Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 382

Guest Blog and Giveaway: Ghost Love by Nelli Rees

GHOSTS, GHOULIES AND THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE MOSCOW NIGHTS

Privet! (That’s Russian for “Hi!”).
I’m Nelli Rees and my first novel “Ghost Love” is out now, published by Phaze, billed as a ‘romantic thriller with a flavoring of the supernatural’. “Ghost Love” has two intertwined stories set twenty years apart these following the adventures of a Russian girl, Tonia, as she discovers that true love really does conquer all … even death.
Being Russian I guess it’s inevitable I should be drawn to the supernatural. The Russians’ love affair with the paranormal goes back a long way. In Norse legends there were two races of people: the warlike Aesir and the fey Vanir. According to the Icelandic chronicler Snorri Sturluson, the source of our knowledge of the Norse myths, the Vanir lived in Vanaheimr that he etymologizes as the “Land of the Don-People”, and the Don is one of Russia’s great rivers. The inference is that Russians have Vanir blood running in their veins.
So it’s hardly surprising that one of the major figures in the psychical ‘sciences’ is a Russian, Helena Petrovna Blavatsky. Blavatsky came to prominence in the late nineteenth century, as an occultist who claimed to possess powers enabling her to commune with the spirits inhabiting the Summerworld, the transcendental world beyond human consciousness. Whilst she was unmasked in later life to be something of a charlatan there is a strong body of opinion that when she was young Blavatsky had immense psychical abilities, these diminishing with age. This, apparently, is why Blavatsky resorted to trickery in later life, unable to bear the thought of being seen as “normal”. Whatever the truth, I have much sympathy with the teachings of the Theosophical Society she founded whose motto, “There is no Religion higher than Truth” is one all of us − scientists included − would do well to follow.
And then, of course, there is Rasputin. The rumor is that Rasputin was a starets – a Holy Man – of the khlysty sect active in Russia a century ago. Deep in the Siberian forest the dividing line between Christianity and paganism became blurred, the peasants there following dvoeverie – dual faith – the merging of Seidr magic (the magic of the Norse) with Christianity. The khlysty taught that sin is the most effective means of finding God: in a righteous person sin is always followed by great suffering, this resulting in repentance thus bringing the soul nearer to God. This is why the khlysty indulged in radenie or group sinning (better described as an orgy where the participants’ sexual inhibitions are eliminated by dancing, scourging and alcohol). This ecstatic dancing is an echo of the seething of Seidrkonas, the Vanir witches who were the most powerful exponents of Seidr magic.

So with this sort of cultural heritage to draw on is it any wonder I had to flavor “Ghost Love” with a hint of the paranormal. That’s what we daughters of the Vanir are apt to do. Isn’t it...?

Ghost LoveNelli Rees
Genre: Romance (with a hint of the paranormal)
Publisher: Phaze
Date of Publication: 20th January 2015
ISBN: ISBN-13 978-1-60659-849-8ASIN: B00SNYRXH8
Number of pages: 332Word Count: 90,000
Cover Artist: Niki BrowningBook Description:
In the madcap, chaotic days when Communism crumbled in the USSR, Tonia meets and falls in love with Englishman, Peter Monroe. Despite the protests of her family and the more strenuousobjections of the KGB Tonia agrees to marry Peter only for him to mysteriously disappear.
Twenty years later a life-toughened Toni must revisit these bitter-sweet memories when she finds herself and her daughters endangered by the consequences of that love affair.
In her despair Toni comes to realise that true love really does conquer all … even death.
Available at   Phaze   Amazon   BN   ARe

Excerpt:  Prologue
Present Day: Dorset, England
Excitement being a kindred spirit to fear, Toni was undecided as to whether it was a trickle of fear she felt shivering down her spine or a trickle of excitement.As she sat staring at the screen of her laptop, the darkness shrouding the room seemed to draw in on her: her head swam, her palms became clammy. Tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away, hoping that by doing so the message on her screen would disappear. It didn’t.
Peter Monroe wants to be friends on Facebook
Hesitantly she maneuvered the cursor over the ‘connect’ button and pressed ‘enter.’ The screen mutated to show the Facebook page for ‘Peter Monroe.’ It was Peter! She recognized the profile photograph instantly. She’d taken it. She remembered posing him in front of the bandstand in Gorki Park on that spring day back in 1990, remembered laughing at the stupid faces he pulled, remembered the way his long chestnut hair flopped over his forehead, remembered…How could she forget? He had been her one true love.Love. A word made empty by misuse…by overuse. She wondered how many had ever endured the touch of real love, that soul-eviscerating sensation that comes when you know you have found your soul-mate. Very few, she decided. Perhaps this was all for the good: true love brought anguish in equal measure to joy. As the last twenty years had taught her, finding true love was a bitter-sweet blessing. Her fingers trembled as she typed.Is it really you, Peter?The reply was instantaneous.Yes…I’ve missed you, Tonia.She couldn’t stop herself: the tears flowed down her cheeks.But…She paused, terrified that what she would type next might cause this marvelous mirage to vanish.But I thought you were dead.The seconds ticked by, then:
I am. About the Author:
Nelli Rees, born in Moscow, trained as a linguist and a musician. With her future husband Englishman Rod she worked and travelled around Russia, finally coming to live in England in 1998. Nelli has had several successful careers: recording a critically acclaimed nu-jazz album “Jazz Noir”, becoming an award-winning jewellery maker, writing a book “Glass Bead Jewelry Projects”, and doing all this whilst being a mother and a wife. “Ghost Love” is Nelli’s first novel and draws heavily on her own experiences as a young woman in Soviet Russia and the obstacles she and her husband-to-be faced during those difficult times.
www.ghostlovebynellirees.wordpress.com
https://www.facebook.com/nellirees.author  
https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/32558285-nelli-rees   
Video of Nelli performing "Falling In Love Again":https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2J5Phukc8Y








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Cover Reveal Amber Prelude by Kevin B. Henry

Amber PreludeAmber GiftsPrequelKevin B. Henry
Genre: Fantasy, Time Travel, Science Fiction, and History
Publisher: Burst/ Champagne Books
Date of Publication: June 01, 2015
Word Count: 20,000
Formats available: eBook, PDF
Cover Artist: Ellie Smith
Book Description:
Mitchell didn't really believe the story the Man told him, Just take a sip and speak a year. He whimsically chose a historic event to witness. Little did he know he would become part of that history. Faster than you can say Teithwyr Amser our man Mitchell is chasing a bona fide assassin not only across America but across time.
Amber Prelude will require Mitchell to travel from the America he knows to France and Africa. He will travel to decades and centuries he is unfamiliar with. Mitchell will chase authentic villains and make historic friends, all in an attempt to set history back the way he remembers.
About the Author:
From an early age, Kevin B. Henry was a voracious reader. His collection of science fiction, fantasy and mystery books bring tears of envy to the eyes of many small community libraries.
Kevin has worked as an educator, technology specialist and day laborer most of his adult life. During all that time he lived the life of a frustrated author. That it took 30 years for him to piece together the series, Amber Gifts is a testament that the best meals need slow cooking to bring out the flavor.
The Amber Gifts Series begins with Amber Gifts. The second story, which is really the first, is Amber Prelude, and is available now. The third story, Amber Legacy continues where Amber Gifts left off. It will be available in November 2015. All are published by the wonderful folks at the Champagne Book Group. A fourth story is in the process of being written.
Kevin is a natural story teller, so it’s logical that he lectures occasionally. Topics range from the implementation of cutting edge technology hardware to the creation, modification and use of e-books within education. He constantly pursues research to expand his range of possible topics. His most recent research revolved around the aerodynamic properties of reindeer. He’s also been known to include little known facts and trivia within his presentations. Did you know just 146 years ago today the Union Army marched into Atlanta. It took longer than anticipated. They were delayed by a traffic jam on I-75 and the toll booth on Ga. 400
He continues to live in the Mid-West without human or domesticated mammal companionship.
Blog/Wesbite: www.ambergifts.blogspot.com
Twitter:        @Kevin_Henry
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AmberGifts

Chaos and Moonlight by A.D. Marrow

Guest Characterpost:
Hi everyone out there in reader land! My name is A.D. Marrow and I am the author of Chaos and Moonlight, the first book in The Order of The Nines series. Taris, the hero of book one and legendary life-­‐saver, agreed to grab a cup of coffee with me to chat about life, love and ultimately what it is that makes him tick.Thanks for carving out some time for me today, guy.Legendary life-­‐saver?
Well, it’s true, isn’t it?I wouldn’t say legendary though. That’s a bit lofty.
I didn’t realize modesty was your strong suit.I didn’t realize over-­‐exaggeration was yours. I’m a writer, Taris. Let’s get with the program, here.*Taris gives me a wink as he takes a sip of his coffee and I’m immediately thankful that we are both in long-­‐term, committed relationships. Gah, those eyes.*So, questions. You wanna get to it?Yes.
Fire away.
So, tell us a little bit about your story.…but you know the story. You wrote it.
But the readers might not yet. Geez, guy. Help me out here. I’m trying to get more ladies to love you.I already have a beautiful lady, thank you.
*He smiles again and there’s a brief glint of fang that peeks out. Melt. Like. Buttah.*Because I love you, I will cooperate.  Um, I’m 801 years old. Had a birthday recently. That makes me the oldest living vampire. Let’s see. We were basically dying out until I saw a TV interview of my lovely wife-­‐to-­‐be where she said she developed an anti-­‐rejection thing that would prevent donor patients from rejecting organs. That it happened to work for vampires was a bonus. We got together, some sparks flew, some lives were lost. There’s the story.*I’m doing my best not to snort out coffee at this point. He’s so nonchalant about the whole thing. The second I manage to swallow, his hand slides across the table and covers mine*How are you doing, by the way? Things okay now?*I can’t answer him because there is a sudden flood of unshedtears choking in my throat. I know he’s talking about all of the years thathe watched over me when I was fighting my own monster. I simply nod.*Good.  You know I can’t leave you behind.*It’s this constant protector side of Taris that makes me love him, even fifteen years after I first met him. I regain my composure and move onto the next question*Tell me a little bit about Sarah.
*He smiles again and those gorgeous amber-­‐colored eyes of his seemto light up. He brushes a long lock of hair out of his face*She’s magic—everything about her. Just…I thought I’d seen all of the amazing things that this world had to offer until I met her. I thought I knew what completion was but she sasses her way in and BOOM. Everything falls apart and rebuilds itself bigger and better. I can feel her running through my veins every minute of every day and it’s amazing. You know, how you
feel when something bad is happening and you wish with all of your heart that someone or something would come along so that you can grab ahold and anchor yourself?I may know a bit what that feels like, yeah.
That’s how I feel when I think about her. I was so bad off that I didn’t know how to save myself but after she showed up, I felt like I could do anything because I knew she had my back.*He stops talking and squeezes my hand. It finally dawns on him that yes, I do know what that feels like because Taris was that anchor for me.*She’s my…me, I guess.That doesn’t make any sense.
It does to you.This interview is very confusing.
But it’s honest, and that’s what readers want, isn’t it? An honest story, no matter how fantastical it may seem.*I clear my throat*
So what is next for the two of you or for The Nines ingeneral?I’d hate to say you have to read it, but that’s the only way I can do it without spoilers. I will tell you that there will be a wedding soon.Yours?Not telling.
Why are you so complicated?
*He leans forward, his dark hair falling into his face and through the curtain, he gives me a devilish grin*
Because you made me this way…
Chaos and MoonlightOrder of the NinesBook 1A.D. Marrow
Genre: Fantasy
Publisher: Full Fathom Five Digital
Date of Publication: May 6th, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-63370-053-6 (epub)ISBN: 978-1-63370-054-3 (mobi)ASIN: B00U9QUJ9W
Number of pages: 280Word Count: 91,993
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde Media
Book Description:
The Nines, an elite group of vampires, was established to stand as protection for their race. Fractured by centuries of betrayal and loss, the group is now little more than myth, its remaining members scarred and shattered.
Taris, the oldest living vampire, is no stranger to loss and heartbreak. He is all that holds the Nines together as they struggle to save themselves from total extinction.Enter the beautiful and brilliant Dr. Sarah Bridgeman, whose medical research has resulted in a breakthrough for both humans and vampires. Her work may be the salvation this weary band of guardians has been looking for.
Taris needs to reach Sarah and enlist her help—before those aligned against him can act. Can a vampire king convince a stunning young scientist to save a species that isn’t even supposed to exist?
For now, only one thing is certain: no science can explain the explosive chemistry between them.
Chaos and Moonlight is the first installment in the Order of the Nines series, and is A. D. Marrow’s debut novel.
Available at   Amazon    iTunes    BN    Kobo

Add it on Goodreads


Excerpt: "It was several minutes before Sarah realized she wasn’t dreaming. The tall guy in her room, the creepy guy on the stairs, all of it had been real. After about five miles of telling herself to wake up, then looking at the tall guy who was driving, then pinching herself, then telling herself to wake up again, then looking at the tall guy some more, reality and the promise of a full-fledged panic attack set in.     “I swear, if you let me go, I won’t tell anyone, okay?” Sarah finally found her voice. She had a moment where she thought that maybe this was a dream again, judging by the way the driver of the car looked. He was dark and mysterious, chiseled from head to toe—she should know, she all but crawled into him when they were running away from that other guy. She couldn’t make out much in the dark of the truck’s cab, but even in the faint light of the street lamps, something about this guy made her feel different. Maybe it was his voice—that deep, gravelly, slightly British voice. Maybe it was the smell that came off him, that man-mixed-with-leather-and-aftershave smell.     “Who are you?” Her damned voice box rebelled against her and her question came out in a whisper.    He was focused on the road, his eyes never leaving it as he maneuvered the giant diesel truck in and out of the one a.m. traffic. “I’ll explain everything when we get to where we are going. In the meantime, just sit back and try to relax, okay?”    “Relax? Okay, yeah. I was taken out of my bed in the middle of the night by some guy I don’t even know, and then I was chased up the stairwell by a Sherman tank of a drag queen, and you tell me to relax? Yeah right, pal! Listen, seriously, whatever ransom you’re asking for, I can pay it. Just bring me to an ATM, and you can have whatever you want, okay? Just let me go.”    “It’s not that simple, Dr. Bridgeman.”    “The hell it’s not. Look, just let me out, and anything you want, it’s yours. Cross my heart, I won’t tell a soul you took me.” She made a little crisscross motion over her heart.    “Like I said, Dr. Bridgeman, it’s not that simple. I don’t need your money. I need you to do a job for me. That Sherman tank drag queen apparently wants you to do the same job. I think, circumstances being what they are, you might want to consider working for me.”    “Work, my ass.” Sarah mumbled to herself. “Who the hell are you, anyway? And what job could I possibly do for you? I’m a medical researcher, you dickhead.”    He didn’t bother looking at her. He took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh.    “My name is Taris. I’m an eight-hundred-year-old vampire, and I need you to use your medical research to help me stop the slow yet brutal extinction of a race of people who really do exist but are made into horror movie villains and romance novel heroes.”When he was met with silence, he glanced over to see her passed out cold in the seat.     “I knew it wouldn’t work.”







About the Author:
A.D. Marrow is a registered Sapiophile, a proud geek since before geek was chic, and believes that everyone deserves a happily ever after.
She lives in the foothills of North Carolina with her ridiculously hot and amazingly supportive husband, three kids that rock so hard there should be a national holiday for their awesomeness, two really stupid dogs and a plethora of Post-it notes with book ideas to last her until she’s 90.
Her childhood dream is realized in the fact that YOU have cause to read her bio. She hopes that one day, it lends her enough credibility to live out her second dream, which is to write an episode of Doctor Who.
Her personal mantra echoes that of Morticia Addams: “Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.”
https://www.facebook.com/authorADMarrow
Twitter: @admarrow

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Spotlight and Giveaway Scent of the Soul by Julie Doherty

Scent of the SoulJulie Doherty
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Date of Publication:  February 11, 2015
ISBN:  978-1-61935-705-1ASIN: B00SZ0SKUE
Number of pages: 288Word Count:  91,000
Cover Artist: Leah Suttle
Book Description: 
In twelfth century Scotland, it took a half-Gael with a Viking name to restore the clans to their rightful lands. Once an exile, Somerled the Mighty now dominates the west. He’s making alliances, expanding his territory, and proposing marriage to the Manx princess.
It’s a bad time to fall for Breagha, a torc-wearing slave with a supernatural sense of smell.
Somerled resists the intense attraction to a woman who offers no political gain, and he won’t have a mistress making demands on him while he’s negotiating a marriage his people need. Besides, Breagha belongs to a rival king, one whose fresh alliance Somerled can’t afford to lose.
It’s when Breagha vanishes that Somerled realizes just how much he needs her. He abandons his marriage plans to search for her, unprepared for the evil lurking in the shadowy recesses of Ireland—a lustful demon who will stop at nothing to keep Breagha for himself.
Book Trailer:  https://youtu.be/dBuB3WC3FGU

Available at   Amazon    Amazon UK    Amazon Canada
Excerpt: As Godred’s oarsmen shoved off from the jetty, Somerled wondered if there was any man less suitable to deliver a marriage proposal. Godred of Dublin was coarse, marginally Christian—indeed, marginally sane—and easily riled. Nevertheless, King Olaf liked him, and for that reason alone, Somerled had selected him as his envoy.“No side trips,” Somerled shouted before Godred was too far away to hear. “Ye have three places to go and that’s it: the Isle of Man, your clan, and back here.” Godred was prone to unscheduled detours.Unless bad weather or the scent of easy plunder pulled Godred and his thirty oarsmen off course, Somerled would have Olaf’s answer in a few days. If Olaf agreed to the marriage, Somerled would add a wife to the items decorating his new castle at Finlaggan and eventually, the Isle of Man to his expanding area of influence.The nobles would respect him then. Half-breed or not.Behind him, a door squealed on one of the two guardhouses standing sentinel over the Sound of Islay. The small building spat out Hakon, his chief guard, another man of Dublin birth and temperament. Hakon strode the length of the jetty to join him. “I have every confidence the Norns will weave Godred a successful journey, my lord king,” he said, his words puffing white clouds above his tawny sheepskin cape.“If your goddesses have woven anything, it’s an unfortunate headwind,” Somerled said. “Godred is forced to tack.” He closed his cloak and secured it at his throat with a brooch he once plucked from a Viking who no longer needed it. “The wind promises hail. My proposal will be delayed.”“Aye, likely,” Hakon said, his hair and beard whipping into copper clouds, “but it will hasten Olaf’s reply. Do not despair, my lord. Ragnhilde will marry ye soon enough.”Despair? Somerled stifled a laugh. Did Hakon think he had feelings for a lassie he had never met? He was about to tease his guard about being a romantic when Hakon stiffened.“Another ship,” Hakon said, looking past Somerled’s shoulder.Somerled spun around to inspect the northwestern waters of the channel separating Jura and Islay—the jewel of the Hebrides and the island that served as the seat of his burgeoning kingdom. “Where?” he asked, squinting.Hakon thrust a finger toward the fog bank blanketing the horizon. “There, at the promontory, in that pale blue strip of water. See it?”At first, Somerled saw nothing but swooping terns and ranks of swells. Then, an unadorned sail appeared. It crested on a wave, dipped low, and vanished.“Should I sound the horn?” Hakon asked.Somerled raked his fingers through the coarse, wheaten mess slapping at his eyes and held it at his nape while he considered his response. Behind them, the signal tower on Ben Vicar was smoke-free. Across the sound, the towers on the frosty Paps of Jura were likewise unlit, although clouds partially obscured their peaks. The Paps had a commanding view. If a signal fire blazed anywhere, the men stationed there would have seen it and lit their own.“My lord king, should I sound the horn?” Hakon impatiently palmed the battle horn dangling at his broad chest.Men began to gather on the jetty.“Let us wait. It is only one ship, and it looks to be a trader. The signal fires would blaze by now if it were someone worthy of our concern.” Somerled glanced back at the mud and thatch cottages shouldering against one another. At their doors, the bows of half his impressive fleet rested on the shoreline, a sandy slip extending well into the distance. The rest of his ships sheltered at the far side of Islay, in Loch Indaal. A signal fire would deploy them quickly and, perhaps, needlessly.“Alert the village. Have Cormac ready Dragon’s Claw,” he said, “but send only the nyvaigs for now.” The nyvaigs were smaller, but no less deadly. They would be out and back quickly.Hakon sprinted through the gathering crowd and past the guardhouses. He leapt over a pile of rocks with surprising agility for a man of his years and size. In no time, specialized warriors and oarsmen were boarding the boats. A pony thundered inland, its rider instructed to warn, not panic, the people of Finlaggan.Though Somerled carried his mighty sword, he had dressed for warmth, not battle. His mail shirt, aketon, and helmet hung in his bedchamber, two miles away in Finlaggan. He singled out a boy in the crowd. “Lad, find me a helmet and a shield, and be quick about it.”The boy shot like an arrow toward the cottages.Somerled held his breath as he watched the nyvaigs head out. At the first flash of steel, he would blow the battle horn. His men would light the towers and he would board Dragon’s Claw. The foreigner would be sorry he entered the Sound of Islay.The ship’s features were barely discernible, but he could see that its high prow lacked a figurehead. He was trying to identify the banner fluttering on its masthead when the ship’s sail dropped and scattered gulls like chaff in the wind. His heart hammered against his chest as he waited for the foreign vessel to sprout oars; it didn’t. It stalled—a sign its crew had dropped anchor.Dragon’s Claw bobbed next to him at the jetty, her top rail lined with colorful shields and her benches holding sixty-four of his savage warriors. Cormac gripped the tiller, but he would move aside when Somerled barked the order to do so. He would serve as his own shipmaster in the face of an enemy.Low and curvy with a dragon’s head exhaling oaken flames from her prow, Dragon’s Claw was his favorite vessel, not because she was new or particularly seaworthy, but because he had wrenched her from the last Viking to leave his father’s lands.The memory of that battle warmed him and occupied his thoughts while the nyvaigs swarmed around the foreigner. Then, they swung about, furled their sails, and rowed for home like many-legged insects skittering on the water’s surface.When the boats reached the beach, Hakon jumped from his nyvaig and jogged through ankle-deep water, apparently too impatient to wait for his men to haul the vessel’s keel onto the sand. “Well, my lord king,” he said, “it seems to be the day for marriage proposals. It is an envoy from Moray, who comes at the behest of Malcolm. He asks to speak with ye regarding Bethoc.”“Malcolm MacHeth . . . the Malcolm MacHeth . . . wants my sister?”He had met Malcolm MacHeth only once, at King David’s court, on a night spoiled by ill-bred lassies who had mocked his foreign garb and speech. Malcolm, a bastard nephew of the Scots king, had observed his humiliation and pretended not to notice.Yet here was Malcolm of Moray, a claimant to the Scottish throne and a known rebel, seeking Bethoc’s hand in marriage. Tainted bloodline or not, Somerled was apparently worthy of notice now.



About the Author:
Something magical happened in the musty basement of Julie Doherty’s local courthouse. She went there intending to research her ancestry, not lose herself in a wealth of stories, but the ghosts of yesteryear drew her into the past and would not let her go. The trail left by her ancestors in those yellowing documents led her from rural Pennsylvania to the Celtic countries, where her love of all things Irish/Scottish blossomed into outright passion.
She became particularly interested in Somerled, self-styled "King of Argyll" and progenitor of the Lords of the Isles. In 1164, he led a fleet of 164 galleys up the River Clyde in an all-or-nothing attempt to overthrow the Scottish crown. What would lead a man of his advanced years to do such a thing?
Of course, history records he did so because the king demanded forfeiture of his lands. But the writer in Julie wondered ...what if he did it for the love of a woman?
Those early ponderings led to SCENT OF THE SOUL, Julie’s first novel, coming soon from Soul Mate Publishing.
Readers will notice a common theme throughout Julie’s books: star-crossed lovers. This is something she knows a bit about, since during one of her trips to Ireland, she fell in love with an Irishman. The ensuing immigration battle took four long years to win. With only fleeting visits, Skype chats, and emails to sustain her love, Julie poured her heartache into her writing, where it nourished the emotional depth of her characters.
Julie is a member of Pennwriters, Romance Writers of America, Central PA Romance Writers, The Longship Company, Perry County Council of the Arts, and Clan Donald USA. When not writing, she enjoys antiquing, shooting longbow, traveling, and cooking over an open fire at her cabin. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, who sounds a lot like her characters.
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/532434.Julie_Doherty
http://twitter.com/SquareSails
http://www.facebook.com/juliedohertywrites
http://www.juliedoherty.com

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Interview and Giveaway Town from Hell by T.W. Kirchner

Can you tell readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?

Besides writing, I like doing anything creative including painting, drawing, photography, and making crafts. I love putting together book trailers and made one that’s on YouTube for Town from Hell. I also like staying active with tennis, yoga, hiking and walking the dogs. I love animals and have four dogs, two cats, a guinea pig and several aquariums. I also volunteer at the local shelter. I was inspired to write a supernatural/horror because I enjoy reading and watching both.

What is it about the paranormal that fascinates you so much?

I really don’t know why I like paranormal. I just remember that ever since I was little, I loved watching Frankenstein, werewolf and Dracula movies. I also liked reruns of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, the Munsters and the Addams Family.

What inspired you to write this book?

Honestly, I wanted to write a book that my daughter, Marisa, would want to read. She’s a horror/supernatural buff, too.

Please tell us about your latest release.

Dagger & Brimstone: Town from Hell tells the story of what happens when seventeen-year-olds Racer and Arloe try to go off the grid so they can have the perfect summer together without their parents interfering. As you can gather from the title, they should have probably researched the vacation spot better. Everyone in town is hiding a secret, but so is Arloe.

Do you have a special formula for creating characters' names? Do you try to match a name with a certain meaning to attributes of the character or do you search for names popular in certain time periods or regions?

Some of my characters are named after family and friends. In my Pirates Off series, Tommy is named after my son, and Connor and Dil are his good friends although they’re his brothers in the book. Francois l’Olonnais was a real pirate, and I searched French baby names in the appropriate time periods to get the names Fleurie and Cosette. For Town from Hell, my friend Hillery suggested the name Arloe and I found Racer in a baby names book. 

Do you have a formula for developing characters? Like do you create a character sketch or list of attributes before you start writing or do you just let the character develop as you write?

I usually will write down traits that I want a character to have before I start a story, so I can be consistent with the characters’ reactions—unless they undergo a change. For instance, Arloe is easily frightened at the beginning of the book, but under the circumstances, she has to toughen up. The characters always develop more traits the farther into the story I get.

What is your favorite scene from the book? Could you share a little bit of it, without spoilers of course?

My favorite scene is when Racer finds out Arloe’s secret. She wasn’t ready to tell him, but events that happen make it impossible not to spill it.

Did you find anything really interesting while researching this or another book?

I’ve done research for every book I’ve written, and I’ve found out many interesting things. I can’t say what I researched for Town from Hell because it would be a spoiler. I’ve typed some odd things into search engines because I needed to know for a story. For instance, for The Troubled Souls of Goldie Rich: The Zombie Next Door, the zombies are created by voodoo, so I researched tons of information on bokors, voodoo, and zombies. I also go to the library and check out many books when I’m doing research.

Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? How do you deal with it?

I stump writer’s block before it starts. I usually have to projects open at one time, so if one story isn’t flowing, I switch to the other. Spending time away from a story is usually all I need to get ideas flowing again. My kids sometimes can be helpful to get ideas flowing. I’ll give them a scene and ask them ‘What would you do?’ Even if I don’t use their solution, it can spark an idea. I’m also in SCBWI critique groups, and they are always helpful. As a side note, I really recommend joining a critique group if you’re a writer.

Other than writing, what are some of your interests, hobbies or passions in life? 

I love to play tennis, do yoga, hike, walk the dogs and do anything creative including painting and drawing. I can never be bored. There’s too much I love to do and not enough time to do it.

What can readers expect next from you? 

Readers can look forward to another book in the Dagger & Brimstone series titled Call from Hell.

Where can readers find you on the web? 

I am on Facebook as T.W.Kirchner, WordPress, Twitter, Amazon, Goodreads and I have a website with my art and books.

www.twkirchner.com  https://aceinlv.wordpress.com/ 

@TinainLV

http://www.amazon.com/T.-W.-Kirchner/...

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...


Would you like to leave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?

I didn’t normally mind the heat, but it was like crazy hot outside. Mind-numbing, brain-melting hot. It ranked a ten on the hotness scale just behind Arloe’s bod, a lava flow, and how I imagined Arloe’s dad’s boiling, red face after we split and he found her note and cellphone. I figured at about that time, he’d be hell-bent on, as her dad would put it, shooting my ‘white-trash’ ass full of buckshot for stealing his princess. The thought made me grin. He’d never find us—I made sure of it. In three months, I’d worry about the return visit when he’d try to put me in traction. Torrid, hated, and wanted. I was turning into my old man. Another Roane on the dark side.


Town from HellDagger and BrimstoneBook OneT.W. Kirchner
Genre: Young Adult Paranormal/Horror
Publisher: Short on Time Books
Date of Publication: April 19, 2015
ISBN: 1508982635ASIN: B00V0R61H8
Number of pages: 274Word Count: 76,636
Cover Artist: Tony Bryson
Book Description:
Seventeen-year-old Racer and his girlfriend Arloe want to be together despite resistance from her parents. In defiance of an upcoming separation, they run away for the summer, going totally off the grid to a remote town in the Nevada desert.
The teens think no one knows where they are—but they couldn’t be more wrong. Racer’s well-orchestrated plan for freedom turns into a nightmare from hell.
Lies, deception and betrayal blur his lines of reality, and he discovers everyone in town is hiding a terrifying secret, including Arloe.
Book Trailer:  https://youtu.be/CNz_rxt2ztM

Available at Amazon

Excerpt: The town appeared as a dot over the hill.  Five miles max.  Anticipation overtook my shaky nerves.  We passed several road signs that promoted ‘going green’ and ‘recycling.’  Another sign boasted Winthrop’s claim to fame: Home of the World Famous Green Links Heath Food line.       An ancient gray truck with Nevada plates lumbered up the road.  We passed it on the left side like it was standing still.  The old dude driving the clunker stared at me through the open window, a cigarette clenched in his yellowed teeth.  Just as much smoke billowed from the cab as sputtered from the exhaust.  I wondered how the truck made it that far from town…or the old dude for that matter.  Neither he nor his truck modeled ‘going green’ with all the pollution they created.        Any other time, I’d have ignored his stare, but it made me uneasy, more so after the gut-wrenching incident moments before.  I reassured myself it didn’t mean anything—no different than all the other stares I’d received though my seventeen years.       I pulled off the highway into a run-down gas station on the edge of town, a half mile past the faded wooden ‘Welcome to Winthrop’ sign that likely would topple over in the next stiff breeze.  It didn’t surprise me when Arloe hopped off my bike and flew around the side of the mini-mart toward the ladies’ room.  She didn’t even wait to take off her helmet.  Her urgency made me laugh because I’d always kidded she had the bladder of an ant.  What amazed me was that she hadn’t asked to stop at all in three hours on the road.  For her sake, I hoped the bathroom didn’t require a key.       The midday sun blazed hot, yet the intense heat didn’t seem to affect the flies swarming around the overflowing garbage can placed between the two retro pumps.  As I stood up, my butt peeled in layers from the leather seat.  My jeans and boxers fused to my legs from sweat.  I’d never traveled that long a distance on my bike before without stopping, and my aching legs paid the price.       Even after I took off my sweltering black helmet and hung it on the handlebar of my once black, now gray-looking bike, the slight breeze didn’t give me any relief.  In fact, it was worse.  The breeze simulated a blow drier set on hot, pointed at my face.       A few stray flies abandoned the trash and went on the attack, buzzing around my sweaty head and biting my arms.  I hoped the attraction didn’t indicate I smelled worse than the trash.  One black fly landed on my right bicep inside of my new dagger tattoo.  My hand nicked the annoying pest, but it had already bitten me and buzzed away.  The skin around the tattoo immediately tingled and itched.  Damn.  I ran my hand across my hair.  It was sticky and wet because I sweated faster than the air could dry it.     As I staggered toward the door to pay for a fill-up, I tried to stretch the stiffness out of my legs while I pulled areas of my soaked jeans away from my skin.  Halfway across the parking lot, the heat from the asphalt felt like it had eaten through the soles of my boots.  It wouldn’t have surprised me if they melted like crayons into a waxy puddle.     The desert excursion proved interesting at best, so far.  My dark blue jeans had lightened by two shades of dust, my white T-shirt had darkened by two shades of dust, and sandy grit crunched between my teeth even though the helmet’s face shield had been down the whole time.       When I pulled open the glass door of the mini-mart, a rusted cowbell clanked across it.  The metal made an ear-splitting slap, and I expected the murky glass to shatter or at least crack, but it didn’t.  I slinked through the door thinking I’d attracted unwanted attention, but the place was almost empty.  The top of the attendant’s head showed behind the counter, but my presence went unacknowledged.  What did I expect in a town of fifty residents that boasted a twenty-foot rattlesnake fashioned from beer bottles as the main attraction?  I ducked into the first aisle.  The half-stocked shelves carried very few of the usual mini-mart snacks but a lot of the Green Links Health Food products.  A half-filled refrigerated section stretched across the back wall.       I walked up the second aisle before approaching the faded, red counter, covered almost entirely by paper ads and signs.  The middle-aged attendant relaxed on a wooden barstool with her feet resting on a two-foot stack of magazines piled on the floor.  She slumped over to browse through a magazine spread out on her lap.  The tabletop, portable fan behind the counter blew her frizzy hair all around.  It made an annoying click each time its blades completed a rotation.       The attendant ran her knobby pointer finger along the page while she read.  She must have reached the end of the article because she looked up and pushed her wire-framed, granny glasses down on the bridge of her pointy nose.  “Kin I helps ya?”     This time, I stared.  Her dental work looked like she’d tried to stop a bowling ball with her face.  She lacked every other tooth, and the remaining few resembled gray and yellowish nubs.  She only needed a wart on her chin and a long black dress.  The broom already leaned up against the wall behind her.     I placed a twenty on the counter.  “Yeah, I need a fill-up.”     The attendant slid off the barstool and set the magazine down.  The legs on both her and the stool creaked and wiggled.  She tugged at the bottom of her black, oversized tee and pulled up her baggy jeans.  They hung pathetically off her emaciated frame and were frayed at the bottom where they dragged the floor.  She picked up the money, sniffled loudly, and wiped her nose on the back of her vein-popping hand.  “Which pump?”     I gazed out the huge, front window.  The station only had two pumps, and my bike was the only vehicle around for at least a mile.  I bit my lip and choked back the smartass comment that popped into my mind.  “Pump two, please.”     Witch Hazel pushed a gold button on the ancient cash register and the drawer barely slid open.  With the swiftness and grace of a baboon wearing a baseball glove, she placed my twenty in the drawer.  I tried to figure out how that register could possibly be connected to the pump when she enlightened me.  “Go on and pump.  Lemme know how much it comes to, and I’ll give ya your change back.”  She slammed the drawer closed.  She looked me up and down.  “You ain’t from around here, are you?”     I wiped my forehead on the sleeve of my T-shirt, exchanging a layer of sweat for sand.  “No, how’d you guess?”     She pointed from the cubic stud in my nose, to the gold ring through my eyebrow, and at the three tattoos on my right arm.     I shrugged.     She smacked her cracking lips and turned away, only to pick up the magazine and plop back on the creaky barstool.    I’d already forgotten about the cowbell, and it smashed into the glass again when the door closed behind me.  As I headed over to my bike, Arloe came from around the corner, swinging her helmet back and forth by the chin strap.  She smiled like she’d won the lottery.     I pushed the nozzle into the gas tank and flipped the lever, unable to hold back my grin.  “Feel better?”     Arloe hung the bright purple helmet I’d given her on the bike’s handle and snuggled up against me.  She smelled sweet from the freshly-applied cherry lip gloss.  When she smiled, her eyes sparkled as much as her pink, shiny lips.  “Lots.”  Arloe ran her hands through my damp hair to spike it up and took a step back to admire her handiwork.  “But now I’m thirsty.  Can we get something to drink?”      She had me so totally captivated that when the pump clicked off, I jerked.  Arloe smirked, but I pretended not to notice and replaced the nozzle.  “Sure.  Witch Hazel will hook us up inside.”     She stared at me with her eyebrows lowered and shoved her hands in the back pockets of her acid-washed, body-hugging jeans.  “Who?”     I shrugged.  “Never mind.  Bad joke.”       She gently slapped my hand.  “Racer, stop.”       Without realizing I’d done it, my stubby fingernails had scratched the area around my dagger tat to a bright red.  I shoved my hand in my pocket.       While she examined my bicep, she grimaced.  Her smooth fingers glided along my skin, but her voice had lost its sexy edge.  “Racer Roane.  You should’ve gone back to the tattoo shop.  It’s been two weeks and you’re still messin’ with it.”  She leaned back and stared into my eyes.  “Maybe it’s infected…or the ink was bad.”     The first two tattoos never bothered me like that one had, and it did concern me.  I just didn’t want Arloe to know it.  Besides, I couldn’t do anything about it now anyway.     Arloe pulled her silky hair back into a ponytail and swatted at a fly that attacked her face.     I shooed the fly away and pushed a few stray strands of hair from her eyes.  “Just think, you could be in Spain taking classes right now, but you gave up the opportunity for all this.”     She surveyed the empty desert and turned back to me, holding my calloused hands in her delicate ones.  Her eyes showed determination and a spark of renewed energy.  “No, I gave it up for you.  For us.  We’ll see Spain one day.  Together.”



About the Author:
T.W. Kirchner is the author of the Pirates Off middle grade series and The Troubled Souls of Goldie Rich young adult series. Besides writing, she loves tennis, yoga, painting and gardening.  She lives in Las Vegas with her husband, two children, and furry menagerie known as the Kirchner Zoo.
Website: www.twkirchner.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/T.W.Kirchner
Twitter: @TinaInLV
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Images are my muse…Guest Blog and Giveaway with Kim Luke

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to provide a guest blog for your website. My name if Kim Luke and I am the author of the Circle of Sun fantasy series. I just published the second book in the series Black Inferno. 
     Before the days of Pinterest, I was a collector of photographs. When an image made a deep impression, for whatever reason I would save it in a file folder. This was way before I was writing books. I am amazed how many of these pictures have crept out of my imagination and into my storylines.
    What is it about the feeling I get from the space that surrounds me? Ideas spill out from these pictures and my fingers struggle to keep up. Although my storylines are grounded in reality, their mystical aspects build action and drama in a realm parallel to it.
     In the book Black Inferno, my character finds herself dreaming, and from this photo I wrote about her dream. 
“Her spirit flies high above the grounds of Royce Estate. With powerful wings spread, she glides through blue skies. Each downward thrust lifts her higher. She leaves her fears struggling for breath on the earth and soars up to towering crystal arches atop pillows of clouds. Without hesitation, Sapphire steps upon the fluffy white and enters a new dimension. The crystal structure towering above her glistens in the golden sun, sending shimmering droplets exploding delicately around her. With infinity for a ceiling she enters the fortress called the Tower of Living Stones.”
     Technology has paved a superhighway of access to pictures providing an endless source of inspiration.  On my Pinterest page “Circle of Sun” I have a board with these wonderful types of images.  Each of them are waiting for me to find their story and that is what I intend to do.



Circle of SunCircle of Sun SeriesBook 1Kim Luke
Genre: Fantasy
Cover Artist: Anne and Marshal Tezon at Personal Chapters
Book Description:
Something is wrong in White Oak, MO After a deadly climbing accident, 30-year-old Quinn Clarke loses her job and retreats to the sleepy Missouri riverside town of White Oak to heal her fractured body and rebuild her life. But the tourist village, with its wineries, quaint shops and rich history, turns out to be anything but sleepy.
Something is wrong with the water in White Oak. Birds are dying and bizarre weather conditions threaten the town’s future. Quinn is sucked into the chaos, beginning with a mystery woman who delivers a message suggesting her climbing tragedy was no accident. Quinn meets handsome detective Keefe Remington, then visits nearby Royce Estate. She loses her way and her peace of mind on that visit and is confused and unprepared for what lies behind the massive stone walls and how she is somehow connected to the Royce family.
The first book of the Circle of Sun series takes Quinn from main street bookstore owner to unlikely heroine and straight into a darkness that could turn White Oak into a battlefield . . . and into her destiny.
Book Trailer https://youtu.be/0k3GDE87Ud8
Available at www.kimlukeauthor.com
Amazon    BN    Smashwords    Createspace



Circle of Sun Prologue
     No one will visit his final resting place. In death, as in life, his name had long been associated with broken promises, broken rules and broken lives. He embraced nothing, and was embraced by nothing. His only lasting impression was darkness, keeping even the most forgiving souls from speaking a kind word about him, even in death. A brisk October wind forces a tighter clenching of the scarf covering her throat. The only sound heard is the crunch and swish of fallen leaves as she walks to the pauper's section of the cemetery. She pauses, and kneels with devotion to the memory of Colton LaMont. Melanie clears debris and places a few flowers upon the site. Sorrowful tears fall for her undeclared love, and the parched and thirsty soil drinks.
Chapter 1
     Brilliant sunlight floods the rock face we climb. The quartz veins in the limestone shimmer near my gloved hand. The two of us scale the forty-five foot challenge with ease. We take pictures of one another.          Alec teases me about my pink camera, and my sloppy climbing technique. We gather our gear and walk across to the next plateau, passing crevices and brush. He leads, and I follow. His sandy hair dances with every September gust. Alec's shoulders are broad and he is tall compared to my petite frame. His body is fit and the bronze of his skin reveals seasons of living to the fullest. Alec is beautiful. The adage might be true that opposites attract. He is dark, and I am fair. Alec thrives on adventures while I find adventure in books and history. I am not glamorous like the women I would pair with his kind, but his love for me is pure. I don't have to be anything more than what I am, making me love him even more, if it were possible.      The azure sky is a breathtaking backdrop for puffy white clouds to sail by. This day is magical only because I am alone with him.      Alec jogs back in the direction of our last climb when I realize my camera is missing, and I continue on the trek to set up for our next climb. I grow uneasy; does he need my help? He's been gone too long, and I try to stay calm as I make my way back to the top of the ledge.     "Alec...Alec!" I say, but no answer comes.     Eyeing the ledge, my fear mounts and can no longer be ignored. Panic grips me and without hesitation I make my way to the drop off. I slowly peek over. His voice behind me says my name.      "Quinn!"      Turning, I am blinded by the searing rays of the afternoon sun. I see only a tall shadow before large hands violently shove my shoulders with such force I am thrust over the rock wall. My scream fills the canyon. I am free falling down, down.  My lungs ache for a breath in this deep darkness. I am suffocating. I experience excruciating pain and ultimate despair. All hope escapes my consciousness. Sound and sight are extinct now. My world is black.      Warmth surrounds my feet and travels slowly up my body. My afflictions are gone. My eyelids are open, to a foreign place. I rise and begin to walk, but my feet don't touch the sand. I float along a quiet shoreline. The sterling sea is calm. Without sun or moon this place is neither day nor night, but dusk-like. Through the mist a figure approaches.      Her body glides towards me. She is draped in shimmering silver, her face expressionless. Her gaze is not at me, but beyond me.      Curious, I turn, only infinite shoreline. My quivering hands cover my racing heart.      She seems to sense my fear as she studies me. Large round eyes peer into mine, into my soul. Her blank expression is replaced with tender mercy. Her friendly eyes promise no harm. I am no longer afraid. I can't see, but I feel her smile. She is blissful; her immense joy radiates around her like sparkling crystals.      My face is now wet from the mist, yet her ivory skin is smooth and dry. Before I can form words, she does.      "No one can prepare for a time as this. The sun itself fades in brilliance a bit with each passing day. Eyes look but do not see. Purity drains from the hearts of good men. Find the Circle of Sun. A tender seed must push through bitter soil to survive," she says and points behind me. "Let the prints lead you."      The footprints behind me are mine.     She interrupts my thoughts.      "Follow their path to your sun."      I bask in her radiant warmth as her graceful hand touches my face.      Her gaze never leaves me as she glides away.     I watch as she melts into the distance. I want to follow, but she is gone. Few and unclear were her words. All I can do is begin. I turn and take the first step.      My heavy eyelids open to blurred edges of brilliant color, strange bouquets cover the ceiling. I blink to focus and the scene becomes clear. Taped to the ceiling are vivid crayon-filled pictures, children's artwork thoughtfully placed for those waking up.      Suddenly a face casts a smile down at me.          "Dr. Crenshaw is here to check in on you," says a nurse.     "Quinn, how are you feeling? Your surgical procedure went very well, and with your recent progress, we can begin to discuss getting you out of here after all of these months. I am sure you are ready," the doctor says.      I am completely baffled by this conversation and I struggle to communicate. My confusion is obvious to him and he pats my hand. Me? In the hospital for months? I am disconnected to reality, free falling again.     "You are still groggy, I will be back in the afternoon to check in on you," he says kindly.      My drowsy state can only mean I am still dreaming. The memory of the misty grey ocean beckons and I remember the mystical place. Desperate to return to the silver shoreline, I fall into sleep hoping to see her again.     During the next week reality rolls in like an unwelcomed storm. Added to confusion is loss. Alec is gone. Pain permeates every fiber of my being, and the waves of grief crest and ebb. Hikers found us at the bottom of the rock face, Alec dead and me clinging to life. In death, Alec saved my life, his body breaking my fall. I am horrified at the picture this paints in my mind. Alec is gone, and even though I survived the accident, I will need months of recovery. Investigators did not seriously consider what I told them about being pushed. My pink camera was never found, perhaps it never existed. Trauma can produce false memories, they explained. The only logical theory of what happened on the cliff has been difficult to accept. Alec fell and my shock at seeing him dead, caused me to fall too. Although I could not identify who the shadowy figure was, I know it was Alec's voice making me to turn. How is it possible? If he pushed me, how could his body break my fall? I can't put the pieces together. As my body heals, answers elude me. I recall the panic as I approached the edge. I heard Alec's voice behind me saying my name. I was blinded by the sun. I remember hands forcefully pushing me. It's not possible. Alec would never hurt me. I reluctantly accept their version of the accident as reality. Logically it makes sense, so I struggle to recapture my confidence and stabilize my mental state.

Black InfernoCircle of Sun SeriesBook 2Kim Luke
Genre: Fiction Fantasy
Date of Publication: March 28, 2015
ISBN: 1508936234
Number of pages: 218Word Count: 79,999
Cover Artist: Anne and Marshall TezonPersonal Chapters
Book Description:
The second installment in the Circle of Sun series finds the Guardians on a quest to save a city of innocent souls from potential decimation by illness and some seemingly innocuous chocolates.
As some of the Guardians are battling unseen evil away from home, their former leader and patriarch is falsely imprisoned and his daughter disappears. What does it take to recover another Fidesorb?
The discovery of a secret society of Guardians has created a new reality for Quinn Clarke and her friends in the little riverside town of White Oak. The first Quest with Quinn as the Polaris to the Circle of Sun transports our Guardians to a suspended season in time. Wearing the armor of faith, will they be able to rescue a city of innocent souls spellbound by a faceless enemy? Is the return of tranquility to White Oak after the defeat of the River People only the calm before the storm?
As new ties of friendship are laced, they quickly become restrictive and threatening. A tragic turn of events puts Romulus in danger of losing his freedom, and Sapphire is missing, leaving the Circle of Sun fractured and vulnerable.
Will a victorious Quest cost lives on the home front? What secrets lie within the lush rolling vineyards, hidden oak barrels, the Grand Royce Estate and even Fireside Books?
In the second installment of the Circle of Sun, our characters must grow into courageous defenders of light, if they are to break free of the vast and sticky web of deceit that threatens them. Their goal is to recover another precious Fidesorb so it can be returned to its rightful place in the angelic realms.
Book Video https://youtu.be/NkJvzjpZcpk
  Available at  www.kimlukeauthor.com    

Amazon    BN    Smashwords   Createspace

Black Inferno Prologue     Quinn can't sleep. She takes in the view of the rolling Missouri hills from her window at Royce Estate. At first glance she could be any woman, but Quinn Clarke Royce is no ordinary woman, not any more. Since discovering her family and being chosen as the new Polaris to the Circle of Sun, there is little remaining of her former life. Quinn and those she loves navigate in a new world as Guardians. The lack of sleep is a fraction of the price she will pay while growing into a leadership role that defies reality. Few days remain before the announcement of the Quest. A selected Guardian must accept before knowing any details about the Quest, and only Quinn knows a Quest can take them to a place untouched by the passage of time.      Her past days of collecting and selling books, merchandizing and marketing, are replaced by a crash course in the angelic realms. She's learned the various ranks of Guardians, Sleepers, Pathfinders and Knights and the existence of Living Stones and how they are used to measure the balance of goodness. Like opening the cover of a book and reading a fantastic tale of the battle between light and dark, her journey now spans the ages.      Quinn's homeland, identified in the angelic realm as Nadellawick is peaceful this night, but only a short time ago the battle raged, destroying the evil Petulah and her River People. The victory over the darkness and recovery of a missing Fidesorb in Nadellawick was celebrated by everyone except one. A storm brews and bubbles and a thick fog moves in from the river.
Chapter One   White Oak, MissouriPresent Day
  There is nothing good about a bad dream, except waking up. His new reality is a walking nightmare. The initial shock faded but his hopelessness remains.  The emptiness is constant, his existence black like this moonless night.      The windshield wipers cannot compete with the driving storm. Wheels careen around a sharp curve high on the bluff. The lost soul pushes harder on the accelerator, inching closer to the white line. Air fills his lungs as he inhales for the last time. A loud and deafening crack of lightening jolts the senses of this broken man and illuminates the road and a figure before him. Thud! A sudden impact thrusts the car into a spin, ripping a path into the opposite ditch. He lies motionless, sprawled across the seat. Regardless of his intent, consciousness returns in fuzzy lined scenes. The engine is dead, but he is not. Headlights show nothing but pellets of rain cutting through the darkness. For a moment he forgets the incident that put him there. Nothing happens when he turns the key. The driver side door can't be opened so he slides to the passenger side for exit. With the vehicle at a steep angle, the weight of the door flies open and dumps him into the saturated roadside.     Attempts to stand are thwarted by the relentless wind. Not wearing boots his shoes fill with water as he sloshes through the tall grasses. Relieved when his feet reach pavement, he scans the perimeter for a victim. The gusts whip drops that sting, making the search difficult. A flickering light between boulders at the bluffs edge captures his attention. Could it be a signal for help? The massive rock is slippery, but his second attempt finds a small foothold to boost himself up. The boulder places him even higher above the dangerous rim. Unsteady against the punishing winds he crouches down. The source of the mysterious flashing illuminates his wide-eyed gaze and nature muffles his terrified gasp. The empty man searches for signs of life amidst the blood and bits of fur. Motionless, he stands as the familiar moves and reveals itself to him. On this night, seconds before his life should have ended, he finds the reason to go on.

About the Author:
Author Kim Luke once had to help a customer at her family Christmas tree farm chop down a fresh tree in a business suit and heels. She was comfortable in that attire, the “uniform” of her marketing profession. She was not as comfortable as a Christmas tree farmer, but she’s learned to be supportive in this family endeavor.
The tree farm is located in Missouri, the setting for both of Kim’s two novels in her Circle of Sun series.   A literature major in college, Luke has always enjoyed a good story and loves using her imagination.  Of her many passions, writing has been with her the longest.
The cornerstones in her life are her faith and family. Kim and husband Bob are blessed with three children, incredible in-laws and three grandchildren. The Lukes live with their Alaskan Malamute dog on a beautiful 20 acre farm, where Kim indulges her love of books, coffee, wine and positive thinkers.  
You can connect with Kim at www.kimlukeauthor.com, on Facebook at Circle of Sun or on Twitter, @kimluke. She is also a Goodreads author.
Web/blog- www.kimlukeauthor.com
Twitter: kimluke_
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/circleofsun 
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5818830.Kim_Luke
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Spotlight, Excerpt and Giveaway: Vegas Miracle by Liz Crowe

Vegas MiracleLiz Crowe
Release Date: May 5, 2015 (Re-release)
Genre: MMF Ménage Romance
Book Description:
Ryan and Grace Sullivan have all the outward indications of a happy life: money, success, an undeniable physical attraction that quickly evolved from whirlwind relationship to marriage. But lately, Ryan's become moody and distant. As their relationship starts to crumble, Ryan discovers something about himself he can't admit just as Grace realizes the young man she encounters at an invitation only party, Henri Christophe, a celebrity chef with the most successful restaurant in Las Vegas, is her husband's lover. But Henri holds a secret himself. He wants to be more to both of them.
As they attempt to make their unconventional arrangement work, Ryan's deep-seated fear of relationship failure continues to thwart everyone's happiness. When he finally walks away instead of confronting the emotional connection the trio shares, he returns to find their lives flipped inside out. A sought after hotel and resort consultant, Ryan has yet to meet a problem he couldn't solve. But when it comes to his own heart, he may be too late.
Available at  
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Excerpt 2. Rated NC17
Her skin prickled with exposure to the cool air as his strong hands moved slowly up both legs. Henri focused on her hips, kneading out tension she always held there. But the innocent nature of the moment was long gone. The sensation of his strong hands on her made her want to lift up and expose herself to him. If he didn’t watch it she was going to come right here against this silly massage table.  "Let’s turn you over," he said as he held the blanket up modestly, which made her chuckle. He'd been close enough to finger her a few minutes ago and she wouldn’t have stopped him either so why the sudden propriety now?She lay on her back as he sat next to her and took her arm on his lap, working through her shoulder tightness. When her fingers brushed up against what was an unmistakable hard on under his shorts, she gasped and pulled her hand away.  "Sorry," she whispered, mortified."It’s okay."  Henri put her arm back in place so he could continue to work his way down to her hand, which he caressed finger by finger and into her palm in a way that caused her breathing to quicken.  When he closed his lips over her index finger and sucked, her entire body zinged in response. He paid the same careful attention to each digit and ended with a light lick to the center of her palm, nearly sending her over the edge.  She was panting by the time he switched over to her other arm. She left her hand in his lap and brushed her fingers ever so lightly across the silky fabric of his shorts, just to see how he’d react. He shifted closer to allow her more contact and she stroked his full length twice before he took that hand to give it the same thorough and firm caress. By the time he closed his lips over her finger again, nothing prepared her for the fire of emotion and pure need his lips and tongue ignited.  Henri placed her arms under the blanket and passed a very light hand over her nipples, now hard buds of flesh poking through the fabric. Her breath came in shaky gasps by the time he uncovered one leg and propped her foot against his naked chest.    She gaped at his amazing muscle definition as he bent her knee to flex her hip. With each bend, his arm came in direct contact with her bare pussy. Henri kneaded the flesh of her thigh before moving down to rub each toe, then the sole of her foot, which sent those same zinging, nerve rattling sensation straight up to the top her head. She stretched her hands over her head and allowed the blanket to fall away. Eyes closed, she reveled in the pure sensation of his touch. By the time he switched over to her other leg and placed her foot on his chest again, a low moaning sound had begun in in her throat and had to force herself not to grab him and pull him on top of her. He stretched her knee towards her chest.  "You're very flexible, yes?" His voice was hoarse."Yes," she breathed, tilting her hips up to make contact with his arm.The last time he bent her knee she felt his tongue flick her nipple. She realized he was pulling the sheet off her completely and she gave no resistance. Raising her arms up over her head again, Grace stretched like a cat in the windowsill.  She heard him make a sound deep in his throat before he ran his strong hands from her shoulders down to her nipples and across her stomach. He stopped to knead her hips once more then kept moving down her thighs to her calves and then to her sensitized feet. She arched up and gasped as she felt his tongue again, this time right on her clit. He teased her flesh then sucked briefly before standing up.  Grace kept her eyes closed, her body was on fire, every nerve ending crying out for more. But he seemed to be done so she struggled up to a seated position.""Would you like a bit more? An internal massage, perhaps?""Yes," she nearly yelled out then felt herself blush. “I mean…that’s sort of a lame line, though.”He chuckled. “I’ll work on my lines a little, after this.” His low, accented voice made her shiver.

About the Author:
Amazon best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.
Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction hybrid, “Romance. Worth the Risk,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”).With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.
Website   Beer, Books and More Blog   Facebook Fan Page   
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Guest Blog: Ill Fated by Rachel Rawlings

First let me thank Fang-tastic Books for having me here today on their blog! Ill Fated is the fifth book in my series and I’m really excited to share it with all of you. So thanks again Fang-tastic for having me on!
For those of you who don’t know me, let’s get some of the introductories- I may have just made that word up- out of the way.  I’m a mother of three kick ass kids ranging from seventeen to six and a half. The youngest is destined for something major; I’m not entirely sure what yet but consider yourselves forewarned. We weren’t supposed to be having any more kids after our second. Actually after the first we weren’t supposed to be having any more kids so my second is probably going to do something crazy as well. My eldest has a gigantic heart and is the most even keeled kid I know. They’re all five and a half years apart. Not on purpose obviously. Thankfully we passed that maker and should well be in the clear lol. I’m happily married to an amazing man who loves me and has agreed to share me with the voices in my head. We recently rescued a little beagle and I got to name her Scout after the character in To Kill A Mockingbird. We live in the Baltimore Metro area and dream of life in the mountains. I read, write and breathe Urban Fantasy. And when I’m not writing or running the family business I’m working on plans for the annual book convention- HallowRead- I started three years ago.
When I first sat down to write my guest post, I wasn’t sure what to talk about. I have a love affair with words but always come up short when it has something to do with me, lol. Inspiration struck when I was out for a ride with my family and a song I hadn’t heard in a long time came on the radio. ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ by Billy Joel. My kids thought it was weird and until I explained the relevance of the events sang in rapid fire and the meaning behind the chorus. I finished by telling them how powerful words are, how they can move, motivate and inspire- especially when put to music.
It occurred to me that afternoon that I always write to music. I’ve got something playing in the background on Pandora at all times and it varies depending on what I’m writing about. For Ill Fated I listened to a lot of Deftones- Swerve City was on repeat a lot. Nine Inch Nails Pretty Little Hate Machine, that album always makes it on my playlist, Johnny Cash’s covers of Hurt and Rusted Cage, Godsmack and Avenge Sevenfold. A little edgy and dark but that has been par for the course with writing this series.
My current wip, Payable On Death has some heavy stuff like Five Finger Death Punch- Wrong Side of Heaven in particular and a lot of The Pretty Reckless. Their song Heaven Knows came on the radio and sort of sparked the idea for the story. And the name of the novel came from the following song played on the radio by a band called P.O.D. which in my bank teller says stood for Payable On Death.  It was a match made in heaven. I had to pull over just to write it all down.
I can’t carry a tune to save my life- though it has never stopped me from singing along in my car. Luckily I don’t sing along when I write or my family would probably put me out of the house!

Thanks for joining me today and checking out my books! I hope to see you over on my author page. I just revamped my covers and plan to have a little give away. 
Be sure to follow the page for more details and chances to win some pretty awesome prizes! www.facebook.com/themaurinkincaideseries 
Ill FatedThe Maurin Kincaide SeriesBook 5Rachel Rawlings
Genre: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy
Date of Publication: 2/11/15
ISBN: 978-1508456711ASIN: B00TI20TZC
Number of pages: 271
Cover Artist: Eri Nelson
Book Description:
Some things are destined to end in death. After the first attempt on her life Maurin wasn't scared. Hell, she was almost flattered. But someone put a price on her head and things are getting complicated.
Trouble is brewing in the fae courts and it's spilling over into Salem. The UnSeelie Dark Guard have answered the call for her head on a platter and people closest to her are disappearing.
Can Maurin master court politics and find her missing men before someone claims the bounty on her head?

Available at   Amazon   and   BNExcerpt:"You're awake?" He sounded more than a little surprised."I'm not really sure the state I'm in qualifies as awake." "Here I was, terrified to poke the dragon, and you're already drinking coffee and talking in complete sentences." I snorted and took a sip of the aforementioned liquid gold. "Are you always like this in the morning?""If you'd let me sleep over you'd already know the answer to that question. Why aren't you asleep?"In general or just tonight, I silently wondered. "Bad dream. I've been tossing and turning all night. I finally gave in and got out of bed."   Papers rustled in the background and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, intimate."You want to talk about it?""Something tells me my nightmares are the least of our problems.""You have no idea. I need you to come down to my office."I sighed. "Can it at least wait until after sunrise?""Would I be breaking the no phone calls before noon policy if it could wait?" “There really is no rest for the wicked, is there?”He laughed and the sound warmed me more than a hundred cups of coffee. "Apparently not, in your case. Now, there's a dirty chai latte and a croissant for you if you're here before Amalie. I can't promise real coffee and pastries will survive beyond five minutes of her arrival." "It's four-thirty in the morning, Mas. If you know what's good for you, you'll make sure at least  one dirty chai and croissant remain unmolested." "I'll see you soon." He was laughing as he hung up the phone. Three hours ago I’d practically crawled through the doorway, exhausted from cleaning up after a newbie vamp who’d broken the Jus Sanguinis Intergentes when she killed her donor. The blood pact between people and vampires had a clear no killing, no exceptions clause.It was up to the maker to ensure their child was ready to feed unsupervised. If something went wrong and the Council found out about it, we cleaned up the mess and the sire was subject to heavy fines and possible revocation of their rights to expand their blood lines. She’d been quite literally a bitch to track and take down.It had been a long night and it was shaping up to be an even longer day. I wasted little time getting dressed, opting for a slip on black jersey dress, eighteen hole Docs and a leather jacket. Jewelry was a hindrance in my line of work. My meeting with Mason could easily turn into a run. Choked with my own chain? No, thank you. Unclasping the necklace, I set it in a glass dish on my bathroom counter. I ran a brush through my hair, a toothbrush over my teeth and slipped into the between. I stepped out of the alley two buildings down from the station and walked the last block and a half. Amalie was swarmed by detectives trying to get at the goodies she brought over from the Daily Grind. She greeted me with a warm smile, shaking her head when I offered to pull her out of the fray. She had managed to endear herself to the entire department in record time. All it took was real coffee and fresh pastries. I pointed to Mason's office. She'd make her way over once the starving masses had their fill.Mason was so engrossed in the file on his desk he didn't hear me come in. He looked as tired as I felt - too many double shifts. Despite an uptick in activity, SPTF was short staffed due to budget cuts. Without enough man power to staff the shifts properly overtime was mandatory. "Is that for me?" I pointed at the to-go cup and white paper bag on his desk. He finally looked up and gave me a smile which lit up his whole face. "As promised." I stole a quick kiss, grabbed the coffee and croissant, and settled in the chair across from him. I took a long sip of my latte, savoring the delicious mix of tea and espresso. "Man, I needed this. Is that the case you're working on?" "Yeah, we've got a real problem on our hands." "Don't we always." I tried to peak at the file. Mason closed the manila folder. "I'd rather wait until everyone is here." "Who else is coming besides Amalie?" My curiosity was definitely peaked now. I reached across his desk, hoping to grab the file. "You look exhausted. Tell me about your dream while we wait."I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. "I see this for the obvious distraction it is but you're right.” Sighing, I rubbed my temple.“However, I'm exhausted, too exhausted to argue. So I'll tell you. Prepare to be confounded." He listened intently as I filled him in on the nightly visits from the weathered old woman who washed my clothes and hauntingly called my name. I expected him to laugh and tell me it was just a dream, that I had nothing to worry about.I didn't expect him to look so stricken. "Bean Nighe." He all but whispered the name. "You've heard of her?""Of course I've heard of her. How long has she been coming to you?"I stared at him curiously. "A few weeks. Why?" "A few weeks and this is the first I'm hearing of it?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously struggling to control his temper.“We talked about this. No holding things back, remember?""I thought it was just a dream.” I shrugged.“Honestly, I didn't think it was a big deal.""It was a big enough deal for you to research it." Agitation rolled off him in waves. When I agreed to give this thing with Mason a chance I also agreed to some conditions. No more flying solo, no more rash decisions or rushing off to play the hero. We were a team, in everything. This was just one of many set-backs."I got curious, did a little digging. Until tonight, everything I found pointed to deep seated family issues, particularly with a mother figure. I've told you about my childhood, does that dream analysis surprise you?"His growl told me he wasn’t in the mood for reasonable—at least to me—explanations. "When did you discover the true meaning of the dream? How long have you known about the Bean Nighe?""Tonight. This morning. Before you called me." I held up a hand to stop the tongue lashing I knew he wanted to give me. "I would have told you. I got the impression on the phone there were more pressing matters than my insomnia." "Is this why you won't let me stay at your place?” His gaze roamed over my face, searching.“Why you never stay at mine?""Is that the real reason why you're so upset?" I arched my brows. “Because we’re not having sleepovers?”"I stayed at your lovely apartment the first night we met." I turned to watch Aidan glide into the room, stopping behind my chair. Rolling my eyes, I snorted and muttered, “In the closet.”Mason's jaw twitched but he didn't take the bait. "Aidan." "It's almost sunrise. Shouldn't you be hunkered down for the day?" I sighed, wondering what he was doing here. I was too tired to deal with Aidan and Mason and their combined testoserone. Putting the three of us in a room together was like throwing lit matches at sticks of dynamite - eventually one of them will explode.

About the Author:
Rachel Rawlings was born and raised in the Baltimore Metropolitan area. Her family, originally from Rhode Island, spent summers in New England sparking her fascination with Salem, MA. She has been writing fictional stories and poems since middle school, but it wasn't until 2009 that she found the inspiration to create her heroine Maurin Kincaide and complete her first full length novel, The Morrigna.
When she isn't writing, Rachel can often be found with her nose buried in a good book. An avid reader of Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, Horror and Steampunk herself, Rachel founded Hallowread- an interactive convention for both authors and fans of those genres.
More information on Hallowread, its schedule of events and participating authors can be found at www.hallowread.blogspot.com  and www.facebook.com/Hallowread .
She still lives in Maryland with her husband and three children.
www.rachelrawlings.com
www.authorrachelrawlings.com
www.twitter.com/@rachelsbooks
www.facebook.com/themaurinkincaideseries
www.facebook.com/hallowread
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www.hallowread.com   

The Venetian Job by Sally Gould

The Venetian JobThe Max BooksBook 3Sally Gould
Genre: Middle Grade Action & Adventure
Publisher:  Orbis Media
Date of Publication: March 2015
ISBN:  9780994182746ASIN:  B00QY0ACJY
Number of pages:  108Word Count: approx. 20,000 words
Cover Artist:  Dane at eBook Launch
Book Description:
In 'Mafia Encounter', when Max is on a family holiday in Sicily, he and Charlie notice the mafia seem to be following them. Are they related to the mafia boss? Will they have to learn the business? Will their lives ever be the same?
In 'The Venetian Job', Max desperately wants bad guys and action, so he’ll have a good story to tell when he goes back to school. He and Charlie hang out with their policeman uncle, but there doesn’t seem to be a bad guy in Venice. Then in a Palace on the Grand Canal, Max notices something that doesn’t make sense. Will Max get bad guys and action after all?
Available at  Amazon    iTunes    BN    Kobo
Excerpt from Chapter 3 of Mafia Encounter
Sharing a hotel with a mafia boss – even if he was a little old man – didn’t make me feel safe and warm inside. I could feel my stomach doing somersaults while we waited for the elevator. I wondered if Charlie was nervous too. He wouldn’t admit it, even if he were.Eventually there was a ping and the doors of the elevator opened. It was empty. That was good. Well, it was good as long as no mafia guys got in before we got out.“I think I’ll do fifty laps,” said Charlie, after the elevator doors closed.“What about Marco Polo? I want to say we played Marco Polo in Italy.”He looked at me like I was stupid. “Marco Polo came from Venice; Italy wasn’t a country back then.”Trust him to turn something fun into a history lesson. “Yeah, whatever.”The doors of the elevator opened and we followed the signs to the pool. It was an indoor pool, there were three lanes and it was probably about fifteen metres long – long enough for races. I knew as soon as I saw it that Charlie would want to race.At first I didn’t see anyone in the pool, but then I noticed a figure push off from the edge. Geez, I wanted to have the whole pool to ourselves. Then I saw two men in black suits sitting at the side of the pool. The bad feeling in my gut came back. At first I didn’t recognize them because they weren’t wearing sunglasses. One of them got up and came over to us as Charlie and me were stripping down to our swimmers. I could barely take off my shorts, I was shaking so much.The man in black was tall and he had big shoulders. He said something to us in Italian.Charlie said, “Parla inglese?”I knew that meant, Do you speak English? I hadn’t worked out how Charlie could say four English words in only two Italian words.“Come back to swim later,” ordered the man in black.“Sure,” I said and began to put my shorts back on. I wasn’t stupid. I knew from school that if someone three times bigger told me to do something, it was best to do it.“We’re staying at the hotel. We’re allowed to use the pool.” Charlie folded his arms.Was he crazy? “We can go back to our room and watch the wrestling,” I said to him. “Let’s go.”The man in black leaned toward Charlie and said very softly, “Mr. Petruzzelli owns hotel.”Mr. P must’ve been Mr. Mafia in the pool. That was good enough for me. I was out of here. If Charlie wanted to stay and get his head blown off, that was his business. Real casual, I began to walk back toward the elevator.I heard a voice behind me. “Boy! You stop!”


About the Author:
Sally Gould loved books from a young age, but never considered writing them. While she was busy getting up to the mischief that teenagers get up to, she forgot about books all together. Then total insanity took hold and she became a corporate lawyer.
Fortunately, she had two sons and they inspired her to write stories for children. Of course, her oldest son is responsible, logical, studious, considerate, grateful and even makes his bed. The youngest one is only interested in having fun - lots of it. And, except for his teachers, he makes everyone laugh. Their antics have inspired many of Sally's stories. Sally lives in Melbourne, Australia with her family and two dogs - Pebbles, who is sensible, and Jade, who just wants to have fun.
Website: www.sallygould.com.au
Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.com/author/sallygould
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5010299.Sally_Gould
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/sallygouldchildrensauthor

Guest Blog and Giveaway: Witch’s Moonstone Locket by Marsha A. Moore

Five wicked facts about the antagonist of Witch’s Moonstone Locket—Adara Tabardby Marsha A. Moore
She’s the high priestess of Coon Hollow Coven in Witch's Moonstone Locket , the first in my series of Coon Hollow Coven Tales . Besides that, she’s a wonderful character for lots of reasons. Here are just a few:
Adara jumped out at me with her own set of unique problems that drive her peculiar ways of dealing with people. Following in her father’s and then her mother’s footsteps, Adara serves Coon Hollow’s coven as High Priestess. I have no doubt, she’d prefer me to say that she rules the coven rather than serving it. Her family has maintained a ruthless hold on the position for decades. Adara loves power. She craves it. Being named as high priestess fulfills her dreams…almost.
The one thing more important to Adara than power is love, which is something that evades her. Her mother, Grizela Tabard, was a hard-hearted woman who chided Adara for not performing better, not measuring up to her two sisters. After those sisters died young, before Grizela herself passed, the woman still failed to recognize Adara. After Grizela's death, she often haunted Adara in spirit form. All this makes Adara a complex character who has a lot on her plate.
Adara yearns not only for maternal love but romantic love. At the age of eighteen, she fell in love with a townie. Certainly this horrified her mother, but Adara was blind with love. The romance was short-lived, ending in a tragic car accident that cost lives and whatever shred of maternal love Grizela had for her daughter. Fearing Grizela’s wrath, Adara’s boyfriend broke her heart and left her with a deep void she struggles to fill today.
Adara has a passion for fashion.Coon Hollow Coven strictly adheres to the lifestyle of the 1930s when it was formed, and Adara enjoys being a glamour girl in the slinky period styles. Her closet is filled with bias-cut satin dresses that hug her womanly curves. Her jet black hair hangs over half of her face in a cascade of smooth waves from a dramatic side part. Stylish? Definitely, but it also hides a gash of a scar cutting across her cheek from a car accident that changed her life forever.
Adara has a witch’s familiar, a talking crow named Dearg. Although fairly reliable as her accomplish in evil deeds, he torments her with mean-spirited quips in clever vernacular from the 1930s. No one else would dare to be that brave, fearing retaliation by the high priestess. But only he knows what his mistress truly desires, and knowledge is power...especially in Coon Hollow!
Find out more about Adara's evil ways in Witch's Moonstone Locket !



Witch’s Moonstone LocketA Coon Hollow Coven TaleBook OneMarsha A. Moore
Genre: New Adult Paranormal Romance

Date of Publication: March 24, 2015

ASIN: B00V2DG0HG

Number of pages: 315
Word Count: 94,000


Book Description:
Twenty-three-year-old Jancie Sadler was out of the room when her mother died, and her heart still longs for their lost goodbye. Aching to ease her sorrow, Aunt Starla gives Jancie a diary that changes her entire life. In entries from the 1930s, her great grandmother revealed how she coped with her own painful loss by seeking out a witch from nearby Coon Hollow Coven. The witch wore the griever’s moonstone locket, which allowed whoever could unlock its enchantment to talk with the dead.
Determined to find that locket, Jancie goes to the coven’s annual carnival held in her small southern Indiana town of Bentbone. This opposes her father’s strict rule: stay away from witches. But she’s an adult now and can make her own decisions. She meets Rowe McCoy, the kind and handsome witch who wears the moonstone. He agrees to let her try to open the locket, but they’re opposed by High Priestess Adara and her jealous desire to possess him.
Desperate for closure with her mother, Jancie persists and cannot turn away from a perilous path filled with magic, romance, and danger. 


Available at Amazon
Excerpt from Chapter One: Great Aunt Starla’s Cornbread
Warm rain mixed with Jancie’s tears, and she rose to stand beside her mother’s grave. Not ready to let go, she bent at the waist and her fingers followed the arc of her mother’s name—Faye Sadler—in the headstone. She knew the unyielding shape well. The word goodbye stuck in her throat. She’d said it aloud many times since her mother died almost a year ago, only to have the cemetery’s vast silence swallow her farewells. Rain beaded on the polished granite. Her hand, bearing her mother’s silver ring, slid down the stone and fell to her side. If only she could’ve said goodbye to her mother before. After years of caring for her mom while she suffered with cancer, Jancie had missed the final parting moment while getting a quick bite of dinner. The pain still cut like a knife in her gut. On foot, she retraced the too-familiar path toward her work at the Federal Bank. Although she’d landed a job as manager at the largest of the three banks in the small town of Bentbone, the position was a dead end. Within the first six months, she’d mastered all the necessary skills. Now, after a year, only the paycheck kept her there.Jancie turned onto Maple Street. As usual, wind swept up the corridor, between old shade trees protecting houses, and met her at the top of the tall hill. September rain pelted her face and battled the Indian summer noontime temperatures. She zipped the rain parka to keep her dress dry, pulled on the strings of the hood, and corralled strands of ginger-colored hair that whipped into her eyes. Once able to see, she gazed farther into the valley, where the view spanned almost a mile out to the edge of town. Usually, farmers moved tractors across the road or boys raced skateboards and bikes down Maple Street’s long slope. Today, on the deserted acreage just east of Bentbone, people moving in and out through a gate of the tall wooden fence breathed life into the rundown carnival. Surprised, Jancie crossed the street for a better view. She’d lost track of time since Mom passed. The coming Labor Day weekend in Bentbone meant the valley coven’s yearly carnival. She and her close group of girlfriends always looked forward to the cute guys, fair food, and amazing magical rides and decorations…even if her father didn’t approve of witches or magic. The residents of the sleepy town awoke to welcome a host of tourists wanting to see the spectacle created by the witches of Coon Hollow Coven.Somehow, Jancie had forgotten the big event this year. Last year, she didn’t go since Mom was so sick and couldn’t be left. Jancie sighed and turned onto the main street toward the bank. She’d lost so much since her mother passed. Really, since the diagnosis of cancer.At that time, four years ago, Jancie withdrew as a sophomore from Hanover College, a select, private school in southern Indiana near the Kentucky border—too far away. Instead, she returned to stay with her mother and commuted to Indiana University. Balancing hours with the home health care nurse, Jancie had few choices of career paths. Not that it mattered, since her remarried father expected her to find a job in Bentbone and continue taking care of her mother. Despite the sacrifices, Jancie loved her mother, who’d always managed money for a few special things for Jancie—a new bike, birthday parties, prom dresses—even though their income was tight. Mom had paid for her tuition and listened to every new and exciting college experience. Jancie smiled at the memory of Mom’s twinkling brown eyes, that mirrored her own, when she asked about what happened during the day’s classes: if Jancie liked the professor; if she’d made new friends.When she rounded the last corner, her thoughts returned to the work day. At the bleak, limestone bank building, reality hit. Jancie pulled against the heavy glass door, and a gust swept her inside. She peeled off the drenched jacket and hung it on the coat rack of her small, plain office. At her desk again, she took her position.Through the afternoon’s doldrums, punctuated by only a handful of customers, her mind wandered to the carnival. She’d gone dozens of times before and loved it. But since Mom passed, nothing seemed fun anymore, like she couldn’t connect with herself and had forgotten how to have a good time. She organized a stack of notes, anything to put the concern out of her mind.***After work, Jancie drove her old blue Camry the five miles to the other end of town where she lived in her mother’s white frame house, the home where she grew up, now hers. Glad to own her own place, unlike her friends who rented, she’d made a few easy changes. In the living room, a new brown leather couch with a matching chair and ottoman. She replaced the bedroom furniture with a new oak suite for herself in what used to be her mother’s room. With pay saved from the bank, Jancie could remodel or build on, but she didn’t know what she wanted yet. Her great aunt Starla had told her to just wait and hold onto her money; she’d know soon enough.Pouring rain soaked the hem of her dress as she darted between the garage shed and back stoop of the small ranch house. Glad she’d chosen to get her run in this morning before work, she changed into cozy sweats, pulled the long part of her tapered hair into a ponytail, and headed for the kitchen.Her phone alerted her of a text, and she read the message from her friend Rachelle, always the social director of their group: R we going to the carnival?Jancie typed a response. I guess. R Lizbeth and Willow going?Yep whole gang. What day?Don’t know yet. Get back to u. Jancie worried she’d spoil their fun. Even though they’d all been her best friends since high school and would understand her moodiness, she didn’t want to ruin one of the best times of the year for them. Since Mom passed, they’d taken her out to movies and shopping in Bloomington, but this was different. Could it ever match up to the fun of all the times before? “I don’t know if I’m up to that,” she said into open door of the old Kenmore refrigerator while rummaging for leftovers of fried chicken and corn.The meal satisfied and made her thankful she’d learned how to cook during those years with Mom. Not enough dishes to bother with the dishwasher, one of the modern upgrades to the original kitchen, Jancie washed the dishes by hand and then called Starla. When she answered, Jancie asked, “Can I come over tonight? There’s something I’m needing your opinion on.”“Why sure, Jancie. C’mon over,” the eighty-five-year-old replied with her usual warm drawl. “Are you wantin’ dinner? I made me some soup beans with a big hambone just butchered from Bob’s hog. My neighbor Ellie came over and had some. She said they were the best she’s eaten.”Jancie glanced at the soggy rain parka and opted for an umbrella instead. “No, I just ate. Be right over.” Keys and purse in hand, she hung up and darted for the shed.Five minutes later, she turned onto the drive of the eldercare apartments and parked under the steel awning where Starla gave her a whole arm wave from her picture window. Jancie made her way to number twelve on the first floor. The door opened, and Starla engulfed Jancie in a bear hug, pulling her into the pillow of a large, sagging bosom. Starla smelled of her signature scent—rosewater and liniment. Jancie had loved her great aunt’s hugs as long as she could remember. Stress and worry melted away, and she hugged back. Her arm grazed Starla’s white curls along the collar of her blue knit top embroidered with white stars—her great aunt’s favorite emblem.“It’s so good to see you. Come sit a spell, while I get us some iced tea.” Starla pulled away and gestured to the microsuede couch decorated with three crocheted afghans in a rainbow of colors. “I thought we were done with this hot weather, but not quite yet. That rain today’s been a gully washer but didn’t cool things off much.” The large-boned woman scuffed her pink-house-slippered feet toward the kitchen. “Would you rather have pound cake from the IGA or homemade cornbread?”Jancie laughed and followed her into the kitchen. She wouldn’t get through the visit without eating. “You’re just fishin’ for a compliment. You know your homemade cornbread is better.” Starla arranged plates with thick slices of warm cornbread and big pats of butter on top, while Jancie transferred the refreshments to the aluminum dinette table.“With your hair pulled back like that, you’re a dead ringer for your Ma. So pretty with that same sweetheart-shaped face.” Starla folded herself onto a chair beside Jancie. “You look to be getting on well…considering what all you’ve been through.”“I’m doing okay,” Jancie said through a mouthful of the moist cornbread. She washed it down with a swallow of brisk tea that tasted fresh-brewed. “But sometimes, lots of times, I feel lost, like I can’t move on.” She ran a hand across her forehead. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I spent time with her through all those years, and it shouldn’t matter, but it does every time I visit her grave and most every night in my dreams.”“Oh, honey. I know it hurts.” Starla smoothed Jancie’s ponytail down the middle of her back and spoke with a voice so slow and warm, it felt like a handmade quilt wrapping around her.  “You spent all that time and gave so much. Just like when I cared for my husband some twenty years back. I know. I never got the chance to tell Harry goodbye either. Time will heal all hurts.”Jancie looked down at the marbleized tabletop to hide her teary eyes. “I don’t think I’m ever going to heal, Aunt Starla. I don’t know if I can ever move on.”“There is one thing you can try. I’d have done it, if I’d have known before decades softened my aching heart. Way back, I was desperate like you.”Jancie looked into Starla’s blue-gray eyes, set deep inside wrinkled lids. Her aunt leaned closer. “Not many know about this,” she whispered as if someone outside the apartment door might hear. “There’s an old story about how a member of the Coon Hollow Coven, one who’s recently lost a loved one, is made the teller of the moonstone tale.” Jancie rolled her eyes. “That’s just a silly story, one of lots that Mom and Dad told to scare me when I was little, so I’d stay away from the coven. When the moonstone locket opens at the end of the tale, you’ll get your wish but also be cursed.”“Oh no.” Starla shook her head and pushed away from the table. “Let me get Aunt Maggie’s old diary. I got this in a box of old family things when Cousin Dorothy passed. ” She lumbered to her spare bedroom and returned with a worn, black-leather volume only a little larger than her wide palm. Once seated, she thumbed through the yellowed pages. “Here.” She pointed a finger and placed the book between them.

About the Author:
Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales.
The magic of art and nature often spark life into her writing, as well as watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out for an hour or more is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand.
Every day at the beach is magical!
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