Bertena Varney's Blog, page 15
October 13, 2021
Urbantasm Book Three The Darkest Road by Connor
Urbantasm Book ThreeThe Darkest RoadConnor Coyne
Genre: General Fiction / Young AdultSubgenres: Magical Realism, Teen Noir, Edgy YAPublisher: Gothic Funk PressDate of Publication: 9/22/2021ISBN: 978-0989920292 (Print)Page Count 639Word Count: About 230,000Cover Artist: Sam Perkins-Harbin
Urbantasm: The Empty Room is the third book in the magical teen noir serial novel inspired by the author’s experiences growing up in and around Flint, Michigan. It will be published in September, 2021.
Junior high was hard. John Bridge has made and lost friends, experienced and forsaken love, and discovered his true passions. But after his harrowing experience on the roof of St. Christopher’s hospital, John has decided to turn the page of his own life and plan for his future. Now he has new friends, a new girlfriend, and a powerful new goal: to get into Chicago and leave Akawe forever.
But Akawe might not want to let John go. The city is full of memories and ghosts — urbantasms, according his former friend Selby — and they leave traces of questions that John cannot easily escape: What happened to his abducted classmate Cora Braille? How does the Chalks street gang keep replenishing its stock of O-Sugar, a drug with seemingly magical properties? And why is Selby suddenly hanging out with a notorious drug dealer? Does it have anything to do with a man with a knife or some mysterious blue sunglasses?
John has a feeling that the dreadful answers to these questions might take him to a place that he does not want to go: a dark road in a forgotten corner of his dying city. Possibly the darkest road of all.
As a serial novel, Urbantasm has to be read in order. New readers will want to start with Book One The Dying City .
Excerpt Book 3:
The summer dusk gave way to interstitial twilight. There was no sense in riding an hour back home in the dark just to turn around and come back the next morning. Instead, my friends and I bummed our way back to Camp Jellystone, where we got to camp in tents on the gravel and weeds off of the RV lot for five dollars a night. We sat around a fire and drank pop while the older actors – our mentors – went through six-packs of beer and homilized on their atheist Bibles. They quoted SNL routines, Monty Python, GURPS, Cthulhu, and the Digital Underground until we were all too tired to see straight. We all said goodnight and made our way back to our tents. But my tent had flooded during the week, and inside I found dead earwigs floating in slow circles. I didn’t mind. I was glad that this had happened. I gathered up my sleeping bag, which Eddie had dropped off in the morning before heading back to Akawe, and stumbled back through the purple dark to Omara’s tent. “Knock knock,” I said. I heard her sigh. “You got your own tent, John.” “Not tonight,” I said. “It’s flooded. Will you let me stay here?” “Fine,” she said. “If this ever gets back to my dad, he’ll murder you.” “I don’t think he will. I don’t think he’d murder a fly.” She didn’t argue. She knew that I was right. She unzipped the tent and beckoned me inside. In more than a year of going out, Omara and I hadn’t had sex. We hadn’t even been naked together. The driving thirst and curiosity that I had felt in seventh grade had been quenched by my confusing tumbles with Crystal. By my guilty nescience with Lucy. Still, here I was, sleeping bag in hand, stooped under the slope of the tent roof, wearing soccer shorts and a too-small t-shirt, and Omara stood before me, more stooped because she was taller than I was, her white panties and tank top bright against her dark skin. We unzipped our sleeping bags, made a bed between them, and lay down. Omara turned away from me, and I pressed into her back. I put my arm around her waist with my palm against her bare stomach. I could feel her shapes against mine, though there was still cloth between us. “It was a long day today,” she said. “Uh-huh,” I said. “We’d better get some sleep. It’s gonna be a long weekend. We got two more days to go. Then school. You know I got that job at the Olan Farm? It’s gonna be almost like this. I mean, I guess I’ll dress up like a milkmaid, like The Little House on the Prairie or something. But it’ll be acting, you know?” I sighed. “I’m not tired,” I said. “Me neither,” she said. And then, in a burst: “I can’t stop thinking about that woman on your block. Who murdered her baby.” I pushed myself against her. I held my breath. I said, “I can’t think about that. I mean. There’s nothing I can do about that. It makes me sick, but what does that even accomplish?” “But doesn’t it just stick with you? The idea of it? How awful it –” “I don’t want it to, okay? Anyway, it’s far away. We’re here now. Let’s stay here.” “We can’t stay here.” I felt the tenseness in Omara’s back. “Yeah. But someday, we’ll leave Akawe for good. And anyway. We aren’t there now.” “Aren’t you afraid your dad’s gonna lose his job?” “My father? Yeah. He’s already driving two hours each day ever since they transferred him to Canton. Ever since that strike ended last year, it seems like X is closing everything fast as they can. You know? I mean, they closed the Benedict Main. Most of the Old Benedict. Probably RAN, too. ‘Course, my aunt says they were going to close them all anyway.” Omara laughed. A slight untensing. “Sounds like you have thought about it.” “I think about lots of things a lot. Some things I don’t want to think about and some things I do. I mean, I think about you a lot.” I was trying to move toward her. In, you know, ways. But she wasn’t taking the bait. “Aren’t you afraid they won’t be able to pay for college?” She’d finally succeeded. Omara’s fears had become my fears. “No,” I said. “I mean, my mother is working at that new job at XAI. And even if my father gets laid off, he’s got options. Right? Transfer to other plants. Stuff like that. What about you? Why are you worried? Didn’t your grandparents get you a savings bond or something?” “Yeah. But I keep thinking someone’s gonna open a trapdoor beneath me or something. I guess ... I guess I keep thinking I’ll believe in college when I get there. And not before. It just seems a bad idea to get my hopes up, you know?” “You don’t have to worry about it for a while. It’s still years off. I mean, we just have to keep working, don’t we? It’ll happen. We just need to be patient or some shit, you know?” The wind buffeted the tent over our heads. I could hear low talking outside. Low chuckles. Through the tent wall, I could see the embers of the fire flickering faintly. Some of the older actors would be slouching in their folding chairs until the sky started to gray with dawn. That was still several hours away. I listened to it for a long, slow minute. “I do worry,” I confided. “I worry that something will happen that I don’t expect, and I’ll get stuck. That I’ll fail a class, fail a test I need to pass ... and I won’t get into college in Chicago, or I won’t get into college anywhere. I worry that my parents are lying about everything, and they can’t pay for shit. I worry that I’m just being set up to fail. I even worry ...” I caught my breath. Saying this all out loud was hard. Trusting a human being was hard. But at least I wasn’t looking into her eyes. At least the darkness of a September tent wrapped us and kept our secrets from everyone else. “I worry,” I whispered, “that you’ll go away to college in Chicago, and I’ll be stuck in Akawe, and I’ll never get out.” I heard a deep breath from Omara. I felt her belly raise beneath my cupped palm. She had fallen asleep, and I was grateful.
Urbantasm Book TwoThe Empty RoomConnor CoynePublisher: Gothic Funk PressDate of Publication: September 2019 Number of pages:Word Count: 175,000 Cover Artist: Sam Perkins-Harbin, Forge22 Design
Book Description:
Urbantasm: The Empty Room is the second book in the magical teen noir serial novel inspired by the author’s experiences growing up in and around Flint, Michigan.
John Bridge is only two months into junior high and his previously boring life has already been turned upside-down. His best friend has gone missing, his father has been laid-off from the factory, and John keeps looking over his shoulder for a mysterious adversary: a man with a knife and some perfect blue sunglasses.
As if all this wasn’t bad enough, John must now confront his complicated feelings for a classmate who has helped him out of one scrape after another, although he knows little about who she is and what she wants. What does it mean to want somebody? How can you want them if you don’t understand them? Does anybody understand anyone, ever? These are hard questions made harder in the struggling city of Akawe, where the factories are closing, the schools are closing, the schools are crumbling, and even the streetlights can’t be kept on all night.
John and his friends are only thirteen, but they are fighting for their lives and futures. Will they save Akawe, will they escape, or are they doomed? They might find their answers in an empty room… in a city with ten thousand abandoned houses, there will be plenty to choose from.
Amazon
Urbantasm Book OneThe Dying CityConnor Coyne Genre: YA, Magical Realism, New Adult, Teen Noir, Lit FicPublisher: Gothic Funk PressDate of Publication: September 6, 2018ISBN: 978-0989920230ASIN: 0989920232Number of pages: 450 pagesWord Count: 85,000Cover Artist: Sam Perkins-Harbin,Forge22 Design
Book Description:
Urbantasm is a magical teen noir serial novel inspired by the author’s experiences growing up in and around Flint, Michigan.
Thirteen-year-old John Bridge’s plans include hooking up with an eighth-grade girl and becoming one of the most popular kids at Radcliffe Junior High, but when he steals a pair of strange blue sunglasses from a homeless person, it drops him into the middle of a gang war overwhelming the once-great Rust Belt town of Akawe.
John doesn’t understand why the sunglasses are such a big deal, but everything, it seems, is on the table. Perhaps he accidentally offended the Chalks, a white supremacist gang trying to expand across the city. Maybe the feud involves his friend Selby, whose father died under mysterious circumstances. It could even have something to do with O-Sugar, a homegrown drug with the seeming ability to distort space. On the night before school began, a group of teenagers took O-Sugar and leapt to their deaths from an abandoned hospital.
John struggles to untangle these mysteries while adjusting to his new school, even as his parents confront looming unemployment and as his city fractures and burns.
“A novel of wonder and horror.”— William Shunn, author of The Accidental Terrorist
Amazon Barnes and Noble
About the Author:
Connor Coyne is a writer living and working in Flint, Michigan.
His serial novel Urbantasm is winner of numerous awards. Hugo- and Nebula-nominee William Shunn has praised Urbantasm as “a novel of wonder and horror.”
Connor has also authored two other celebrated novels, Hungry Rats and Shattering Glass, as well as Atlas, a collection of short stories.
Connor’s essay “Bathtime” was included in the Picador anthology Voices from the Rust Belt. His work has been published by Vox.com, Belt Magazine, Santa Clara Review, and elsewhere.
Connor is Director of Gothic Funk Press. He has served on the planning committee for the Flint Festival of Writers and represented Flint’s 7th Ward as its artist-in-residence for the National Endowment for the Arts’ Our Town grant. In 2007, he earned his Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from the New School.
Connor lives in Flint, Michigan less than a mile from the house where he grew up.
Urbantasm: http://urbantasm.com
Author Website: http://connorcoyne.com
Newsletter Signup: http://eepurl.com/bzZvb5
Blog: http://connorcoyne.com/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/connorcoyne
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@blueskiesfalling
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/connorcoyne
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/connorryancoyne
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/connorcoyne
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4218298.Connor_Coyne
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October 12, 2021
Music Playlist for Witch of the Cards by Catherine Stine
Here’s the playlist I created for my paranormal historical romance, Witch of the Cards.
It’s set in 1932, so I mixed in a couple of era classics having to do with witches, magic, and the ocean, where an epic battle takes place between the witches in my tale. Enjoy!
Deep, Wide Ocean– The Jezabels
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbAyUjclZgc
I Put a Spell on You – Nina Simone
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xDprYZ-tgiA
Alice Underground– Avril Lavigne
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMeiP69HlCM
Pennies from Heaven– Bing Crosby
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IFgC7JhVrM
Season of the Witch– Donovan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAzTnsSgs2s
Heartless – The Fray version
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBTdJHkAr5A
Black Magic Woman– Santana
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyQUCYl-ocs
Cuban Love Song – Ruth Etting
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuXl6Rh3zPk
Hunting for Witches – Bloc Party
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmPNuruWMTA
Heavy Like a Witch– All Them Witches
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhzvanE-O14
How Deep is the Ocean?– Brenda Lee
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5Dpcm8_6Kw
Do You Believe in Magic?– Lovin’ Spoonful
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDYNuD4CwlI
Witch of the CardsCatherine Stine
Genre: paranormal historical suspensePublisher: Konjur Road PressDate of Publication: March 16, 2016ISBN 13: 978-0-9848282-6-5 ISBN-10: 0-9848282-6-5ISBN 13: 978-0-9848282-7-2 ISBN 10: 0-9848282-7-3Number of pages: 265Word Count: 76KCover Artist: Mae I Designs
Tagline: Fiera was born a sea witch with no inkling of her power. And now it might be too late.
Book Description:
Witch of the Cards is a supernatural romantic suspense set in 1932 on the Jersey shore. Fiera has left the Brooklyn orphanage where she was raised and works in Manhattan as a nanny. She gets a lucky break when her boss pays for her vacation in Asbury Park. One evening, Fiera and her new friend Dulcie wander down the boardwalk and into Peter Dune’s Tarot & Séance, where they attend a card reading.
Fiera has an unsettling ability to sense future events and people’s hidden agendas. She longs to either find out the origin of her powers or else banish them because as is, they make her feel crazy. When, during the reading, her energies somehow bond with Peter Dune’s and form an undeniable ethereal force, a chain of revelations and dangerous events unspool.
For one, Fiera finds out she is a witch from a powerful sea clan, but that someone is out to stop her blossoming power forever. And though she is falling in love with Peter, he also has a secret side. He’s no card reader, but a private detective working to expose mediums. Despite this terrible betrayal, Fiera must make the choice to save Peter from a tragic Morro Cruise boat fire, or let him perish with his fellow investigators. Told in alternating viewpoints, Fiera and Peter each struggle against their deep attraction. Secrets, lies, even murder, lace this edgy fantasy.
From Lovers of Paranormal: “Interesting story of witches, deceit, secrets, romance and friendship. Fun and creative.”
Amazon Amazon UK Amazon CA Amazon AU
Excerpt:
If I only had a week in this glorious beach town, I wanted to catch up with sleep and plunge into as many escapades as possible—even bewildering, outlandish ones.
We walked in, to the jangle of Mr. Dune’s door chimes. I skated around, ogling the floor-to-ceiling shelves brimming with leather-bound books on cosmic mysteries, spiritualism, and witchcraft. Two immediate standouts were Ten Ways to Practice Mentalism and Dona Bella, Memoirs of a Southern Witch. These were my fare, similar to a favorite book at the public library—a tome on dark magic. The most stirring part was about each witch dynasty having its own grimoire, a sort of magical recipe book. I had no clue as to why dark tales tickled me so, and often wondered about my taste.
Still, I read everything I could get my hands on, even boring books that drifted me right off to the Land of Nod. At my nanny job, I was so desperate for stories I even read the tedious articles about cooking and how to throw a proper cocktail party in Mrs. Cuthbert’s Reader’s Digest and Home Arts magazines.
Mr. Dune strode toward us. His handsome aura and towering presence intimidated yet thrilled me. He was dressed in crisp, charcoal gray pants and a vest with a double-breasted pinstriped jacket. “Are you lovely ladies here for the séance?” He held out a long, elegant hand, studded with a silver ring. I barely collected my wits enough to shake it and nod. Dulcie’s hand whooshed out and hardly touched his before she clamped it protectively back to her side.
No doubt about it, he was the most striking man I’d ever seen. His thick mop of dark hair tapered into long sideburns, rendering his jawline a tad dangerous. I guessed he was in his mid-twenties. When his coffee-brown eyes gleamed at me, my breath caught, and a heat greater than any moonshine fired through me.
We paid the dime admission. He escorted us to a round, wooden table with lion-footed legs where we joined a heavyset older couple and a reedy gentleman with thin, blond hair. His lime-fizz eyes darted over to Dulcie, and then away. Two empty chairs still beckoned.
Dulcie looked terrified, so I smiled at her. She calmed enough to take a seat.
Mr. Dune strode to the window, loosened the crimson curtains, and lowered their heavy velvet over the windows, lending the already-pensive storefront a mystical aura.
About the Author: Catherine Stine is a USA Today bestselling author of paranormal, urban and historical fantasy. Witch of the Wild Beasts won a second prize in the Romance Writers of America’s Sheila Contest. Other novels have earned Indie Notable awards and New York Public Library Best Books. She lives in New York State and grew up in Philadelphia. Before writing novels, she was a painter and fabric designer. She’s a visual author and sees writing as painting with words. Catherine loves spending time with her beagle Benny, writing about supernatural creatures, gardening and meeting readers at book fests.
Learn more at catherinestine.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/crossoverwriter
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/kitsy84557/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kitsy84557
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@catherinestine7
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorcatherinestine
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/catherine-stine
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1018139.Catherine_Stine
Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/Catherine-Stine/e/B001H9TXJC
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiYPFXTOO0EQ2XRW72PJiyw
Newsletter: https://catherinestine.com/wp/get-the-newsletter-contact-me/
Eliza: The Awakening by Eileen Sheehan Recipe for Severed Finger Sugar Cookies
Severed Finger Sugar Cookies
Ingredients:
2 ¾ c. flour; 1 tsp baking soda½ tsp baking powder1 x. softened butter1 ½ c. sugar1 egg1tsp vanilla extract
Heat oven to 350°F. Line cookie sheets with cooking parchment paper or silicone baking mats.
In medium bowl, cream butter with sugar and add egg and vanilla.
Then, add flour and baking powder and baking soda. Using fork or spatula, until well mixed and texture of breadcrumbs.
Squeeze handful of dough crumbs together tightly to form small log or "finger."
Score top of log with butter knife to shape the knuckle, then press 1 slivered almond at one end to make the fingernail. Repeat to use up dough. Refrigerate 30 minutes.
Bake 15 minutes. Cool completely, about 30 minutes.
Eliza: The AwakeningBook OneEileen Sheehan
Genre: Paranormal Shifter SeriesPublisher: Earth Wise BooksDate of Publication: 8/31/2021ASIN: B09956JTJ1Number of pages: 178Word Count: 26,380
Tagline: "The Awakening" begins the saga of a female shifter named, Eliza.
Book Description:
Eliza is a simple and uncomplicated young woman. She enjoys the outdoors, is good with animals, and, like most young women her age, loves to party and have fun. When she meets a sexy man with an alluring Southern drawl, she has no idea that he is involved in a world that she is yet to know, but is her legacy. Like it or not.
Amazon BN Kobo Apple Smashwords
Excerpt
It felt like someone was swinging a hammer against the inside of Eliza’s skull. The early morning dew caused a damp muskiness on the earth that blended with the mold and dust that burrowed beneath the thick layer of leaves where she lay her aching burden; assaulting her nose and adding to her misery. Her chocolate colored eyes felt pinned shut, but her hearing was abnormally acute. By the sounds around her, she sensed her surroundings were familiar ones. If she was correct, she was near the small cave that was nestled in a knoll that began the acres of woods at the far end of her family’s farm. It was a place that she’d discovered at a young age and had frequented whenever she required alone time. Her surroundings weren’t the greater mystery. How she got there was.
As her faculties returned to normal, she sat up and realized that how she got there wasn’t the biggest mystery after all. It was superseded by the fact that she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on.
None of this made sense. How did she get there and what happened to her clothes?
Straining her mind, she reached into the fog for a replay of the night before. She’d gone with her best friend, Reba, to a newly opened dance club. The place was packed, and dance partners were plentiful. The exertion from dancing combined with the excessive body heat made the air feel so stifling as to be practically unbearable. She remembered stepping outside for a bit of fresh air. Did Reba join her? She struggled to remember, but the visions in her head showed very little.
Squeezing her eyes shut almost to the point that it hurt, she forced her mind to function. She needed to remember the chain of events that led to her waking up naked in a field at the edge of the woods. Had she gone home from the club and sleepwalked? Or had something sinister occurred? She just didn’t know.
Ab out the Author:
Eileen Sheehan primarily writes hot, steamy romances (mostly New Adult) with a sexy male and strong female. A few are steamier than others (see their description). The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love (contemporary or historical with the author name of Ailene Frances). ALL of her stories have a bit of naughtiness, some excitement, a few thrills, and maybe a touch of mystery mixed in with sometimes naughty, sometimes sweet lovin'. She strives to write a novel length that will allow the busy woman to be able to sit down in an evening or two and be taken on a romantic journey without having a week go by before she gets to the end of the story.
An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her characters... one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.
www.sheehan-author.info
https://www.facebook.com/groups/162542557665509
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A Place of Magic by Merrie Destefano
A Place of MagicMerrie Destefano
Genre: Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Paranormal FantasyPublisher: Ruby Slipper PressDate of Publication: October 12, 2021ASIN:B09FNSVKZJNumber of pages:320Word Count: 73,000Cover Artist: Elona Bezooshko, Psycat Digital Ink and Motion
Book Description:
Halloween is the wrong time to visit Ticonderoga Falls.Dangerous monsters hunt in the nearby woods.
The Prey...
Maddie MacFaddin.For her, the nearby forest holds many memories, some joyous, some forgotten. But she has no recollection of Ash, the dark, magnificent creature who saved her life as a child, or that his kind preys upon humanity.
The Monster...
Ash, a Darkling fae.Trapped in Ticonderoga Falls for a century, he’s required to host a Hunt once a year. Then, hungry, shapeshifting faeries will descend upon the villagers and harvest their dreams.
The Hunt...
There are rules about harvesting humans; the poor creatures are so delicate. If you take too much, they’ll die. Without dreams, they perish. And perish they do—now and then—despite Ash's efforts to keep them safe. Then he realizes Maddie is the prey his unwanted guests are after. But, try as he might, this time he’s not strong enough to protect her. The entire village is in danger.
Soon the Hunt will begin. And no one will be safe.
Excerpt:
He nodded, head lowered. Then he lifted his gaze until he was staring into her eyes. One hand rested on her shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone your secret, Elspeth. You’re safe with me.”
Then he leaned closer, his scent overwhelming, his thoughts like the wind through the leaves, a wild rushing, his skin like the embrace of the forest. His lips touched hers and she could hear his heart beating. She slid her arms around his waist, leaning into the kiss, suddenly wanting more. She wanted to cast an enchantment, to lead him into sleep, to harvest his dreams. Wanted to walk into a dream with him, to see the hidden world on the other side of his eyelids. Wanted to know everything about him.
The kiss had only just begun and already she wanted another.
His arms were around her then, and the winter chill disappeared. In its place, fire crackled through her limbs, from her fingertips to her feet.
She could see it then, the world inside him. Tender and gentle as a spring morning, the shadows of night lingering at the edge of the wood, a handful of stars scattered across a pale sky.
She never knew that humans could be filled with so much magic.
It was her first Hunt and she had chosen her prey wisely.
About the Author:
Multiple-award-winning author Merrie Destefano writes lyrical tales of magic, mystery, and hope. Her traditional books have been published by HarperCollins, Entangled Teen, and Walter Foster, while her indie imprint is Ruby Slippers Press. Her novels have won awards in both the science fiction and fantasy categories.
She worked for Focus on the Family, The Word For Today, Engaged Media, and PJS Publications, and her magazine experience includes editor of Victorian Homes magazine, Zombies magazine, Haunted: Mysteries And Legends magazine, American Farmhouse Style magazine, Vintage Gardens magazine and founding editor of Cottages and Bungalows magazine. Her co-authored art books include How To Draw Vampires, How To Draw Zombies, and How to Draw Grimm’s Dark Fairy Tales. Her edited books include The Man God Uses by Chuck Smith, Oil Pastel Step-By-Step by Nathan Rohlander, and The Art of Drawing Fantasy Characters by Jacob Glaser.
Born in the Midwest, Merrie now lives in Southern California, where she runs on caffeine, and shares her home with rescue dogs and cats. And although she dearly loves science fiction, in her heart of hearts, she still doesn’t believe airplanes should be able to fly.
WEBSITE: http://www.merriedestefano.com/
BLOG: http://merriedestefano.blog/
NEWSLETTER: http://www.merriedestefano.com/newsletter1.html
INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/merriedestefano/
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/MerrieDestefano
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/Merrie-Destefano-127750623906184/
BOOKBUB: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/merrie-destefano
AUDIOBOOKS: https://www.audible.com/author/Merrie-Destefano/B0048L6NYO
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October 10, 2021
Honour’s Rest The Rite Way Book 1 by Judith Crow
Honour’s RestThe Rite WayBook 1Judith Crow
Genre: Young Adult Magical RealismPublisher: CrowvusDate of Publication:11th October 2021ISBN:978-1-913182-33-5ASIN:B09FVM4KTWNumber of pages:289Word Count:84525Cover Artist: Clemency Crow
Book Description:
“So, it’s – what – like magic?”
No, according to Pen’s uncle, the Rite is not magic at all. But, if it’s not magic, then how could Pen push the school bully into a pond while he was really studying alone in the library?
When Pen’s family realise he has the Rite, he is sent to live with his Uncle Napier, who can help him control his ability.
But Napier has other duties. He is the Rendelf, in charge of the Rite in the UK, and he has gathered many enemies over the years…
…enemies who would be delighted to use Pen against him.
Amazon Crowvus
Except One (950 Words):
Pen knew that Marley had been studying from different books, books that had highlighted the role of how to interpret and use the Rite, whilst he had only been reading about the importance of the thaumaturge and the history of different Rendelfs who had lived and died in Honour’s Rest. Nothing would come naturally to him, he was sure, but he thought of what he would most like to do and was both shocked and pleased when he heard a cry of impressed surprise from Marley.
He turned around and saw that, just as he had intended, Marley was being harassed by a curtain which had taken the form of a lady in crinoline, just as those in Orkney had done. However, the curtains in Honour’s Rest were far larger, so Pen couldn’t help but laugh as the curtain-ladies almost enveloped his friend in their voluptuous folds.
“Now something darker, I think,” he heard Napier’s voice say, but Pen tried to close his mind to his uncle’s words and focus only on the laughter of his friend. He would not be tricked into using the Knave’s Rite, he told himself. For the first time, he found himself breathing the Rite. He could feel it flowing through him, permeating every sense he possessed and filling his mind with the knowledge and freedom it offered.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp stinging sensation against his cheek and his left eye began to water. He heard Marley’s laughter stop and turned around to face his uncle, in time to duck as Napier flicked an elastic band straight at his face.
“Stop it!” Pen shouted, desperate not to lose the Rite he was only just beginning to find. Napier paid him no attention but just flicked another band into his face. It hit the lid of his watering left eye and Pen felt the pain mixing with the Rite which was coursing through his body. It no longer felt like a freeing experience, but he and it were wrapped around one another to take revenge on the man who was causing him pain. Another elastic band whipped against his ear and he turned back to face his uncle, his eyes burning with anger.
“Stop that!” he screamed again, and he felt the force of his anger leave him for a second and strike Napier. He thought his uncle would fall, but Napier seemed to catch Pen’s anger in his hands and, after moulding it slightly for a moment, he threw it back at his nephew.
Pen felt himself growing angrier. He could almost visualise the Knave’s Rite weaving its way around his body, his blood coloured by it and his watering eyes glowing as furiously red as they felt. He could see his uncle winding that invisible skein around his fingers, and Pen wanted to snatch it away and leave Napier helpless to whatever revenge he chose to take against the man who had so painfully dragged him from the happiest state he had ever known.
He glanced up at one of the enormous swords which was hanging on the wall and imagined himself severing the Rite which kept it there. His own was more powerful, as it lived and breathed along with him. Pen could see his uncle still winding the ridiculous invisible skein around his fingers and felt a sudden superiority. He did not need music or ridiculous hand gestures to wield the Rite. He could do whatever he wished just by thinking, breathing, knowing…
“That’s enough,” he heard Napier say, but that only made him angrier.
It was fine then, he thought bitterly, for his uncle to make him experience the Rite like a performing monkey and then shock him out of the experience through pain.
The sword began to shuffle away from its moorings, causing a cascade of dust and spiders’ webs to fall the twenty feet. He heard Marley calling his name, but he didn’t care. At that moment, he just wanted to show his uncle that he had the power, ability and focus to punish him for his actions.
“Stop that!” Napier shouted, just as his nephew had done seconds before. But Pen was no less stubborn than his uncle, and the sword continued to move across the room. “Stop that now!”
The hint of panic in Napier’s voice gave Pen a sense of satisfaction. He had achieved what Marley had not. He could see Napier’s fingers working frantically as he wound the Rite around them. The sword was now above his head, the pointed tip of the blade only six feet above him. With an angry cry, Pen sent it crashing down, commanding it to reach its target no matter whether or not Napier stepped out of the way.
There was a loud crash of metal as the sword fell on the floor, and the noise seemed to bring Pen back to his senses. The anger was gone, but it had been replaced with a sickening feeling of remorse and guilt which was already feasting on his insides.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
His uncle’s face was almost as white as his right index finger, around which he had pulled the Rite tightly to prevent the sword from hitting him. Napier looked at him in silence for a few moments before shaking his head.
“It can’t be helped,” he said, his voice as calm as ever. “I should have known you had it in you. And every Rendelf must face the darker side of his apprentice sooner or later. I should be grateful it happened before you have full control of the Rite. I’ll tidy this place up. You two go and enjoy what’s left of the sunshine.”
About the Author:Judith was born in Orkney, grew up in Lincolnshire and now lives in the far north of Scotland. Her work draws inspiration from folklore, experience and the natural world.The Backwater, Judith’s debut book, was a finalist in the Wishing Shelf Book Awards 2019.Judith followed this with Dance With Me in 2020 and her next novel, Honour’s Rest, will be published in October 2021.When she isn’t writing, Judith is a teacher at a primary school in Caithness. She sometimes finds that writing gets usurped by crafting, music, and being a generally doting spaniel owner.
https://www.judithcrow.co.uk/https://twitter.com/jayzed_kay https://twitter.com/CrowvusLit
https://www.facebook.com/JudithZKCrow
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18528764.Judith_Crow
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Shadow Slayer Shadow Series Book Two by Laura A.H. Elliott
Shadow SlayerShadow Series Book TwoLaura A.H. Elliott
Genre: YA Paranormal RomancePublisher: Ghost PressDate of Publication: September 28, 2012ISBN: 978-1479388189ASIN: B009CJ5DXENumber of pages: 184Word Count: 54,298Cover Artist: Laura Elliott
Tagline: Shadows Will Do Anything To Become Human
Book Description:
Shadows will do anything to become human. You see their influence every day. You say things you don’t mean or do things that aren’t like you. You look different. Friends you’ve known forever suddenly never call.
As a freshman, Roxie just wants to fit in which is impossible because she barely runs into her friends at her huge high school. Adrianne’s disappearance and Hayden’s attention rock Roxie’s world. But nothing rocks it like the most gorgeous guy at school, Drew. And nothing is more important to Roxie than astral projecting back to Planet Popular to solve the mystery of the map.
But that changes when Drew invites Roxie to homecoming. Hayden warns her that something’s wrong. Why would a guy like Drew like Roxie anyway? Drew must want something. Hayden’s right. Drew is different. Planet Popular was just the beginning. Part of a bigger world, the Shadow World.
There’s a war brewing between the world of humans and the world of shadows. When the shadow invasion begins at Roxie’s high school, she’ll not only fight for her life but the lives of her family and friends when she discovers she’s the Shadow Slayer, the one human who can save Earth from the shadow onslaught. But Roxie can’t even kill a spider.
Oh yeah, there's an evil English teacher, an enchanted play, a sword of Sandonian steel, a homecoming of horrors, and seven magic words too.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/Xx830AT-g2s
Excerpt:I stroke one cheek and then the other with blush and remember standing with Drew at the bonfire. The last night we went out as boyfriend and girlfriend. The last night he was human.
On your 13th birthday, you get the call. By your 14th birthday you find out what the call is.
Everyone I know is in the audience tonight––Ally, Mom, Dad, Brian, even my brother, Mitch, because he came home for my birthday. We’re having our family dinner tomorrow night since tonight the cast party’s at Drew's house, unless I decapitate him first.
“Roxie five minutes,” Hayden yells into the girl’s locker room. As usual I’m the last one out. I sweep my hair up to the side and try to remember my first line. For some reason it’s the one I always forget.
I open locker 316, grab my sword and just as I step outside of the locker room, Wanda runs up to me and starts talking non-stop about her nerves and how they’re getting worse and worse.
“What’s that?” she asks. I stop cold in my tracks at the backstage door.
“There are lots of words for things that don’t exist––the unseen. Like monsters and aliens and dragons and vampires and ghosts,” I say sort of in a trance.
“Yeah, so?” Wanda says, wringing her hands.
“If they don’t exist, why are there words for them? All the stuff I thought was crazy really isn’t crazy at all,” I say, finally getting what Drew was trying to tell me at the bonfire at the estate at homecoming. What the human Drew said before I danced with his shadow. My role in the unseen, the shadow world. Still, I don’t know so many things. Like, what happens to a shadow once I slay it? And where do humans go when their shadows invade? How can I save my human friends?
“Roxie, I caught you! I was so late because Brian’s car got a flat. He fixed it so great, I couldn’t believe it. It’s like he went to badass school or something,” Ally says, laughing.
“Ally. Finally!” We hug. I swallow hard. Brian. Fixed. A. Flat. I mean it’s not brain surgery. But believe me, if it doesn’t have an LCD screen, my brother Brian doesn't think it exists. He doesn’t know how to fix a flat. O.M.G. Brian is probably a shadow too.
About the Author:As a teenager, Laura’s love for story began in the Amazon where she waterskied with piranha while learning of head hunters and curses. In addition to being a ghost, she’s the author of five books and is a contributor to lifestyle and travel magazines. She has a passion for travel, particularly life at sea, and makes her home in Santa Cruz, CA with her husband, daughters, and their families. No matter the language barrier, perceived danger, altitude, squalls, fashion faux pas, or ingested gluten, she writes to inspire with a focus on journeys of the heart—always on the lookout for great champagne and a pair of red shoes.
You can find her at Laurasmagicday.com, @Laurawriting on Twitter, @book_laurasmagicday on TikTok, and on Goodreads too.
https://twitter.com/Laurawriting
https://www.instagram.com/laurasmagicday/
https://www.tiktok.com/@book_laurasmagicday
https://www.laurasmagicday.com/shadow-series/reader-bonuses/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5043385.Laura_A_H_Elliott
October 6, 2021
The Ghosts We Carry and How to Banish Them
The Ghosts We Carry and How to Banish Them
Have you ever noticed how in haunted house stories or an occult detective tale, there’s always an object that keeps a spirit anchored to a place? It could be a keepsake from when the ghost was a living being or a terrible artifact use to summon darker entities. Sometimes it’s a whole room or house, the energy of the people who have lived in it soaking into the very walls. Other times it’s the memory of a horrific incident that has bled into the earth.
In order to banish the ghost, of course, we have to destroy the object—set it on fire, break it, or, to be less dramatic, let it go or move on from it.
Move out of the haunted house.
Contain the dark occult artifact that can’t be destroyed so that no one will find it (until the inevitable sequel, of course….this is dramatic fiction after all!).
These stories remind us, in one way or another, that the things we carry with us absorb the energy of our experiences. And that, sometimes, the only way we can move forward is to let those objects go. Otherwise, we keep that old energy—sometimes toxic energy—around and get stuck, finding ourselves in a time loop of the same draining experiences that first tainted the objects in question.
The Ghosts We Carry
Take, for instance, the story of The Sad Birthday Dress. It goes like this: There once was a woman who wanted to feel beautiful. All day long she was asked to be nothing but a talking head. But this woman knew she had a heart and hips and a juicy center. So she bought herself a dress to remind herself that she could be a whole person and not just a shriveled head sitting in someone’s cabinet of curiosities. And what a dress it was! It was stunning, with finely spun organic lilac cotton and loud bouncy yellow and white polka dots that told her that she was allowed to have color in her life—that she was allowed to be of color, no need to pass as another kind of pale specter. The skirt was flouncy and feminine and begged to be flipped up for illicit romance or at least a lively dance.
It was the perfect birthday dress. So she did what any woman who wanted to feel alive did—she wore it out and ate cake and drank champagne and danced until the weight of the pale city bore down on her and her loud pretty dress didn’t make her feel pretty anymore. Just sad. Unspeakably so. Because, she realized, this dress didn’t make her feel pretty. It only reminded her that she lived in a place that didn’t want her to be a flesh and blood woman. A city that was uncomfortable with her long wild hair and her rounded hips and the way the bodice of her dress clung to her breasts. She knew shame in that dress. And a sadness that welled up inside her until it became heartbreak. That heartbreak spread from her body and into the dress as surely as the bubbly drink had spread through her body only moments before.
The woman learned a hard lesson that night: A dress couldn’t fix a city that treated her like a brown stain on a white shirt. And cake couldn’t disguise the fact that there was no sweetness for her there. Only loneliness and a bone-deep cold. The solution was to leave in search of warmer hands and beating hearts.
Eventually, the dress came off. But the heartbreak stayed. And every time the woman tried to wear her I Am Beautiful Dress, she inevitably took it off and rehung in her closet, until one day she stopped trying to wear it all together. It moved to the back of her closet, limp and half-forgotten, like a mediocre date or half-baked wish. It was no longer her I Am Beautiful Dress. It was stained with the experience of that night, which is how it became The Sad Birthday Dress.
Years later, when the woman had figured how to be a breathing, living woman and not someone else’s curiosity, she pulled the dress from her closet and her heart broke all over again. She knew there was no reclaiming the original power of the beautiful bouncy fabric. Of cake and champagne and moonlight. In the dress, she saw the pain of her past welling up inside of her. Its presence was like a ghost reminding her of all the broken things she could never fix. Of the hopeless realization that the thing she wanted—thought she wanted—wasn’t for her and, in fact, had never existed at all. She had been chasing phantoms and, in the process, almost become one herself.
So she packed it up and gave it away in the hopes that it might become what it was meant to be—that I Am Beautiful Dress—for someone else who was ready to pay the price to reclaim that joy in the way she hadn’t been when she had first purchased it. The weight of that terrible time lifted from her shoulders and the energy in her home felt lighter.
Now the woman has a closet full of I Am Beautiful Dresses. They are loud. And they sparkle. And they have hems ready to be tossed above the knee for dancing and more dancing and things that would make you blush for me to write. And they all radiate joy. All because she let go of the thing that was holding her back. All because she chose to feel the pain of the past and let it go. All because she chose to be a loud woman with a beating heart in a sun-kissed land and not a phantom shade.
Banishing Ghosts
Lovely little story, isn’t it? And it’s all true. I once had an I Am Beautiful Dress that became The Sad Birthday Dress. And when I gave it away, I was giving myself permission to be more than that sad story. I could learn from my past and create space for joy in my present. The truth is, we all have a proverbial Sad Birthday Dress or something that was once a profound piece of armor in our lives that became stained by experience. Other times, we change—becoming someone that certain objects no longer feel attached to, can no longer nourish. And in order to keep growing, transforming, evolving, we must let them go. If we don’t, what once was beautiful or nourishing becomes toxic. The spirit that won’t move on becomes the ghost that terrorizes the living.
Having recently completed a massive house cleansing—saying goodbye to old ghosts and old selves—I found myself thinking about one of my pieces from Everyday Enchantments, “Letting Go of Past Lives, “ about the things you hold on to even when you are ready to let go of the person you used to be. It can be scary to let go of the past because, as stagnant as it can make us, it’s also familiar and comforting. That’s why we hold on to so much unnecessary stuff. It keeps us feeling safe—but it also keeps us stuck. In the end, it’s better to let go and know that you are creating space for new, positive vibes to enter your life (but not necessarily more stuff!).
The first part of banishing ghosts or old selves? Let go of the objects they are attached to. Say goodbye to things that don’t bring you joy or that you haven’t used in over a year. Be conscious of the energy you want in your home and life. Then be ruthless about protecting it—get rid of anything that doesn’t contribute to your overall sense of well-being. Ghosts hide behind sentiment and guilt to keep you trapped under their spell. Low-level spirits are a lot like low-level people: They want you to feel as trapped and miserable as they are, so they’ll do anything to stay in your life. Best to see them for what they are and move on.
The second part of ghostbusting? Let go of the troubling energy you’ve been holding onto psychically. That last one will take a little more time, but letting go of the object that keeps constellating that energy will go a long way to dispersing its psychic impact. Give yourself permission to heal and move on from sad or seemingly unfinished histories.
The rest will follow.
This post originally appeared on Enchantment Learning and Living, home of professor, writer, and bruja Maria DeBlassie, where true magic is in the everyday!
Weep, Woman, WeepA Gothic Fairytale about Ancestral Hauntings Maria DeBlassieGenre: Gothic Fairytale, Occult, SupernaturalPublisher: Kitchen Witch PressDate of Publication: August 25, 2021ISBN:978-0-578-97464-4ASIN: B09CV9P9SHNumber of pages:150 pagesWord Count: 37,935Cover Artist: Rachel Ross
Tagline: Nothing makes a woman brave except getting on with the business of daily life.
Book Description:
A compelling gothic fairytale by bruja and award-winning writer Maria DeBlassie.
The women of Sueño, New Mexico don't know how to live a life without sorrows.
That's La Llorona's doing. She roams the waterways looking for the next generation of girls to baptize, filling them with more tears than any woman should have to hold. And there's not much they can do about the Weeping Woman except to avoid walking along the riverbank at night and to try to keep their sadness in check. That's what attracts her to them: the pain and heartache that gets passed down from one generation of women to the next.
Mercy knows this, probably better than anyone. She lost her best friend to La Llorona and almost found a watery grave herself. But she survived. Only she didn't come back quite right and she knows La Llorona won't be satisfied until she drags the one soul that got away back to the bottom of the river.
In a battle for her life, Mercy fights to break the chains of generational trauma and reclaim her soul free from ancestral hauntings by turning to the only things that she knows can save her: plant medicine, pulp books, and the promise of a love so strong not even La Llorona can stop it from happening. What unfolds is a stunning tale of one woman's journey into magic, healing, and rebirth.
CW: assault, domestic violence, racism, colorism
Amazon
Excerpt:
One time, I was feeling mighty fine and thought I’d try something different. I saw this ad in a magazine where a woman was in an obscenely large bathtub and covered up to the neck in bubbles. This was in a room with a marble floor, and there were candles everywhere, and she had her hair up all nice and a face mask on. Well, I got to thinking a nice long soak after a hard day’s work would be nice.
This was a few months after my run-in with Sherry, and I was trying hard to let myself enjoy things more. It occurred to me after seeing her that her fatal flaw was not believing that her future was right in front of her. Or maybe she was too afraid to take it with both hands. I began to wonder if we didn’t hold back and do half the work for La Llorona with all that we ran from life.
So I bought some bubble bath and made more beeswax candles and set about having myself a spa night. I mean, my bathroom was nowhere near as nice as the one in the picture. My tub was only long enough for me to sit upright and was right next to the toilet, but I made do.
It was lovely. I mean, divine! I could see why fancy women liked this. I put on the radio, and the music was soft and sweet, like the candlelight against the fading day. I was so relaxed, that I was about to fall asleep in that tub.
That was when I felt cold hands grip the soles of my feet and pull me under.
I should have seen it coming. Why willingly linger in a body of water? But I didn’t, and that was how I found myself drowning in bubbles and thrashing around in my tub. It’s also how I learned that evil woman could find me anywhere—and I mean anywhere—so I could never let my guard down.
Her grip was strong. Seemed like the harder I fought, the stronger she got. I was flailing about, my arms searching for anything and everything to hold on to, when I knocked one of those beeswax candles into the tub. To this day, I have no idea why that scared her, but it did. She recoiled something quick at the hiss of the flame when the wax hit water.
I didn’t waste a second—I hoisted myself out of the tub and collapsed on the bathroom floor, choking and sputtering and sopping wet. Took me forever to clean up the mess and cough up all those flower-scented bubbles. My feet were cold and sore for days, with claw marks where her bony fingers hooked into my skin.
Whoever said bubble baths were relaxing was a big fat liar.
About the Author:Maria DeBlassie, Ph.D. is a native New Mexican mestiza blogger, award-winning writer, and award-winning educator living in the Land of Enchantment. Her first book, Everyday Enchantments: Musings on Ordinary Magic and Daily Conjurings (Moon Books 2018), and her ongoing blog, Enchantment Learning and Living are about everyday magic, ordinary gothic, and the life of a kitchen witch. When she is not practicing her own brand of brujeria, she's reading, teaching, and writing about bodice rippers and things that go bump in the night. She is forever looking for magic in her life and somehow always finding more than she thought was there.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/enchantmentll
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/enchantmentll
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mdeblassie.writer
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC7rY-gLkSH-w8uuVyrhVALA
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October 5, 2021
Dead Man Walking The Ivyverse Book One by Zach Adams
Dead Man Walking
The Ivyverse Book One Zach AdamsGenre: Contemporary fantasy, mystery, horrorPublisher: Adams/ValentineDate of Publication: September 19th, 2021ISBN Print: 978-1-7370775-0-3ISBN Kindle: 978-1-7370775-3-4 ISBN PDF: 978-1-7370775-2-7ASIN:B094CD2HYRNumber of pages: 288Word Count: 78,098Cover Artist: Touqeer ShahidTagline: “Unlocking the door to the dead”
Book Description:
Dead Man Walking by Zach Adams is a compelling contemporary fantasy novel full of twists and turns that will leave readers captivated until the last page. Focusing on Isaac Falcone, a young library assistant, this novel follows the man as he realizes that his life is becoming infested with otherworldly creatures, many of whom mean to do him harm. After discovering a magic book, Isaac is attacked by a swarm of the undead, but is rescued by an elven man named L’æon. The elf suddenly appears in Isaac’s life more and more, allegedly protecting him from the malicious forces that mean to do him harm. But nothing can prepare Isaac for the penultimate evil that he will have to face in order to save himself...and his entire reality.
Excerpt :
Wax-face seemed to notice Isaac for the first time, widening his eyes - which Isaac saw were gray with cataracts, streaked with red - and leering at the librarian with a predatory fascination. His jaw slowly fell open, a stream of blood flowing down his chin to the floor.
Isaac attempted to flee, but his feet were giving his brain the silent treatment. The best he got out of himself was turning his head to look over his shoulder. Two more lumbering, waxy, blood-dripping freaks limped out from behind bookshelves and toward Isaac.Our hero would claim for most of his life beyond this event that the sound he emitted was a leonine roar as he suddenly found the courage to fight his attackers off and escape.
However, he knew completely well that the noise which escaped his lungs was a high-pitched, birdlike screech as he attempted to mediate a debate between Panic and Rage over the course of a second or two;
Oh fuck, zombies.
Don’t be ridiculous.
Find a weapon!
You don’t even know how to use any.
Find one anyway!
It’s a library, are we going to papercut them back to death?
Do we think this is the zombie apocalypse?
I feel like we’re wasting a lot of time here.
Panic ceased its babbling and made a noise not unlike a police siren. Rage decided now was as good a time as any to hop on a dream-bus and see the world before the useless skin-sack they inhabited got himself killed, offering Isaac no more survival pointers.
Isaac jerked back around to face the original zombie (a word he was still hesitant to use but had now become the only discernible thought he could latch onto).
The monster had completed its examination, raised its raspy wheeze to a blood-curdling shriek, and made a mad dash for its prey, blood flying every which way from his gaping mouth. Isaac could hear the two behind him do the same.
Well, there you go you useless lump, you went and got us killed.
It’s not his fault, there was nothing in orientation about an after-hours zombie attack.
The argument in Isaac’s head descended into a cacophonic volley of insults, mocking tones, and detailed instructions for the other to misbehave with a tree.Isaac reminded his debating thoughts that they were all part of the same person, so tree sap on one’s privates is tree sap on the others. Also, he added that the zombies may have been close enough that he could smell iron on their breath, but the well-dressed gentleman with silver hair in the doorway seemed calm and ready to help. By all laws of logic and probability he was aware of, Isaac would be dead in three and a half seconds anyway, so no need for extra stress.
Panic and Rage stared out through Isaac’s eyes. They agreed that there was indeed a rather pale man with silver hair and an incongruously cheerful smirk standing at the fair end of the room, absent the blurry gray doppelganger Isaac normally saw with people and seeming to emit a faint glow. He was dressed in a white suit with vague green specks all over it, with a feathery gold and silver cape to go with it.
Whoever he was, he seemed more-or-less qualified to handle such an unexpected threat.
The new arrival was pointing the palm of his left hand at the scene, his thumb extended at a right angle. He twitched his hand down at the wrist and every molecule in the room sang out in unison, connected by static electricity.
“Dí’prætä.”
A razor-thin hemisphere of light erupted in a three-foot radius around Isaac. The zombies, all of whom had just taken a flying leap for his neck, landed on the bubble and bounced off.
They each landed on their backsides with a dull thud, totally incapable of processing this development. They caught the pale man’s scent and turned on him, assuming he would make a decent meal as well.
The suited man shut his eyes and delicately pressed his fingertips together, then his palms before he turned them toward the zombies. He intoned a series of syllables in a steady waltzing rhythm, continuing to use the molecular structure of the library as a network of loudspeakers.
“Tä’gläcí äy æ’chévän.”
They all froze, and a few of Isaac’s rapid heartbeats later the monsters disappeared into thin air. As they went, the electric buzz throughout the area died down until it vanished entirely, along with the bubble around Isaac.
Without a word, the new arrival sniffed the air like a bloodhound while wandering toward Isaac. He stopped every few steps and screwed up his face in concentration. He finally followed his nose to Isaac and began sniffing the young man’s scalp, seeming to not notice there was a person under the hair. He jumped back in surprise when he finally did.
“Oh, I am so sorry! I did not realize that you were a person.” The new man said with a grin and an accent with traces from most of Western Europe. His voice, though still bouncy and full of life, had lost the musical quality it had when the entire building spoke for him.
“Who are you?” The stranger asked.
Isaac stared at him without blinking, “Uh…Buh” floating through his mind again. He waded through a mess of scattered vocabulary to find a coherent response until he finally landed on, “I-Isaac Falc-cone.”
The activation of the various anatomical components required for speech set off a domino effect which rattled every other bit of their host, who began to shake violently as tears once again fell down his face.
The newcomer twitched slightly. “Just a fair warning, Uh-Buh, you ought to take care not to give away so much of your name to strangers. I mean you no harm, but many entities may take it as an invitation.”
“Inv… Wha…” Isaac stammered.
The man with the silver hair smiled, grabbed Isaac’s wrist, and helped him to his feet. He swept some loose zombie dust from Isaac’s clothes, looked him in the eye, and spoke with extraordinary calm. Isaac couldn’t decide if he was comforted by or terrified of the stranger.
“Unimportant. Uh-Buh I-Isaac Falc-Cone, nice to meet you,” The visitor said, still holding on to Isaac’s wrist. “You may call me L’æon. Næ’vös shívæ!”
About the Author: Author Zach Adams has had a passion for writing and storytelling his entire life. However, he didn’t decide to pursue it as a profession until he realized that working in retail was completely draining his remaining life force. And so, Adams set out to create a fascinating and captivating novel, which he achieved in his debut work, “Dead Man Walking”.
Having a general distaste for his current reality, Zach aspires to escape into the science fiction and fantasy worlds that he creates. And by doing so, he aims to share this escapism with his readers (who are probably also incredibly tired of the current state of things).
Zach was raised by an anthropomorphic ostrich, and is a seasoned time traveler. Coincidentally, he also enjoys making up utter nonsense about himself. Currently, Adams lives in Alaska with his cat Gamora (who he does not plan to sacrifice on Vormir).
https://www.adamsvalentine.com/
https://www.facebook.com/VadamsAlentine
Tour Giveaway
5 winners of an ecopy of “Dead Man Walking”
will be chosen randomly from those who join the mailing list
during the tour time frame
October 4, 2021
Hidden Gypsy Magic
Since I'm a big animal person, I’ve compiled a few tips on Keeping your Pets Safe on Halloween.
It's almost time for another spooktacular sequel in the annual Halloween tradition. A holiday beloved in countries around the world, appealing to people looking for fun and thrills-- But for their pets...not so much! Halloween festivities can be stressful, to say the least and downright hazardous at times. A few tips to keep everyone safe and enjoying the holiday!
1. Treats - Chocolate is poisonous to cats, dogs, and parrots. The darker it is the more toxic it is. One ounce of dark chocolate can poison a 50-pound dog. Keep these treats out of your pets' reach. Make sure everyone in your household understands, especially children, how crucial it is that no human treats are given to pets.
2. Alarming sounds and sights - The constant doorbell, ringing, unfamiliar guest, and little monsters running around is a recipe for disaster for your pets. They could try to escape or display unexpected aggression. Keep your pet sequestered in a section of the home where they can avoid this anxiety-causing activities. Provide food, favorite toys, and check on them often.
3. Don't leave pets outside! Pets have been known to be abused or killed on Halloween night by cruel people. I owned a black cat for twenty-two years, he was the best cat ever. But we made sure to keep him inside several days before Halloween and several days after. Yep he was no pleased!
4. Never take your dog trick or treating for all of the above reasons. Dogs can easily be spooked by all the Halloween hubbub. If they run away or bite someone it will end your evening of fun.
5. Dangerous Decorations - Electrical cords and batteries used to operate the exciting Halloween decorations can be hazardous to your pets. Chewing on cords can cause electrocution, chewing on batteries can cause chemical burns, if swallowed can cause intestinal blockage. Artificial cobwebs look cool as heck, but they can also present a choking or entanglement hazard to curious pets. Nightmarish Pet Costumes - Most pets are happiest in the skin they were born in. LOL Yet pet owners will dress their fur, scaled, or feathered babies up for Halloween. Don't put your pet in a costume unless they are completely comfortable with it. I admit I dress up my dog and parrot for Halloween. I choose costumes they're comfortable in, do not hinder movement, sight, hearing, or ability to breathe, bark, scream, or meow.
6. Eerie Glow Items - Glow necklaces and Glow sticks can help keep people safe on Halloween, but pets not so much. They can cause gastrointestinal distress and chewed fragments can pose a choking hazard.
7. One last thought - Opening the door repeatedly for trick-or-treaters creates the possibility of pets to slip outside. Collars and tags work if someone locates and collects your wayward pet. Make sure the information on the tags is up-to-date. Microchips offer permanent identification. Just make sure your information is correct with the company who supports your pet microchips.
Hidden Gypsy MagicA Witch’s Journey SeriesBook ThreeTena StetlerGenre: Paranormal Romance/MysteryPublisher: The Wild Rose PressDate of Publication: September 28, 2020ISBN: 978-1-5092-3256-7ASIN: B08FXBNLW5Number of pages: 330Word Count: 85,144Cover Artist: Kristian Norris
Tagline: The consequences of awakening hidden gypsy magic could forever alter life as they know it!
Book Description:
The Salem Wildlife Sanctuary is Gwen Taylor's life work. Her Irish Gypsy heritage provides a hidden talent she uses to help the creatures under her care. But even her magical skills can't help new rescues in dire need of veterinary care.
The opportunity of signing on as the vet for Gwen's sanctuary dropped into Brock Scutter's lap after he expanded his practice to include wildlife. The personal attraction he and Gwen experience is undeniable the more their professional and personal lives collide.
Touring the only "non-haunted" house in Salem they both feel a spark of magic. A trip to his family's cabin uncovers a heritage he didn't know existed. If they want a future together, it means facing the consequences of awakening hidden Gypsy magic and a race against the clock to correct past wrongs.
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"This house may not have a history of magic, but I'd bet it's magical. You're going to put an offer in. Right?"
"As I said before, it may be completely out of my price range."
"I have a feeling the house has been waiting for you." Gwen flung her hand to her mouth, her face flushed, and her gaze swiveled to him. "I don't know what made me say that."
Looking thoughtful, he grinned. "Since the day I stumbled upon Pepper's secret — then discovered that you and I share the gift or curse of gypsy blood, things have been different—" Pausing, he shoved his hand in his jean's pocket and jingled the change in his pocket. "I've been different. It's as if knowing magic exists awakened something in me."
"Join the club. Years ago my best friend Pepper made a believer out of me. In fact, there were times I wished—never mind. Whether it was my outlook or as you said magic awakened. But to be fair, I've always had what I called a sixth sense with animals, attuned to their feelings, almost their thoughts, fears, that kind of thing. Pepper called it my talent. But as we became close, I noticed other abilities… you'll think I'm crazy."
"Try me." He moved closer to her and the front door banged open. Quickly he rushed to the top of the stairs.
About the Author:Tena Stetler is a best-selling author of award winning paranormal romance with an over-active imagination. She wrote her first vampire romance as a tween, to the chagrin of her mother and the delight of her friends. Colorado is home; shared with her husband, a brilliant Chow Chow, a spoiled parrot and a forty-five-year-old box turtle. When she’s not writing, her time is spent kayaking, camping, hiking, biking or just relaxing in the great Colorado outdoors.
Her books tell tales of magical kick-ass women and mystical alpha males that dare to love them. Travel, adventure and a bit of mystery flourish in her books along with a few companion animals to round out the tales.
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A Demon's Embrace The Cupid Dating Agency
Happy Halloween Month, Everyone! For Halloween every year, I like to share my favorite spooky story from my family’s arsenal of tales about the Fae. In this one, my Irish grandmother recounts her personal encounter with a Banshee when she was a teenager. Enjoy!
Bumped by the Banshee
by Celia Breslin
… I lived in a large two-story house with my parents, younger sister, and grandmother. It was a cold, winter evening, nothing special or out of the ordinary. My family dined together, then my sister and I cleaned up while our parents and grandmother drank tea. We joined them at the dining table to do our homework, but my grandmother said she was tired and went upstairs to bed. My parents followed shortly after that, but my father paused on the landing.
“Maeve, it’s going to be a cold night. Fetch us some coal, please.”
I abandoned my homework, grabbed the empty coal bucket from the kitchen, and went down into the cellar. I filled my bucket and returned to the stairs. I had one foot on the first step when the temperature in the cellar, already cold, dropped dramatically. Chills ran down my back. Behind me, someone moaned.
But how could that be? I was alone...
Terror rooted me to the spot. The keening grew louder. I dropped my bucket and covered my ears. A cold wind bumped against my back. I stumbled forward as the shrieking wind rushed over me and up the stairs.
But how could that be? The cellar had no windows...
Above me, the cellar door slammed shut. The sound broke me from my stupor. I screamed and ran up the stairs and out of the cellar, through the kitchen and dining room, and up the stairs to my room. My parents and sister found me under my bed, shaking like a puppy lost in a snowstorm.
“Maeve! Maeve! What is it? What’s wrong?” They asked me, while pulling me from my hiding place.
“I heard the Banshee wail.”
We stared at each other in silence, all of us reaching the same conclusion moments later. We hurried to my grandmother’s room.
She was dead.
(Copyright 2021, Celia Breslin. All rights reserved.)
A Demon's EmbraceCupid Dating Agency Book FourCelia Breslin
Genre: Paranormal RomancePublisher: Celia BreslinDate of Publication: December 2020ISBN: 9781393692881ASIN: B08Q8JRLWNNumber of pages: 124Word Count: 30KCover Artist: Brantwijn Serrah
Tagline: She believes him the enemy. He's determined to prove her wrong.
Book Description:
Former relic-hunter and soldier for Hell, Stryker spends his days of redemption running a holiday store in a cheery little town in the California wine country. He’s not complaining. The gig puts him across the street from his one and only heart’s desire—a blue-eyed angel with a clever brain, a hot bod, and the wickedest right hook this side of Heaven. Too bad his delectable Angel Cake won’t give him the time of day.
Warrior-class angel and restaurateur, Zara keeps busy designing interesting foods and beverages for the eateries and gym she owns with her celestial teammates. She certainly has zero time or interest in the annoyingly sexy, darkly bronzed demon who drove her bonkers for eons while working for the other side.
But then a freak storm complete with hell beasties rampages their hometown, and God and the cupids order the pair to team up to investigate. Frustrating news for Zara. Fantastic for Stryker. His new mission? Show his feisty angel their partnership is meant to extend far beyond this one job for Heaven...
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Excerpt
Stryker and Zara's First Kiss...
Location: Charon's boat, River Styx, the Underworld...
...The boat heaved upward as if struck from below, sending her airborne. Before she could conjure her wings, Stryker shot up and snatched her around the waist, hauling them both to the deck.
Flat on his back with her sprawled atop his hard body, he grinned, much too pleased with himself for her liking. “Told you it gets rough,” he shouted over the rush of water. “I never lie to you, Angel Face.”
“That in itself is a lie,” she shot back, wedging her fingers in the gaps between the bone flooring and gripping tight while the chopping river tossed their ride. She could list thousands of his deceptions. Fine, they were revisiting his loathsome past behavior. “What about the time you stole the Ark of the Covenant? Or the Holy Chalice? The Vatican heist? Or when you took Joan’s sword and—”
“Aw, c’mon, she deserved it. She cut off the tip of my wing.”
“It regenerated, and you had no right to bother her in the first place when she was busy saving—
“Hey, I gave it back.”
“I made you give it back, demon.”
He laughed but the sound was lost in the great roar of the river. Its turmoil increased, waves thrashing over the bow as if their presence angered the river.
“Buckle up, baby.” Stryker held her tight to his chest. The boat bucked upward and bashed down, again and again. Freezing water sprayed everywhere, drenching them in seconds. Zara shuddered, chilled to the bone, half expecting ice to form on her frame.
Cheek to cheek, Stryker clutched her close with a hand cupping her head and one massive arm banded around her torso. “Hang on Angel Cake, I’ve got you.” Warmth slid into her quivering body, a soothing heat wafting from the demon. “Nice trick, right?” he murmured into her ear, lips grazing her skin.
Teeth chattering, she didn’t reply, too caught up in the sensation of his surprisingly soft lips on the shell of her ear, and his spicy scent, an intriguing blend of cardamom, cinnamon, and earthy, masculine musk.
Desire danced through her, followed fast by denial. No. Please, no. Eternal enemy. Archnemesis. He’s the bad guy. But her libido didn’t seem to care one bit about their battle-filled past, or even their more recent clashes. Her treacherous body relaxed against his, basking in the continued warmth emanating from him.
“Yes, baby. That’s it.” His hand slid to her nape, and he exhaled against the sensitive skin of her neck, setting off a flurry of butterflies in her stomach.
Trap. This had to be a trap, right? Nothing good could come of a tryst with a demon. It didn’t matter how loudly the hum chimed in her, or how wonderful his hard body felt under hers, they couldn’t possibly—
Oh, no, now his clever fingers kneaded the knots in her muscles, massaging the tension from her neck and shoulders, making her melt.
His warm lips brushed her ear once again. “Angel…”
She should stop him. Really, she should. Then he nuzzled the hollow of her shoulder, and his soft kisses eroded her superego’s usual iron will. […] Maybe, if she explored the cosmic hum trying to call them together instead of running from it, she would discover it meant nothing at all. Maybe, she could simply kiss him and move on.
She turned her head. He stilled, one hot palm planted between her shoulder blades, the other lounging on her lower back, his mouth so close their breath mingled. Goose bumps tracked over her and not from the cold since she had Stryker as her personal space heater.
Zara didn’t dare look into his eyes, instead digging deep one last time to stop this insanity, dredging up reasons this was a bad idea. Demon. D’uh. Longtime foe. Brash, blunt, devious, conniving, opinionated, manipulative, flirtatious, and yes, flirting was bad, so very, very ba—
[...] Lord help her, she wanted him too. Her gaze clashed with his. Such pretty eyes for a demon, like black onyx flecked with amber. He went statue-still beneath her, seemed to be holding his breath now, waiting for her to…
Make a move?
She wrapped a lock of his shoulder-length hair around her finger. Damp from the crashing river. Shiny, deepest black. Silky, and as warm as his body. She tugged on it.
A groan escaped him, and he kissed her.
About the Author: Celia lives in California with her husband, daughter, and two feisty cats. She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, and has a particular fondness for werewolves, vampires, and the Fae. When not writing, you’ll find Celia exercising, reading a good book, hanging with her family, or indulging her addiction to fantasy TV shows and movies.
Website: http://www.celiabreslin.com
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