L.R. Braden's Blog, page 10

Review: Chronicles of Narnia - The Last Battle

The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis
My rating: 3 stars for this book, 4 stars for the series as a whole.

I had a brilliant time reading through the Narnia series again with my daughter, both because of the nostalgia of the books, which I hadn't read since I was about her age, and because they're just such fun, creative adventures.

The Last Battle is probably my least favorite book in the series, mostly because so much of it is focused on the philosophical aspects of life, death, and the power of belief rather than the actual characters and adventure. There's still some excitement in the story, and some well-portrayed characters, but not nearly so much as in the other books.

The series as a whole I'm giving 4 stars, because it is a wonderful adventure but the language can be a little dry and archaic at times. Being an older novel, the books are written in an omniscient POV, and there's a lot more "telling" than modern stories can get away with. There's also a very definite gender bias that was standard of our society, though I applaud that Mr. Lewis was able to portray the girls as strong individuals despite their limited roles (most of the time).

All in all, this series remains a fun fantasy adventure for young readers that sparks the imagination. My daughter gives it a big thumbs up. :)

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Spotlight: Khyven the Unkillable by Todd Fahnstock

Today I'm super excited to spotlighting a book that's kicking off a new fantasy series of epic proportions: Khyven the Unkillable by Todd Fahnstock!
Fantasy readers, you're not going to want to miss this one, so read on for an exciting excerpt and Q&A with the author. A rising champion. A secret rebellion. A deadly crossroads.
After forty-nine victories in the bloody Night Ring, Khyven the Unkillable is a celebrity gladiator. If he can survive one more battle, King Vamreth will free him and declare him a knight.

But the king doesn’t play fair.

Instead, for Khyven’s fiftieth “battle,” the king orders him to travel through the magical noktum and infiltrate the secret lair of a rebel leader known only as “The Queen in Exile.” All Khyven must do to earn his knighthood is gain the queen’s trust…

…and betray her.

As Khyven struggles to complete his mission, he is caught between a growing respect for a rebel queen who will do anything for her people and a ruthless king who will stop at nothing to crush her.
Buy It Now on Amazon .para-fmt p { margin: 0; text-indent: 3em; } Excerpt from Khyven the Unkillable: Chapter One

Khyven

Two knights threw open the door of the tavern, and the scent of last night’s rain blew in with them. Khyven heard their boots thump on the rough planks, heard the creak of leather and clink of chainmail as they shifted. He sat with his back to them, but he didn’t need to see them to know where they were.

The room went silent. This dockside drinking hole didn’t see knights very often, and their appearance had rendered the entire place speechless. That was respect. That was what being a knight meant in the kingdom of Usara.

They paused just inside the threshold, perhaps hoping to spook the fearful, but Khyven wasn’t a jumper. He had more in common with the newcomers than those who fled from them.

Ayla, the pretty barmaid sitting across from him, looked past Khyven, her eyes wide. She had been a lively conversationalist a moment ago and he’d been daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss those lips.

Now she looked like an alley cat who’d spotted an alley dog. Reflexively, she stood up, the wooden stool scraping loudly on the floor. She froze, perhaps realizing belatedly that when the powerful—the predators—were in the room, it was best not to draw attention to yourself.

Khyven heard the metallic rustle of the fighters’ chain mail and Ayla’s face drained of color. He envisioned the alley dogs turning at the sound, focusing on her.

She needn’t have worried. They weren’t here for her or any other patron of the Mariner’s Rest. They were here for Khyven.

He had killed a man in the Night Ring two days ago, and not just any man—a duke’s son. The entitled whelp had actually been a talented swordsman, but his ambition had outstripped his skill. And the Night Ring was an unforgiving place to discover such a weakness.

After Khyven had run the boy through, Duke Bericourt had sworn revenge. No doubt he had been waiting for an opportunity to find Khyven alone, vulnerable, to send in his butcher knights.

Men like these, sent to enforce a lord’s will or show his displeasure, were called butcher knights. Usually of the lowest caste—Knights of the Steel—butcher knights didn’t chase glory on the battlefield or renown in the Night Ring. They were sent to do bloody, back-alley work at their lord’s bidding.

Khyven took a deep breath of the smoky air, sipped from the glass of Triadan whiskey, and enjoyed the fading burn down his throat.

The booted feet thumped to a stop next to his table.

“Khyven the Unkillable?” One of the men spoke, using Khyven’s ringer name—the flamboyant moniker the crowd had laid upon him.

Khyven glanced over his shoulder. Indeed. He had guessed right. The pair were Knights of the Steel.

There were three castes of knights in Usara: Knights of the Sun, Knights of the Dark, and Knights of the Steel, which was the lowest caste and the only one available to most lords. The pair wore chainmail shirts instead of full plate, conical steel caps with nose guards instead of full helms, and leather greaves and bracers.

As predicted, they wore Duke Bericourt’s crest on their left shoulders.

There was a code of honor among knights—even butcher knights. Except in cases of war, civility was required before gutting a man, especially when there were onlookers. Often a knight would give a flowery speech—including the offense he’d been sent to address—before drawing weapons. This was enough to justify murder.

Sometimes there was no flowery speech, but a knight would always at least say their victim’s name. If the victim acknowledged their name, that was all it took to bring out the blades.

Khyven didn’t give them the satisfaction. He took another sip of his whiskey and said nothing.

“Did you hear me?” the knight demanded, his hand touching his sword hilt.

If Khyven had been a normal ringer—a caged slave thrown into the Night Ring to slay or be slain for the sport of the crowd—these men would probably have forgone their code of honor and drawn their swords already.

But Khyven wasn’t just any ringer. He was the Champion of the Night Ring, and the king had afforded him special privileges because of that fact, like a room at the palace. Khyven had survived forty-eight bouts, the longest string of victories since…

Well, since Vex the Victorious had claimed fifty, won a knighthood and become the king’s personal bodyguard.

Steel scraped on steel, bringing Khyven back to the present. The second knight drew his dagger and placed it against Khyven’s throat.

Ayla gasped and backed away.

“You think you’re protected,” the second knight growled in Khyven’s ear. “You’re not.”

Of course, if Khyven didn’t acknowledge his name, there were other ways for the butcher knights to start the fight. If Khyven attacked them, for example, they could retaliate. The powerful could always push a victim into a corner when they needed to. That’s what the powerful did. Khyven had learned that long ago.

That was why, when Khyven had won his fortieth bout and his freedom from the Night Ring, he’d continued fighting, risking his life in every bloody bout. For the prize at the end of ten more bouts. For the power that would come with it.

When Khyven won his fiftieth bout, he would be elevated to knighthood, just like Vex the Victorious. And no one would look at him as a victim again.

The blade broke the skin, just barely, and a bead of blood trickled down Khyven’s neck. His pulse quickened. The familiar euphoria filled him, the rush of pleasure that came with the threat of death.

The euphoria brought vision, and Khyven saw with new eyes, his battle eyes. He saw his foe’s strengths and weaknesses as a swirling, blue-colored wind.

“You are Khyven the Unkillable,” the man breathed in his ear.

Khyven chuckled.

The second knight’s face turned red. He slashed—

But Khyven was already moving.

He shoved his palm against the man’s fist, arresting the strike. The blade nicked Khyven’s neck, but that wasn’t enough. That wasn’t nearly enough…

Q&A with Todd Fahnestock: Khyven the Unkillable is the first book in a new series. What can you tell us about how many books there will be and where the series will go? Oh, there’s SO much to tell. Khyven the Unkillable is not only the first book in an eight-book series called the Legacy of Shadows, but it is also the first in the mega-epic fantasy series: the Eldros Legacy. The Eldros Legacy is a project where I will write eight books over the next eight years on the continent of Noksonon, centered around Khyven and his group of friends (Lorelle the Luminent, Vohn the Shadowvar, Rhenn the warrior queen, Slayter the mage, and Shalure the seer.

But in addition, the four other founding authors (Quincy J. Allen, Marie Whitakker, Mark Stallings and Rob Howell) will write eight books on their continents (Daemanon, Pyranon, Drakkanon, and Shijuren, respectively) within the same world over the next eight years. At book four of each series, the Thuroi (magical gateways) are going to open and the heretofore isolated continents are going to interact which, of course, will bring our various heroes face-to-face. I can’t wait for that moment.

So that’s forty books in eight years in the founders’ main storyline alone. But wait, there’s more! This is designed to be a shared world project, so we have invited some of the most talented fantasy writers in the world to contribute their own personal stylings to the world of Eldros Legacy. In addition to the five books the founders will complete every year, we will have five more cohort writers, each writing a novel on a different one of the continents, contribute their books as well.

And if that’s not enough, we’ll also release an anthology or two of Eldros short stories every year. So that’s one book a month for eight years. This is a fantasy super-reader’s dream. What did you edit out of this book? So there’s this sex scene…

Ha! No, just kidding. I think the biggest thing I edited out of the book was the last third—before it was actually written. I had a whole plan for the gang to go to Triada (the closest neighboring kingdom) and that whole part of the plot got erased as I realized I could do what I needed to do within Rhenn’s little encampment. They did travel south to visit the nomadic Sandrunners, though. That ended up being the pivotal midpoint of the book and perhaps the best fight scene I’ve ever written. It’s a reader favorite. What was your favorite scene to write and why? That is a tough question. Wow. There are many scenes I like in this story, all for different reasons. There are some scenes I like because it shows the camaraderie building between Khyven, Rhenn, and Lorelle. There are some scenes I like (like the aforementioned fight at the Sandrunners’ Burzagi Tor) because it shows Khyven doing what he does best: being a combat badass. And there are some scenes I like because they are heart-wrenching. Choose a favorite…? Ugh.

How about I choose the most emotionally impactful scene for me?

(Spoiler alert).

So, in the book, Khyven chooses the rebels over the king and leaves his betrothed, the manipulating sixth daughter of an obscure northern baron who is trying to improve her standing by luring Khyven into marriage. She’s conniving and will do just about anything to get what she wants, so…we don’t think much of Shalure in the beginning. But we can forgive her—a little—because in the end she’s just a young woman trying to make the best of her lot in a snakepit of ambition.

But when Khyven escapes the palace and leaves her behind, the king takes his wrath at Khyven out on her. He cuts out her tongue and throws her in a cage to be used by the ringers (gladiators) during the next bout. When Khyven himself is captured, he’s thrown into a cage next to her, and the moment he discovers what’s been done to her just slays me every time. I get tears in my eyes. I mean, Khyven knew she was using him, but nothing she did warrants what the king did to her. What was the hardest part of writing this book? So this was the first time I ever used Jessica Brody’s Save the Cat Writes a Novel Beat Sheet at the beginning of a novel, before I’d even started writing. I’m a pantser (that is to say I “write by the seat of my pants”) and not a plotter by nature. Usually, I want to jump into a story, start living the lives of the characters, and let the story unfold as I go along. But this time, I wanted to try something new. So I struggled with getting the beats of the story down before writing it.

That took some skull sweat, but I’m glad I stuck with it, because once I “beat it out,” the actual writing of the story went fast and smooth.

What do you think most characterizes your writing? Heroes, wonder and magic-with-a-price.

I’ve been told that characterization is my hallmark, that I write deep, complex characters you can really feel “living” alongside you while you read the story. That and action scenes. I’ve been told my action scenes rock. How did you come up with the title for this book? Oh wow. This was probably the most difficult part of writing this book, actually. Hang on, let me check my notes to see how many different names I went through before settling on Khyven the Unkillable…

Thirty-three.

I swung and missed thirty three times, then settled on five finalists, then threw those in front of the other Eldros Legacy founders until it boiled down to Khyven the Unkillable.

Picking a title is so difficult. I always want to make something that ties to the story, but let’s face it, a title only does it’s job if it can grab someone’s attention and scream, “I’m epic fantasy! Pick me!” And sticking too closely to the “true nature” of the book can sometimes give you a title like “Threads of Amarion” (the third book in my Threadweavers series and a good lesson for me in picking titles). Sure, it’s a super cool title if you’ve read the book. But if you look at it without knowing anything about the story, what the hell does it mean? What does it evoke? Nothing.

So…to come up with a title that has never been done before as well as one with a fantasy aspect to it…that’s tough. Usually, I try for something obviously fantasy in the title, like “sword” or “tower” or “amulet” or “mage” or “dragon” or something like that. And believe me, I went through a lot of those kinds of names. But with the fantastic art provided by Rashed AlAkroka, I thought the cover was screaming “fantasy” pretty well without a single letter of the title. So I took a chance on picking something that rolled off the tongue and tried to intrigue the reader with the word “Unkillable.” What makes your book stand out from the crowd? At a glance? The cover. So many talented people worked on that cover: Rashed AlAkroka (the main illustration), Melissa Gay (the continent symbol and the beginnings of the arch), Jim Fahnestock and Sean Olson (the kickass logo), Quincy J. Allen (the cover design), as well as the other founders through their feedback of the various stages. And I think it turned out marvelously well.

As to the content, if you like a fast-paced, action-packed story with deep world building and a dash of romance thrown in, Khyven the Unkillable will keep your heart racing from the beginning to the end. What books have you written that are not a part of this series? I’m the author of:

The bestselling high fantasy Threadweavers series: Wildmane, The GodSpill, Threads of Amarion, and God of Dragons.

The bestselling high fantasy The Whisper Prince Series: Fairmist, The Undying Man, and The Slate Wizards (forthcoming)

The award-winning, bestselling high fantasy Tower of the Four Series: The Quad, The Tower, The Test, The Resurrection, and The Reunion

As well as a few one-offs (that is to say, they’re not high fantasy): Ordinary Magic (a non-fiction book about my 14-year-old son and I hiking 450 miles on The Colorado Trail), Summer of the Fetch (a coming-of-age road trip story with a twist of magic, set in 1988), and Charlie Fiction (a time travel novel). How much of yourself do you put into your books? As much as will fit. ;) Obviously, a non-fiction book like Ordinary Magic has lots of me in it, because I’m the main character. But Summer of the Fetch was also based in parts on my own life, though 70% of it is pure gossamer fiction. And, of course, in all of my fantasy novels, I tend to imagine what kind of hero I’d want to be if I were in those situations. For example, Khyven has commitment issues. I, too, have commitment issues. Do you try more to be original or deliver to readers what they want? Oh, I would like to think I ride the line between both. I do want to give readers what they want. All the swords and action and kissing and danger and monsters they crave. But why can’t I do that and also have a completely original elf-like race? Or a new take on magic that no one’s ever seen before? I feel like I do my best to combine both.

But that’s just me imagining that I’m doing what I aspire to do. To get the true answer to that question, I think you’d have to ask the readers. What is your writing Kryptonite? Winning awards, getting praise. Sounds sick and wrong, doesn’t it? Make no mistake, I love getting awards and accolades. In fact, that’s the problem. I love it so much—I get so affected by it—that it freezes me up.

I faced this problem big time this year when I was a finalist for the Colorado Book Award and the winner of the Colorado Authors League Award for Tower of the Four: The Champions Academy. I also got a heaping amount of praise for Khyven the Unkillable behind the scenes from writing industry insiders. All that attention and affirmation totally threw me off my game. When I finally got to the computer to start my next project, I froze up.

I kept thinking, “Well, I can’t write something worse than those that went before!” Of course, once I started thinking that, everything looked worse than what I’d written before (which, of course, it WAS. Because rough drafts are always worse than finished projects). If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be? I hated any and all “conventional knowledge” on writing when I was in my twenties. I wanted to forge my own path. I wanted to create something that “had never been seen before.”

Problem with that is I hadn’t seen everything that was out there, so I ended up duplicating a lot of what had already been done, all the while thinking myself so original.

Now if I could go back to my twenty-year-old self, I would say: Suck it up and study some credible, respected novels on craft and structure, like Save the Cat by Blake Snyder or Save the Cat Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody, My Story Can Beat Up Your Story by Jeffrey Alan Schechter, Zen in the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury, On Writing by Stephen King, The Hero’s Journey in The Hero of a Thousand Faces by Joseph Campbell, the Three Act Structure and more.

You may not agree with them all, you may not like them all, but these are all tools for your toolbox. Better to have them and not need them than need them and not have them. What does literary success look like to you? You know, I’ve been asked this a lot in the last few years, and my answer keeps changing. It really is the most important question every professional writer must ask themselves, though. For me, it defines how I feel about what I do.

When I don't know my answer to this question, I slide pretty quickly into misery. How can I be successful if I don’t know what that means to me?

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a New York Times bestselling author. Then later, my answer was: I want to make a million dollars from my writing.

I’ve not achieved either of those things yet, true, but I’ve hit other milestones. Yes, it felt amazing to win the Colorado Authors League Award. Yes, it feels great to hit #1 on Amazon with a book or make a pile of money at one of the many cons I go to. But each time I reach one of those thresholds, the internal reward is hot and fleeting. One moment I’m feeling that I’m “One of the Worthy Authors” and the next moment, I’m just me again, waking up, pulling on my jeans and sitting down in front of my computer, just like I did every day for a thousand days before this one.

You know what does stick with me, though, that lifts up my soul and stays with me in my moments of doubt? It’s not awards or bestseller tags. It’s not having an unprecedented con where I sold out of everything. It’s not even getting invited to teach at exclusive writers conferences or interviewed in podcasts and magazines.

It is having a mom message me and say, “What new books do you have? My child only reads two authors. Rick Riordan and you.” Or having an adult fan stop at my table at a con and say, “Me and my dad love your books. We get them as soon as they come out and read them at the same time. It’s how we bond.” Or having a child approach my school signing table with a picture she drew of one of my characters, shyly give it to me, and whisper, “You’re my favorite author.”

That’s my definition of success. How many hours a day do you write? Or how many words? My goal for this year is to average 1,000 words every day of the year. So that’s 365,000 words in 2022. I’ve averaged 2,000 words/day over the course of a month before. I’ve written an entire novel in 13 days before, but I think the most I’ve ever written over an entire year is about 300,000 words. So this year, I’m gonna beat that. What books or authors have influenced your writing the most? When it comes to continuing my education on craft and voice as a writer, every fiction book I read helps. I learn something from each of them. Doesn’t matter if its horror, thriller, fantasy or even romance. Every story has gifts to give. Even the ones that are badly written. Maybe especially the ones that are badly written.

As far as book structure, Save the Cat Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody is my current favorite writing structure book. It’s amazing. Door opening. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Do you have a day job other than being a writer? Do you like it? I don’t currently have a day job. I did once—and kept writing while working 50+ hours/week—for many years. But thanks to the support of my wonderful wife and my wonderful fans, I get to make stories full time at home, every day. Find out more about Todd and his work by visiting his website at https://toddfahnestock.com

Game Review: It Takes Two

It Takes Two, switch edition
4.5 stars This is actually my second play through of this game, so that by itself says something. The first time I played it with my husband , and I played the character of May. This time I'm partnered with my daughter, and I'm playing as Cody. The story of the game was not my favorite. The basic premise is of a married couple who don't get along and have decided to get a divorce. Their young daughter wants them to "be friends again" and ends up casting a sort of spell that traps them in toy bodies with a talking book that acts as their marriage counselor. I personally found the couple's bickering really annoying and felt they would all be much happier if they did get the divorce. Perhaps other people have more patience for that kind of antagonistic relationship, but I didn't like it. Setting aside the story, however, the rest of the game was great. This game fully embraces the spirit of cooperative gaming and the overall gameplay is terrific. The two characters are each given tools and abilities that differ both from each other and are dependent on which environment they're in. None of the puzzles can be solved unless the characters are working together, so this isn't the kind of co-op where one player can sit back while the other takes the lead. The puzzles, exploration, and combat were well balanced. The character abilities were unique and thematically appropriate. The graphics were charming, and the amount of detail put into the sets was wonderfully immersive. There was also a good dose of rather dark humor. This is exactly the kind of game my husband and I love playing together, and if not for how bitter the characters were toward each other and the idea that they should be forced to remain together despite making each other miserable, I would have given it a perfect score.

Review: The Lightning Thief

The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I decided to pick this book up after my daughter read the series because she loved it so much. I'd seen the Lightning Thief movie adaptation a few years ago, so between that and my daughter's commentary I had a decent idea of what to expect, though I was pleasantly surprised by a few of the differences between the book and movie.

The world of Percy Jackson is ours but with Greek gods and other mythical creatures living among us in hiding. (Basically Middle Grade urban fantasy.)
I really liked the way Riordan incorporated so many colorful myths and legends into his world building in a solid and believable way. The writing was fast-paced and easy to read, perfect for the MG level and/or adults looking for something light.

The main character of the book is a boy named Percy Jackson who has trouble at home, trouble at school . . . trouble in general. He has ADHD and dyslexia, which play a factor in his quests, but I felt like those traits were a little contrived to work specifically with the challenges he faced. In general I found the characters engaging, though some felt more like caricatures due to their over-the-top personalities (common in MG). Percy was the most well-rounded, which is good since he's the protagonist, but he did come across as rather whiny and a little slow on the uptake at times, which I didn't like. I did like that Riordan balanced the internal and external conflicts of the book and character by sending Percy on an epic, high-stakes quest while giving him a distinct, personal parallel that was his real motivation. Percy is joined on his adventure by two friends, Annabeth and Grover. Each has a distinct personality that is well portrayed, and each serves a specific purpose during Percy's quest.

My biggest complaint about this story is how rushed everything feels. Not the actual deadline by which Percy must complete his quest, but the scene jumps as he and his friends quickly overcome one obstacle and move on to the next. I was also a little annoyed with Percy/Riordan at times because Percy would sometimes completely ignore an important plot point until it became convenient for him to remember. For example, the oracle tells him early on that he will be betrayed by one who claims to be a friend, but never once did Percy suspect that either of his traveling companions, pretty much the only friends he has, might be the one to betray him until the very end of the story, at which point he claims to have been worried about that the whole time.

All in all I think this was a terrific read, especially for the intended age group, and I think adult fans of light fantasy who are looking for a fun, quick read will enjoy it.
Also, I have to give this book/series credit for sparking my daughter's interest in Greek mythology. :)

View all my reviews

Demon Riding Shotgun Release & Blog Tour

It's Release Day for Demon Riding Shotgun! Help it start out on the right foot by getting your copy today: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | IndieBound | Google | Apple
(or wherever books are sold) Mira darted across the open space between the buildings and crouched under a glassless window opening. Voices drifted out.
“. . . area is claimed. You’re drawing too much attention.”
“There’s plenty to go around.”
They’re . . . talking?
Mira rolled her eyes. Or rather, the demon riding shotgun in her soul did.
&ltWe can speak, you know. Well . . . most of us.&gt
Since when do rifters stop to chat with their victims? Besides, it seems like that old guy is leading the conversation. Mira peeked over the lip of the wooden frame. The construction worker had his arms crossed over his Day-Glo vest. His face was twisted into an unhappy scowl that created deep creases in the skin around his eyes, but his flesh seemed intact—no signs of puppet strain, as Mira called the marks usually created by demon possession. Could he be a rifter, too?
&ltIf he is, he’s hiding deep.&gt
Or balanced.
&ltDon’t get your hopes up. What we have is not normal.&gt
But not impossible. She bit her lip. If there’s another pairing like ours . . .
“This is your only warning.” The construction worker uncrossed his arms and widened his stance, planting his feet. “We won’t let you upset our plans. Find somewhere else to gorge and die.”
This guy definitely knows what he’s facing. And did he say “we”?
The rifter sneered, his upper lip rising just enough to reveal grayish teeth and black gums. “Make me.”
The rifter Mira had come to kill launched forward, striking the construction worker in the chest. The second man took the impact, leaning forward slightly to keep his feet as they slid a few inches across sawdust-covered plywood.
&ltDefinitely not human.&gt
Whatever he is, I want to talk to him. Mira vaulted the window frame, calling her magic. She landed in a crouch, one knee touching down in sawdust. Both men turned to look at her. Energy swirled through her, pulled from the air and focused, with the help of her hitchhiker, into a glowing ball on her palm. Tendrils of blue static cracked around a white center. The presence that was always with her but not quite a part of her swelled.
Picturing the result she wanted, Mira flicked her wrist and exerted her will. An arc of pale lightning connected her to the rifter she’d tracked, resting for a moment against his chest before he was blown off his feet. Two-by-fours splintered as he made a new opening in the skeletal frame of an interior wall.
Mira didn’t rise from her crouch but pivoted to face the second man. Maybe another rifter. Maybe a practitioner. Maybe someone like her. . . . “Who are you?”
The man’s gaze shifted between Mira and the broken wall. He pursed his lips. Then he stepped through the doorway behind him that led deeper into the building.
The downed rifter sat up amid snapped beams and a cloud of dust.
She’d come to end him—she needed to end him—but what she’d overheard from the mysterious construction worker had raised more than a few questions, and Mira wanted answers.
Racing past the stunned rifter, she darted after the second man.
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Spotlight: Farhi and the Crystal Dome by Daniel A. Willis

The last of the autographed books I'm offering in my Winter of Wonder Giveaway is Farhi and the Crystal Dome, a collection of short stories by Daniel A. Willis. Stories included in this volume:

Farhi and the Crystal Dome: A fun kid-friendly fantasy about a awkward teen to finds himself in a land of fairies, gnomes, and witches. Oh yeah, and elves. The Nerites: A ghost story set at sea on a deserted cruise ship. Charlotte's Passion: An alternate history about the love life of Princess Charlotte of Wales, daughter of George IV. Had she not died, she would have been queen instead of Victoria. Nikita Saves the Empire: Another alternate history. This one based on saving Alexander II of Russia from assassination.
For links to purchase the book, visit: dxvaros.com About Daniel I can thank my great-grandfather for my love of history and genealogy. He entertained me as a child with stories about his grandparents. Then, as a teenager, I developed a fascination with royalty. Combining the two was a natural next step. However, I'm a man of many interests: politics, astronomy, science fiction, wizards, and things that go bump in the night. I expanded into the realms of fiction in the early 2010s and have several books in mind to write. My first trilogy is well inside my comfort zone, merging history, royalty and fantasy. Next, came a present-day mythology-based urban fantasy. Next will be an alternate history that will re-shape the world as we know it. To learn more about Daniel, visit his website at https://www.danielawillis.com/

Spotlight: When Magic Calls by Caitlin Berve

Today I'm spotlighting the second author in my Winter of Wonder Giveaway: Caitlin Berve, a weaver of modern-day fairy tales! I recently attended one of Caitlin's classes about publishing story collections, and I can tell you she knows her stuff. Want proof? Check out her award-winning collection of short stories. A collection of modern fairy tales
Once upon a time in a land not so far away, in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, a jealous girl stole a magical artifact from a fairy tale museum, unlocking a curse that might cost her life. Right now, in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains, a man obsessively studies a wild girl living with and raised by a wolf pack, but soon watching won’t be enough. Tonight, in a city a storm will rage, waking a boy from a deadly dream and propelling him toward the insidious darkness of his ancestry. Fairy tales are taking place all around us in modern times. Look closely and you will see fear, fate, and magic intertwine or perhaps discover you are in the midst of a tale of your own.
You can purchase the book and merchandise directly from Caitlin at: https://www.caitlinberve.com/store Q&A with Caitlin: Do you try more to be original or deliver to readers what they want? I try to be more original because that’s what I like to read. If I know exactly how a story is going to turn out after the first chapter, I get bored. To be more original, I play with form and point of view, so one story in my collection is told through letters and another follows the circular story structure more common in Asian literature. One fairy tale is told from the point of view of the victims before and after the hero arrives and another from the prince instead of the princess. What does literary success look like to you? Oh so many things. Success for me is writing and publishing all of the books in my head (I have 6 series/standalones tugging at me now), winning book awards, making a steady income from my writing, and getting to do fun events like conferences and signings. If I’m really honest, I would love to see my writing turned into a movie or tv show. What did you edit out of this book? Three short stories didn’t make the cut. One is more for children, one is more fantasy than fairy tale, and one just wasn’t good enough. I also thought about including list poems with each story, but those didn’t make the cut either. When did it dawn upon you that you wanted to be a writer? I am not the person who always knew they wanted to be a writer, but I have always been a reader. In college, I took creative writing instead of English 111. At the time, I was determined to go to medical school, so I majored in biochemistry then worked as a clinical allergy specialist for a few years. I got on the waiting list. When I found out I was not chosen for medical school, I was relieved instead of disappointed. That’s when I realized the book I’d written on my lunch breaks was my true passion. Do you have a day job other than being a writer? Do you like it? My day job is a freelance editor and technical writer. I absolutely love editing because I get to help other authors reach their publication dreams. While I do want to be able to make a living off my writing, I don’t intend to stop editing, but I might drop the technical writing part. How did you come up with the title? I really struggle with titles. I found When Magic Calls by looking at my books. One of my favorite books is When Demons Walk by Patricia Briggs and the title is part of what drew me to it. That’s what I modeled my book title after. .para-fmt p { margin: 0; text-indent: 3em; } Excerpt from When Magic Calls: Bones of the Soul

PHOENIX ARIZONA’S MAYO hospital was massive compared to the doctor’s office in Kansas and had a strange, welcoming feel that immediately made Nazar Williams shiver. He swung his feet back and forth under his chair in the exam room, ignoring the way his mother winced every time his foot swished close to the chair leg.

“Now can I draw?” Nazar asked.

“After the doctor visits.” Lesedi Williams placed her strong, ebony hand on his Kansas City Chiefs backpack as if she expected him to get out his art supplies anyway.

He groaned and swung his legs back and forth as fast as he could.

“We need you to pay attention and answer the doctor’s questions.” Mason Williams gently squeezed his son’s leg to slow the frantic motion. “You lose focus when you draw.”

“I won’t ignore you this time. I promise.”

“It will only be a few more minutes,” his father said.

“This dress is stupid,” said the ten-year-old boy.

“Language.” His mother pursed her lips, but his father winked in agreement.

Under threats of grounding, Nazar had put on the weird green hospital gown, but had refused to sit on the high table covered in butcher paper like some spectacle. He’d already met four nurses and two doctors excited by his rare condition on the way into the room. They stared like they wanted to watch the bone form and trap Nazar in an immobilizing cocoon. In a way, he was right; they wanted to see his condition, but the only visual cues were his malformed big toes.

Nazar hated the kink in his big toes that made them turn in toward his other toes—a tell-tale sign of his disease. He hated how they betrayed him, making him clumsy. When injuries calcified the places where a body was meant to be soft, balance was key. Luckily, the hospital had provided thick socks with grips on the bottom along with his gown, so Nazar didn’t have to look at his feet. Still, he spread his toes as he swung his legs, trying to straighten them.

His parents were ambivalent about his toes, but they worried about the rest of his body. Despite their best efforts, tension wafted from them, making Nazar nervous. If he could just draw, he could stop mimicking their clenched muscles and slight frowns, so he planned his next picture. While he wondered if he should draw his favorite spot on the farm or one of the new chicks, the door to their room opened. A man entered with a stethoscope dangling from his neck and clipboard in his hands.

“Hello, Mr. Williams, Mrs. Williams,” the doctor said as Nazar’s parents rose and shook his hand. “I’m Dr. Hackett. This must be Nazar.” He lowered himself onto the spinning stool Nazar was forbidden from playing on, set the clipboard on the counter, and held out his hand to the boy.

“Hi.” Nazar narrowed his eyes in suspicion and shook the physician’s hand, which was cold and wrinkly yet strong. “I hear you have a very special condition,” said the doctor.

Nazar snorted. “There’s nothing special about being broken.”

“Nazar,” Lesedi warned. His parents remained standing to give the doctor space.

Dr. Hackett lost a bit of his smile but quickly regained it. “I think you mean it’s not fun because your ability to grow bone is special. You’re the first case I’ve seen in decades.”

“Maybe special to you,” Nazar mumbled and crossed his arms. He sensed an excitement in this doctor that made him shiver and back away.

“Enough,” his mother said. “You aren’t broken. Now let the doctor do his job.”

“Let’s take a look at you, then decide. How does that sound?” Dr. Hackett said.

Nazar shrugged.

Dr. Hackett turned to Nazar’s parents. “Where is the calcification occurring?”

“He has a spot on one palm, one knee, both shoulders, and one hip,” Lesedi said.

“His knee?” Dr. Hackett frowned at his clipboard. “Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva doesn’t usually affect the lower extremities this soon.” A brief worry wrinkled his forehead, but he banished the negative emotion when he thought about witnessing irregular bone growth.

Tell that to my toes, Nazar thought.

“All right, Nazar, hop on up so I can take a look at the places your injured soft tissue is turning to bone.” Dr. Hackett rolled back and patted the high table. The butcher paper crinkled under his hand.

Nazar sighed and climbed up, making sure to bang the table as he did so. Both his parents flinched.

“Careful, son,” Mason said.

Nazar rolled his eyes at the word everyone spouted at him.

“I’m going to palpate you, starting from your head,” Dr. Hackett said.

Nazar leaned back and raised an eyebrow at his mother.

“He’s going to feel where the bone is growing,” she answered his unspoken question.

With a sigh, Nazar leaned forward.

Dr. Hackett pressed uncomfortably hard against his skull. “Looks like you haven’t hit your head much. That’s good.” But his flat tone didn’t sound relieved for the boy. His fingers slid down Nazar’s neck, feeling each bone in his spine. “A bit thick in one spot, but his neck also seems fairly clear. Strange, that’s usually the first place to calcify.” Dr. Hackett was talking more to himself than to anyone else in the room.

Lesedi could hardly contain her hope, leaning forward to scrutinize each of Dr. Hackett’s movements. She squeezed her calloused hands in front of her and stood as motionless as the statue Nazar would become.

Mason stood farther back and steadily turned from rich brown to ashen. Nazar decided not to look at his father, knowing that transition of color meant bad news and disappointment. It was how his father had looked when he ran over Nazar’s favorite farm cat with their tractor.

Dr. Hackett’s hands reached the boy’s shoulders. “Now there’s a deposit.” His excitement scalded Nazar. “I’ll bet these joints freeze by the time you’re eighteen.”

“So he won’t be able to lift his arms?” Lesedi said.

“Not even to brush his teeth,” Dr. Hackett said as he scrawled a note about the size and location of the bone growth.

Or draw. Nazar stilled as his love for drawing was pulled from him like everything else. No soccer. No recess. No sleepovers. “No!” He shoved Dr. Hackett away, leapt from the exam table, and wrenched open the door. He wouldn’t let them take drawing too.

He turned to sprint down the hallway and slammed into a woman in bright-green scrubs carrying a tray of blood sample vials. The impact sent the tray high into the air as Nazar and the woman crashed to the ground. Most of the thirty or so blood containers hit the floor and bounced like large drops of rain. A handful of vials shattered, and Nazar broke.

Sobbing, he curled on the ground, sopping up drops of other people’s blood with his socks and gown. Stunned, the lab tech remained splayed out beside him as Nazar’s parents and Dr. Hackett rushed from the room.

“I need 40 milligrams of Prednisone,” Dr. Hackett ordered a nurse coming down the hallway to help.

“Nazar!” his parents shouted and ran toward him.

Dr. Hackett put out an arm to stop them. “Don’t. The blood.” He pointed at the broken vials. “Kelly, get to a shower,” he ordered the lab tech.

Ignoring him, the young woman pulled herself upright and slid over to Nazar. “Are you okay, sweetie?” Gently, she tilted Nazar’s chin, forcing him to look at her.

“I want to draw,” he said.

Kelly nodded. “Well, let’s wash this mess off first, then we’ll draw together.”

“I want to draw,” Nazar whispered again.

“Oh, baby.” Lesedi leaned into her husband as she realized why her son had run. “You’ll draw. I promise we’ll find a way.”

Kelly helped Nazar stand.

“You’re bleeding.” He touched a small slice on her arm before she could stop him.

“Mm-hmm.” She slipped his hand away from the cut. “Let’s make sure you aren’t. It’s decontamination shower time.”

Nazar sniffed and rubbed tears from his eyes. As he did so, tiny blood cells from Kelly and the broken vials coalesced like liquid mercury and slipped into his eyes. For a moment, all he saw was a vibrant crimson.

“Oh don’t.” Kelly pulled his arms from his face. “You don’t want to get other people’s blood in your eyes, sweetie. You could catch something.” We could catch something, she thought and hustled to help the boy to his feet.

“Sorry,” said Nazar.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Kelly said as she guided him toward a shower.

“No, sorry for bumping into you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m used to not being seen.” She did her best to keep the ache of invisibility from her voice.

As the crimson color cleared in his eyes, so did Nazar’s vision. He saw Kelly’s strong jaw and the faint freckles on her nose. He studied the slight tension in her shoulders as she firmly led him down the hall and saw how desperately she wanted to be noticed, to be more than just the person who drew patients’ blood. He looked at her with a clarity he’d never experienced before.

Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw other people waiting in the hospital or driving home. There was an old woman with a tube leading into her arm and wrinkles so deep she looked like a caricature. She was in pain and scared, but still made the nurse attending her laugh. There was a young man with a cast encasing his elbow who attempted to shift his manual transmission. He was more worried about his grandfather’s failing health and mother’s motives than his arm or the kidney he’d donated.

Nazar had caught something other than a disease, and he knew what he wanted to draw.

For the rest of his Mayo visit, Nazar worked on a single drawing. He used every skill he’d accumulated in his ten years of life to capture that moment with Kelly, and they came together in a way he’d never experienced before. A euphoric sensation washed over him as he outlined, sketched, shaded, and colored until he’d completed his masterpiece, while his mother argued with Dr. Hackett and the other physicians who came to examine Nazar.

She insisted there had to be some sort of treatment for his bone formation and refused to believe steroids like Prednisone to reduce inflammation after an injury were the best the great Mayo clinic could do.

Nazar’s father only chimed in when prodded by his wife. He wasn’t really listening—he’d accepted Nazar’s condition before their road trip—but he was watching. Instead of turning grey, his skin acquired the gold-tint of pride. When Nazar finally set down his pencil and leaned back to admire his work, Mason placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and whispered, “You have to sign it now.”

“What?” Nazar looked up.

“An artist always signs his work so people know it’s his.”

“But I don’t want to mess it up,” Nazar said.

“You don’t have to use your whole name. You could put only Nazar or your initials. You could even come up with a special mark,” Mason said.

“Okay.” Nazar dragged the word out.

His father put a fresh sheet of paper in front of his son. “Here, why don’t you experiment and practice until you come up with something you like.” Mason removed his palm from Nazar’s shoulder. As his wife took a deep breath to continue arguing with the doctors, he held her hand. “Enough, sweetheart. There is no cure for this.”

Lesedi collapsed into her husband mid-sentence. It wasn’t fair that her son should suffer so. As his mother, she should be able to help him.

“I don’t think he’s suffering right now.” Mason pointed at his son.

Nazar had filled half the paper with versions of his name and initials.

Lesedi straightened her shoulders and banished the tears from her eyes. “We’ll have to come up with a way to make sure his shoulders don’t keep him from drawing.”

“We will,” said Mason. “Thank you, Dr. Hackett, but I think we’re done here.” “We’d love to have you back periodically to monitor Nazar’s condition. He’ll need to be watched for any blood-borne pathogens since a needle stick could be counterproductive.” Dr. Hackett shook Mason’s hand.

“Thank you, but I think we’ll stick with our local doctor from now on.”

Dr. Hackett deflated at Mason’s words. “They won’t have our facilities in Kansas. Nazar really needs the best care.”

“And he’ll have it,” Lesedi said. “Nazar, honey. Put your pencils away and say goodbye to the doctor.”

Excited to get out of the hospital that wanted to make him a permanent resident on display, Nazar shoved his pencils into a superhero case and his paper into a folder. Everything except the drawing of Kelly went into his Kansas City Chiefs backpack.

“Bye,” he said and hustled into the hallway with his parents right behind.

“Your picture will get wrinkled if you carry it that way,” said Lesedi.

“I want to give it to Kelly,” Nazar said. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask the front desk.” Mason squeezed his son’s hand.

After making the front desk secretary cross her heart and pinky swear to give the drawing to Kelly, Nazar relinquished the paper. He wrote a quick note thanking Kelly for helping him wash up before following his parents into the parking lot.

“Let’s take the long way home,” Mason said.

“It’s already two whole days in the truck,” whined Nazar.

“Yes, but if we take the long way, we can stop at the Miniatures Museum in Tucson, the Fairy Tale Museum in New Mexico, and who knows what else we’ll find.” He opened the rust-colored Ford F150 truck door so Nazar could climb in.

“I guess that sounds cool.” Nazar buckled his seat belt and pulled his art supplies out of his bag.

“Take this before you start.” Lesedi reached around and handed her son a small white tablet and his water bottle. “We don’t want you getting car sick again.”

Nazar groaned but accepted the pill and water. He did his best to swallow it on the first try but still sputtered and coughed. Pills were hard.

The urge to draw took over Nazar before they’d left the parking lot. He dug into his next sketch with a sense of purpose, determination, and urgency he’d never felt before. He needed to draw now or he might lose the details of the souls he illustrated. Two hours later, when they arrived at the Miniatures Museum, he had completed a drawing of the young man with the cast fly fishing with his grandfather and was ready for a break.

About Caitlin Caitlin Berve, is an award-winning fantasy author, editor, and speaker. Like many writers, she grew up a bookworm. She's always been drawn to mystery and magic, so she reads and writes all types of fantasy and crafts things like dream catchers and origami. Caitlin uses her MFA to teach creative writing and founded Ignited Ink Writing, where she seeks to fill the world with the kind of writing that lingers with readers and find magic in modern times. To learn more about Caitlin, visit her author website.
And if you’re a writer looking for help, check out her blog about writing and edit books at Ignited Ink Writing.

Demon Riding Shotgun Goodreads Giveaway!

Don't miss this opportunity to win a free copy of Demon Riding Shotgun with this Goodreads Giveaway: .goodreadsGiveawayWidget { color: #555; font-family: georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: left; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; background: white; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget p { margin: 0 0 .5em !important; padding: 0; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink { display: inline-block; color: #181818; background-color: #F6F6EE; border: 1px solid #9D8A78; border-radius: 3px; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; outline: none; font-size: 13px; padding: 8px 12px; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink:hover { color: #181818; background-color: #F7F2ED; border: 1px solid #AFAFAF; text-decoration: none; } Goodreads Book Giveaway Demon Riding Shotgun by L.R. Braden

Giveaway ends November 27, 2021.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Spotlight: Fractured Magic by Emily Bybee

Today I'm excited to tell you all about Fractured Magic by Emily Bybee!
Remember to enter for your chance to win an autographed copy of this book along with other cool prizes in my Winter of Wonder Giveaway! Unstable Magic Book 1
As the world’s worst witch, Maddie is mistreated by her own kind. She was born a Defect. Most of her spells blow up in her face, literally. While witches search for the long-lost power of the earth, Maddie spends her time in the science lab. There, Maddie discovers a clue to the lost power. The only other witness is Jax, a smokin’ hot bad-boy who Maddie can’t decide if she wants to kiss or kill. When she fails her magic final, the council orders her magic stripped. Maddie’s only chance to keep her brain intact is to find the power with the hope that it can “fix” her. Jax is her one ally on the journey. The two of them must use their smarts to stay ahead of the witches while they follow a two-hundred-year-old trail to the power of the earth and the truth behind Maddie’s defect. .para-fmt p { margin: 0; text-indent: 3em; } Read an Excerpt from Fractured Magic:

The grape in my palm glowed an eerie green, its molecules buzzing with my energy. I urged more power into the fruit until it shown bright as a miniature sun.

“Good.” My mom coached from her observation point a few feet away—out of the danger zone. “Now, picture where you want it to go.”

My control over the spell faltered, and the grape’s light flickered like a candle. This was the point where I always lost it. My breath refused to leave my lungs.

“Careful, Maddie. Don’t let any other thoughts in your mind. Doing great,” my mom urged, but took a small step back.

A picture of the dented wooden chair formed in my mind. I latched onto the image and held it like it was my only lifeline to keep me from falling to my untimely death. Which, given my mother’s mood lately, wasn’t too far off.

The grape jumped in my hand. Pressure built from the air trapped in my chest. Light poured from my palm and, with an audible pop, the grape disappeared.

I gasped, releasing the stale breath. My eyes darted from my empty hand to the still empty chair. “I did it.”

“Where did you send it?” Mom asked. Her eyebrows pulled together while her gaze searched the basement. Barren of furniture, except for the old chair, the room had white walls and a plain cement floor. It made for easier clean-up from my magical studies. There was always quite a mess when I was involved. My younger brother could have, and often did, practice in the living room with no problems.

Another pop sounded. The grape reappeared in my hand and promptly exploded. Warm grape jelly splattered across my face and chest, which only added to the half-dried globs left by its predecessors. I sucked in a lungful of the sickeningly sweet air.

The butterflies of hope, fluttering in my chest, transformed to ninja razor blades of death. I couldn’t stand to look my mom’s way, but I knew the disappointed expression on her face by heart. My hand closed into a fist around the sticky mess.

Untouched by the fragrant shrapnel, Mom sighed. “Go get another one.”

I bit back the snarky remark begging to jump off my tongue and instead refocused my frustration on the noise that came from the basement window. The neighbor’s dog, which looked like someone crossed a long-haired hamster with a mountain goat−minus the horns of course−wouldn’t quit barking outside. How the neighbors slept through it was beyond me.

Animals could see through our magical tricks. That dog was absolutely certain something fishy was going on in our house, and he was determined to let the world know. Concentrating with all that yipping and yapping was like having a phone conversation at a rock concert.

I glanced at my watch−6:45am−we’d been at this for over two hours. “I’m going to miss school again. Can’t we work on transference later?”

Mom's jaw clenched, and she pushed her hair behind her ears. Never a good sign. “If you worried about your magic half as much as you worry about your school work we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“Yeah, because getting a grape facial every day for the last six months has so helped my progress. I’m not good at much but I’m good at school. I want to go to a decent college,” I said.

“You can be good at magic too,” she insisted. “This afternoon maybe we can try transferring oranges again. You did a little better with those.”

I shook my head. “I have to go do that lab at the campus. Dad already set it up with Professor Cho.”

She bit her lip, obviously weighing the importance of me getting my AP Biology grade up with an extra assignment against more hours of practice. I wouldn’t need an extra assignment if I could actually make it to class more than twice a week.

“You can get it done today if you use the college lab instead of the one in your high school?” she asked.

I nodded, not trusting my tongue to hold onto a particularly snide comment.

“Try to be home early and maybe we can get in at least an hour of practice.”

The dog abruptly stopped its yap alarm. The silence did little to soothe my frayed nerves. Grape juice oozed from my tightening fist, but I kept my voice level. “Have you ever considered that I may just be no good at witchcraft?”

Her voice softened from the professor voice to mom voice. “Maddie, you can’t talk that way.”

My mouth opened before my brain could catch up with my tongue. “Why?” I threw my hands out to the side and raised my voice. “Are you afraid someone might hear that your daughter sucks at being a witch? They already know I’m a Defect.”

“Don’t use that filthy word,” she said, her cheeks shifting from white to red.

“Oh no, another scandal for the family. Maybe, if I’m really lucky, they’ll cancel my betrothal to Mr. California Surfer Boy…” I ranted.

A tingling sensation in my mouth stopped my tirade. “Mom don’t−” was all I could get out before I lost the ability to control my tongue.

She stared for a moment, the warning evident in her eyes. “Stop calling him Surfer Boy. You should be grateful we were able to arrange such a good match for you.”

I poured my helpless rage into the bowl of fruit on the stairs. Grapes exploded like popcorn in the microwave. Chunks splattered across the wall in an arc.

“Are you finished having a tantrum?” Mom asked. “Now, if you can’t control what you say then I will have to do it for you. One of these days the spell may be permanent.”

My eyes widened, and my mouth opened in a reflex to protest. With no way to tell her what I thought, I crossed my arms and felt the outline of the locket that hung around my neck, safe from the mess, under my shirt. The gold locket had been my grandmother’s, the one person in the world who thought I was perfect just the way I was.

Her gaze rested on me for a moment, then, after a deep cleansing breath, she pointed to the stairs. “Now, get another grape.”

My teeth snapped together with a sickening crack. I waited a beat then stalked to the stairs and plucked a slime covered grape from the nearly empty bowl. The muscles in my legs trembled, signaling that I had used up most of my energy already. Around the year 1700 witches lost the ability to pull power from the earth. Without that source we were limited to the finite amount of power in our own bodies—unless we killed someone. Not an option I was completely opposed to at the moment.

“Try again. And don’t use so much power. You only need a tiny bit to transfer something so small. You should be able to do this a hundred times and not be tired,” she said.

An hour later we ran out of grapes. Their remains smeared my face and hung from my hair in gloppy dreadlocks. My knees threatened to buckle, but I forced myself to remain upright. No matter how I tried to throttle back I always seemed to use too much of my power.

I stood covered in the evidence of my own failure and glared at Mom in an attempt to retain the last tattered shred of my self-worth.

I waited for her to speak, still unable to do so myself, and afraid that she would tell me to go grab the fruit bowl from the kitchen. It wouldn’t be the first time I ended up smelling like a smoothie. Although, I had to admit, fruit was way better than last week when she decided I might do better transferring meat. Raw hamburger is hell to get out of your hair.

We could use any organic body for this spell, it just had to be carbon based and for some odd reason she wouldn’t allow me to practice on anything live yet.

Mom paused at the bottom of the stairs. She didn’t turn to look at me, but I heard the tears straining her voice. “I know I’m hard on you. I hate it but…they’ll be coming for you soon. We won’t be able to protect you much longer.”

My sullen anger vaporized at her words. Though I’d known the truth for a long time, it was different to hear her say the words out loud. Fear swept over me like cold water. I stood motionless, speechless, even if my tongue had been working, and watched her disappear around the corner.

****

Twenty minutes of furious scrubbing later, I pulled a baggy long-sleeved shirt over my wet hair and rushed downstairs, still shaky, but caffeine and sugar coming to the rescue. There was no time for the blow drier if I wanted to catch the last half of my Biology class. Good thing the bed head look was in.

“Wow, what happened to you?” my ten-year-old brother, Parker, asked, pausing in his attempt to stuff his lunch into an overfull backpack. With Mom working on my magic most mornings it was Parker’s responsibility to get himself ready and out to the bus. He was about as good at that as I was at transference.

I glared my response, unable to deliver the scathing remark in my mind.

His smile grew wider. “Mom freeze your tongue again?”

If only I could talk. I grabbed my own backpack and stalked out the door, as the school bus chugged down the snow-covered street. A devious grin spread over my face. He was going to miss the bus again. Served him right. Mom would be furious, especially in the mood I had put her in.

I paused. The corners of my lips fell at the image of Parker facing wrath that was meant for me. With a silent groan I spun on my heel and rushed into the house.

Still struggling with his backpack, he shot me a wide-eyed stare. “What?”

I threw him his coat, smashed his snack into the backpack, and yanked the zipper shut. Goldfish crumbs taste the same anyway. He ran in my wake out the front door and down to the street where we watched the bus pull around the corner and out of sight.

The usual snarkiness left his voice. “I guess I better go tell Mom.”

With a glance at my watch, I debated. I’d miss all of second period Biology, not something my C minus grade could really afford. Really, why did high schools have to put all the AP classes first thing in the morning? One look at his face made up my mind. I opened the passenger door on my car and threw in his backpack.

The corners of his mouth shot up, and his eyes crinkled. “Really? Awesome! Hey can I come watch you practice tomorrow? It’s way cool.”

I glared sideways at him, but the look didn’t pack much heat. Parker had always thought my talent of blowing stuff up was great.

He stopped next to the open door. “Mom doesn’t appreciate you.”

I was momentarily glad Mom had frozen my tongue, and he didn’t expect me to answer. It saved me from lying.

Mom’s warning about them coming for me sped up my pulse. I pushed the fear aside. I’d known it would happen someday. I’d just hoped it would be much later.

I forced a smile to my unwilling lips and waved to our neighbor, my best friend Emma’s mom, who stood on her porch looking up and down the street.

“Have you guys seen Sparky?” she called.

I shook my head and noticed Parker ducking into my car a little too quickly at the mention of the annoying mutt. I filed away that thought for later. He had a habit of practicing on the neighbor’s dog.

Emma’s mom put her hands on her hips and glanced up the street. “Well, he got out again— somehow. Let me know if you see him.”

With no voice to question Parker about the disappearing dog, I waved goodbye. I settled behind the wheel and encouraged the engine of my hunk-of-junk car while it struggled to life.

Parker slammed the door. “Hey, can we go through the drive-thru and get me a bacon and egg biscuit? I didn’t actually have time to eat breakfast.”

I momentarily considered banging my face against the wheel. Okay, so maybe I’d be able to catch the last half of third period. If I was lucky.

****

I trudged across the campus at Northwestern. Probably the only perk of having parents who were professors was that they could arrange for time in the well-equipped lab.

Both my parents worked as History professors at the university but their real jobs involved the history of our kind and most importantly, finding the answer every witch except me was so desperate to discover. How to access the unlimited power beneath our feet. I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I found it. Probably unintentionally blow up a city.

College students hustled by me in groups of twos and threes, laughing and chatting. Oh, to be a simple college student, where if you failed your finals, evil witches didn’t fry your brain.

I cleared my throat and pasted a smile on my face. Thankfully, the spell my mom put on me that morning had worn off by the end of my fourth period class so at least I could speak again. As I rounded the corner to the Biology lab, I stopped in the doorway. At the desk, with his feet propped on the corner was not the slightly overweight, perpetually rumpled, Professor Cho that I’d met at faculty dinners. Instead of polyester, the long legs were covered in faded denim and in the place of Dr. Cho’s cowboy boots there was a pair of well used Chucks.

He glanced up from the worn textbook he held. Brown eyes, so deep and vibrant, they looked more like molten copper, met mine. And held. My feet were still rooted in the doorway, while my neurons sputtered to a halt. I forgot how to talk, how to smile, how to even think.

He blinked, breaking my trance, and returned his attention to the book’s pages. I filled my straining lungs with air, only then realizing that I’d also forgotten how to breathe, while I took in the rest of him. Let’s just say concentrating on my lab might be a problem.

I could only describe him as dark. Hair, eyes, clothes, and attitude. He continued to read from the book in his hand. “So, I hear you like to ditch class then make people stay late to help you get your grade up.”

The deep rustle of his voice elicited a surprisingly warm tingle in my stomach that his words quickly eliminated. “I missed class because I was sick, not that it’s any of your business.”

His gaze lifted from the page and meandered up my body to rest on my face. One eyebrow and matching corner of his lips pulled up. “Yeah, you look pretty bad. You should have stayed in bed.”

Already taut, the muscles in my shoulders and neck tightened like guitar strings. The tension spread to my skull, ready to snap. Coping skills, remember your coping skills. Whenever I was nervous, or in most cases angry, my tongue tended to completely bypass my brain, and no telling what would fly out. I counted to ten and managed a civil tone. “Did you have somewhere you needed to be?”

He dropped his feet to the floor, and laid the textbook, a well-used copy of Human Genes and Disease, on the table. A clown-like smile spread across his face and forced joviality filled his voice. “Are you crazy? Why would I want to go to a study group for my midterm when I could be here with you?”

I glanced back at the textbook and the pages of notes spread across the desk underneath. I walked to the microscope on the bench, got out my notebook, and tried to swallow the acid in my throat. While his words smarted, I could understand the frustration behind them. “Feel free to go.”

He set two beakers on the bench with more force than necessary. “The professor had better places to be so he asked me to stay, and when he asks you to do something you don’t say no if you want to get a good recommendation for grad school. You won’t have to worry about recommendations, I’m sure. Your parents will bail you out then too.”

All right he needed to be knocked down a peg or three. I cocked my head to the side. “Let me make sure I got this right. Professor Cho is the scientist and you run around doing whatever he says. So that makes you…what? His little minion?”

He paused, as if a bit shocked I’d come up with a stinger.

I let a saccharine grin spread across my face before I turned my attention to my research project on blood cells. If he wanted to think I was some spoiled little rich kid, let him. I didn’t have the time or inclination to prove otherwise. I dropped my notebook on the lab bench. With his looks he was probably used to girls falling all over him, unable to come up with a coherent sentence, much less a comeback. Newsflash, not this girl.

After a few minutes of silence, his voice startled me. “I’m Jax, by the way.”

I glanced up from focusing the microscope. A truce? “I’m Maddie.”

He nodded then waved to the high-tech scope in front of me. “Let me know if you need help. Those can be a pain to get in focus, but they are way better than what you are used to in the high school lab.”

“I think I've got it, but I’ll let you know.”

He crossed his arms then started pacing.

I pricked my finger and squeezed a drop of blood on the slide. Disk-like red blood cells floated through my field of vision under the scope. With my notes out and timer ready, I placed a drop of 10% saline solution on the blood while watching the cells under the microscope. Almost immediately the cells shriveled, or crenated, turning into tiny blood cell raisins. I documented the reaction and time it took and went to the next solution, a 9% saline.

Ten drops of blood and ten slides later, Jax finally

quit his pacing and leaned against the wall with his book. From his vantage point he could watch my progress.

I forced my brain to shut out everything but the blood cells in front of me. Well, almost everything. I couldn’t keep myself from glancing up to see if he was watching me. Flippin’ distracting. Plus, his biceps flexed in an oh-so-luscious way every time he turned a page. Not that I was watching. He was a total jerk.

His hovering grated on my already frazzled nerves. I wanted out of there even more than he did. Thirty minutes later, my rushed fingers fumbled the beaker of pure water, my last solution, and sent it flying to the floor with a crash. Shards of glass flew in a twelve-foot radius around the puddle of water.

Both of us jumped.

I covered my eyes with a hand and blew out a breath. “Genius Maddie, maybe a monkey would have been better at this experiment.”

Jax’s attention settled on me, and for a moment his eyes seemed to assess me. Without the expected snide comment, he grabbed the broom from the corner and swept the shards into a pile.

“Sorry about the mess,” I apologized. I was used to making messes but it was way worse in front of hot college guys.

I got more distilled water from the dispenser on the counter and rushed to finish the last slide. My hands trembled, from embarrassment or anger I didn’t know. I focused the lens and dropped the water. The cells immediately burst, or lysed, leaving a red fog under the scope. I scribbled the result and slammed my notebook shut then gathered up my equipment to put it away. “Hey, you want to see something cool?” Jax asked, in a voice that had considerably less of a jerk undertone than before.

I blinked a few times and tried to figure out if he was making fun of me or trying to make me feel better for breaking the flask. “That’s okay, you have to get to your study group.”

He waved it off, and what seemed to be a genuine smile rested on his lips. “It was over twenty minutes ago. This is cool, just watch.”

Must be a guy’s version of an apology, I thought. Still hesitant, I stepped to the side. He pricked his finger and squeezed a drop of blood on a clean slide and set it under the double-sided microscope. It had two sets of oculars so we could both see the slide at the same time. He took a brown vial from the store room and motioned for me to look through the lens.

Curious, I bent my head to my set of lenses while Jax adjust the scope. His floating red blood cells came into focus out of the red haze. With his head only a few inches from my own, my nose caught a spicy scent. My stomach tightened. So what if he smelled good. He was still a jerk.

He opened the vial and squeezed out a single drop. The instant the solution hit the blood not only did the cells begin to explode one at a time, they produced bubbles until the entire slide was a bubbling foaming mess. I’d never seen blood react that violently.

“Cool, what’s in there?” I motioned to the vial.

“My own special cocktail. Professor Cho asked me to mix something up to impress the freshmen on the first day of class.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

“Want to see it again?”

I paused but found it impossible not to return his grin. “Definitely.”

I pricked my finger and got the slide ready. He dropped the solution on my blood, and we waited for the cells to start bursting. Nothing happened.

Several beats passed. I glanced up to meet Jax’s confused look. Unsure of what to say, I turned back to the microscope. Tiny lights began to appear inside each blood cell. In a matter of seconds, they glowed like miniscule stars flying through the solution. The light intensified, glaring out of the tiny cells.

“What the hell?” Jax asked.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the blood. Finally, I straightened, tears running down my face from the blinding light. I met his wide-eyed gaze over the top of the gleaming scope. The slide cast pink light up to the ceiling, leaving the room in a rosy glow.

“How?” he stammered.

I opened my mouth without a clue as to what to tell Jax. A loud pop saved me the trouble. Smoke twisted up from the cracked slide as the light faded. A nasty burned-meat smell wafted up to my nostrils. Only one thought made it through the frozen neurons in my brain.

Get out of here.

Interview with Emily: About Emily I grew up loving to escape to the fantasy world in books. While other kids were out and about I loved hanging out at the library. At the age of twelve, I began writing after I had a series of extremely vivid dreams that begged to be made onto a story.

In high school and college I focused on science and graduated with a degree in environmental biology.

After college I began writing again, but quickly realized I had failed to take a single writing or grammar class. Luckily, I'm a quick learner.

I now enjoys making up stories and can’t seem to leave out the paranormal elements because they are just too much fun. To learn more about Emily and her writing, check out her author website at https://www.emilybybeebooks.com/ What's your favorite thing about writing in the fantasy genre? Do you write in any other genres? I love making the magic seem like it could be real. It is so fun to mix a touch of my science background in and come up with plausible explanations for the unexplainable! I do write in other genres but have not published those books yet. First to be out will probably be a romantic suspense. Where do you see this series going? How many books do you have planned for it? There are going to be six books in the series with two definite novellas and a possibility of two more. Have you written any books not in the Unstable Magic series? Not that are available to buy but hopefully soon! How did publishing your first book change your process of writing? Getting published makes it so that you have to write a story and edit then move on. You can’t spend five years working on the same story. The good thing is with each novel you write you get better at it and hopefully don’t need five years! What's one book/author you don't think gets enough love? I have loved Nevada Barr for years. She is about the best I’ve seen with descriptions, and not only did I enjoy her stories (mysteries) I learned a lot from her. She can take you from your cozy living room to a freezing camp and make you need a blanket and want to drink cocoa in the middle of summer! That’s amazing writing, if you ask me. How much of yourself do you put into your books? Years ago, I would have said none of myself besides the science but now after writing multiple books I see that the themes that are going on in my life end up in my books. Find out someone I thought was my friend is not? A secret enemy ends up in my books! I even used the knowledge about power grids that I learned helping my husband study in one of my books. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. Do you have a day job other than being a writer? I have worked over the years but due to homeschooling my daughter then a car accident I’ve been home for a couple years now. Are you a member of any writing groups? I am the Co-communications chair for RMFW so I write the weekly newsletter and work on the board of directors for various projects. What was your favorite scene to write and why? My favorite scene I’ve written so far is the climax scene in Echoes of Magic. I had a picture in my head the entire time I was writing that book and it turned out better than I could have hoped. My editor called me in a tizzy because she ended up staying up late because she had to keep reading and was so worked up after she finished. I took that as a win! What do you think most characterizes your writing? I love writing about the underdog—the person who you don’t think has a chance of winning and may be the worst person for the job but they’re stuck in that situation. I also love putting some humor in so I can’t keep out the snarky characters. My books are meant to be fun and enjoyable but underneath the characters are dealing with real issues just like readers. What was the hardest part of writing this book? The hardest part for me is having too many ideas and making myself focus on the book in front of me. I have about twelve other books in my head wanting to get out that have nothing to do with the Unstable Magic series. If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be? Don’t worry so much about what other people think. I was told no one would want to read a paranormal with science in it. Well, guess what? About everyone who’s read them love them so now I write what I love. Don't miss these other books in Emily's Unstable Magic series:

Winter of Wonder Giveaway

Halloween is over, the sugar coma is wearing off, and the temperatures are dropping toward winter. As we move into November, I've decided to combine my love of all things fantasy with some of my favorite parts of the winter holidays:

Community: Rather than talking up my own books with this promotion, I asked local fantasy authors to donate signed copies of their works. Each week between now and the winner selection I will spotlight one of these authors and their writings on my blog. Be sure to check back every Monday for a new post so you can get to know these fresh faces.

Gratitude: A lot of people have responded to my request that they follow me on BookBub lately, and I really appreciate it, so I wanted to give something back to all those people who answered my call. Therefore, this contest is open to anyone who follows me on BookBub. (Not a follower yet? Not a problem. Just sign up here before the winner is drawn for your chance to win this awesome bundle.)

Gift-giving: There's nothing better than giving a person something they enjoy. Heck, that's why I write books in the first place! I love the idea that I'm providing people with the same joy and entertainment that I get whenever I read a really good story. In this case, I'm giving away FOUR books, plus a fairy tote bag, a beautiful journal, and a bunch of other fun swag. Anyone who likes stories of fantasy and magic (and I'm assuming those of you following me on BookBub do since that's what I write) should get hours of entertainment out of this awesome "Winter of Wonder" gift bundle. Here's a list of what all I'm giving away in this fantasy-themed prize package:

A signed copy of Fractured Magic by Emily Bybee A signed copy of When Magic Calls by Caitlin Berve A signed copy of Farhi by Daniel A. Willis A copy of The Cruel Prince by Holly Black (alas, this one isn't signed) A fairy canvas tote bag (to carry all your new books) A small journal with an embossed cover and a metal latch A Dragonscale keychain from Wimsi Design A When Magic Calls button pin A Supernatural "Join the Hunt" fridge magnet An L.R. Braden "Foxy Author" sticker Various bookmarks Due to shipping costs, I'm only able to offer this prize package to residents of the continental US. The winner will be selected randomely from all entries and be contacted by email on November 30th. I'll then make arrangements to ship the prizes to them. (see contest details for full terms and conditions)

Now, without further ado . . . THE ENTRY FORM: a Rafflecopter giveaway