirty or just a little more comfortable in her own skin. All I needed was a good understanding of my client’s needs, a decent sense of style, and a practically magical source of fab fashion.

Enter Madelaine and Every Woman’s Fairy Godmother.

If I needed a special gown, a unique accessory, or a killer pair of heels, Madeline waved her magical fashion wand and somehow made it happen. Her vintage store was always stocked with the classy, cutting edge, nostalgic, hip, or beautifully tailored item I needed.

And on the rare occasions it wasn’t in the store? She utilized her fairy godmother connections to hook me up with the piece I needed.

She had to have ridiculous connections to keep her shop stocked and all of the special orders that came her way filled. And the weirdest part? She had this crazy successful business that had been around for at least a decade, and I’d almost swear we were around the same age. Maybe she was over thirty and used great skin care products? I was pretty sure she hadn’t hit forty.

But then I’d catch her in a cute pair of jeans, a fitted tee, and almost no make-up—like today—and I’d bet the La Perla gift certificate I’d been hanging onto for a special occasion that she wasn’t more than twenty-three.

She was that kind of woman, agelessly gorgeous, but occasionally mind-bogglingly youthful.

I could almost believe she was magical—except that was cra-cra.

“Hillary!” Madeline called out with a cheery wave when she spotted me. “How’s my second favorite client doing today?”

“Cute. You know I outclass Edgar in every way.” I didn’t. Not even close. Edgar was a full-time personal shopper with a posh client list I liked to drool over. He was also the wonderful man who’d turned me onto the best career ever and a great mentor.

Madeleine didn’t argue, but she did give me a cheeky grin, letting me know that the day of me outclassing Edgar had most definitely not arrived.

Someday, I’d have enough of a client list to ditch the dog-walking and the errands.

Someday, but not today. Today, I had a midday appointment with a chihuahua in possession of an itsy-bitsy bladder and a bark that could shatter glass.

Since I didn’t want to clean up pee or upset Sugar, both of which would happen if I was even five minutes late, I retrieved the list in my bag and handed it to Madeleine. “I’ve got a few very special requests. Mrs. Peter Swinden.”

We shared a look.

The list would most certainly be special order items, hence my passing it along to Madeleine. Mrs. Peter Swinden didn’t have taste that aligned with either Madeleine’s or my own…or anyone else who would shop at Every Woman’s Fairy Godmother. In fact, her requested items were invariably quite difficult to find because Mrs. Peter Swinden’s taste didn’t align with very many other people’s.

Oh, and the Mrs. Peter thing? I’m not making fun of my client. She actually introduces herself as Mrs. Peter Swinden. Who does that? Mrs. Peter Swinden, apparently.

While I couldn’t be too terribly finicky about my clients at this stage of my budding business’s development, I would have cut Mrs. Peter and her truly terrible fashion sense loose, but for two facts: she paid ridiculously well, and she was an incredibly kind woman.

It was really the kindness. She was such a warm person. I enjoyed making her happy, even if it meant… My gaze flickered to the list Madeleine was now perusing, and I sighed. Yes, even if it meant finding a Mrs. Roper 1970s muumuu.

“The 70s have come back.” I nodded, as if affirming the statement made the muumuu request less problematic. “A few times.”

“Not this part of the 70s.”

And that was kicker. Definitely not the Mrs. Roper muumuu part of the 70s. Except that part of the 70s had come back for Mrs. Peter Swinden. Or it would be shortly, because Madeleine would help me make it happen.

Mrs. Peter would get her muumuu, and she would be effervescent. Mrs. Peter happy was like a bottle of recently uncorked champagne. The cheap pink stuff, the kind that was fun and fizzy and shouldn’t be saved for extra special occasions but used to celebrate the everyday awesome of life.

And that was why Mrs. Peter was still my client.

Madeleine looked up from the list with a funny look on her face. “Your time is coming.”

I cocked my head, because I wasn’t sure how to take that. I had faith in my business. It wasn’t something I worried about too much, and I was pretty sure that Madeleine knew that.

“You have some other clients to shop for?”

Retrieving my cell from my purse, I lifted it and said, “Yes. And since Sugar’s bladder waits for no one, I’m going to get shopping.”

“All right, but pick something up for yourself today.” As I started to decline, she pointed a finger at me. “Fifty percent off whatever you find. Do it.”

Even though I was extra tight for cash this month, I felt compelled to “do it.” I’d be on the hunt for my clients—but I’d keep an out for myself.

Also, did it get colder in here? The air must have kicked on, because my entire body shivered.

***end snip***

I hope you’re as excited about this story as I am! Hillary is about to get the shock of her (love?) life =) 

Pre-order now on Kobo, Nook, and Apple Books! (Discounted to $2.99 for pre-order, then the price goes up to $3.99.)

 

 

Excerpt: Twinkles Takes a Holiday

If you’ve read Night Shift Witch, then you’re familiar with Twinkles the troublesome cat. Twinkles gets his own story, sort of… Well, at least he gets to be a murder suspect in a story

EXCERPT: Luck of the Draw (Lucky Magic #3)

***As always, excerpts are raw and unedited – just for you! Begin snip…***

“Halt, bespectacled woman,” a deep male voice called out from behind me.

Since I happened to be wearing glasses and also recognized that particularly uptight and far too authoritarian voice, I knew stalker-guy was hot on my heels. Again.

To confront him, or have him tailing me all day? That was the question.

He was awfully pretty to look at. Especially certain parts. My face warmed as I remembered that not-so-circumspect pat to his tush. In my defense, the guy had been a statue at the time.

“Woman! I’m speaking to you.” The commanding voice was getting closer, which meant the hunk attached to it was as well.

Right. Looked like it was deal with my stalker or deal with a public scene. I spun around—and planted my nose in a very firm chest. With a shove, I pushed him back. I hadn’t intended to cop a feel, just to give myself some space, but my palm might have lingered for a split second on his (very nice) pec.

I looked up into his amused eyes. Yep, maybe more than a split second. One quick step back, then another—and maybe a third to be safe—and I started to breathe again.

“Is that how you always talk?” Not what I meant to say. I’d intended something more along the lines of “get lost” or “stop stalking a girl.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“You sound like an evil villain from an old movie.” And the words, they just kept a-coming. “A really old B movie.”

He stretched to his full height. “I do not.”

At which point I completely gave in to my inner critic. How could the man have no clue? “See, no one talks like that.” Mimicking his stilted tone, I said, “I do not,” then shook my head. “I don’t. Use contractions like a normal person, buddy, and people will take you more seriously.”

“They will?” He cleared his throat and seemed to melt. Okay, not melt, but he wasn’t so rigid and stiff. “I’m not really like that.”

I grinned at him, because this more relaxed guy, he was better than hot. He seemed like he might be kinda sweet.

And surprise, surprise, he grinned right back at me.

Extending my hand, I answered the question he’d asked when last we’d met, “Kayla Coleridge. Nice to meet you.”

He grasped my hand, engulfing it in his much larger one. “Kayla.” He seemed to savor my name as it passed his lips. It was actually weirdly hot. But then he said, “Abaddon, Prince of Darkness and Destruction, but, ah, Don works, too.”

Well, hell. That I hadn’t anticipated.

***End snip***

Keep an eye out for the October 2018 release of Luck of the Draw!