Bertena Varney's Blog, page 6
January 15, 2023
Witch of the Black Circle Series
Witch of the Black CircleDawn of the Blood WitchBook OneMaria DeVivo
Genre: HorrorPublisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: March 7, 2022ASIN: B09NB1G11YNumber of pages: 217Word Count: 64k
Cover Artist:
Tagline: When it comes to witchcraft, it's never just a teenage phase...
Book Description:
For as long as she can remember, high school senior Joephie Turner's mother has told her she is cursed by a witch. As she settles into her new hometown of Northport, Long Island at the height of the 1980s Satanic Panic era, Joephie is accepted into a circle of friends obsessed with the occult. Demonic messages on cassette tapes, shady youth group leaders, and passionate sexual encounters push the teen into a thrilling world that lends a deeper meaning to the proverbial mantra: "sex, drugs, and rock and roll." Until it all goes wrong.
A decade later, haunted by nightmares of cults and rituals, formidable burgeoning witch Joephie pieces her memories together in search of answers about the small group of suburban teens that meddled with dark forces. As an adult, Joephie will have to decide what, or who, she is willing to sacrifice from her past in order to claw her way back to sanity.
Inspired by true events, Witch of the Black Circle is a deliciously wicked and nostalgic journey through time where the lines of reality and the supernatural blur. Content warning: satanic rituals; sex; graphic violence; language; drug use
Amazon
Excerpt
Dan reaches over to his bag and pulls out his math book. In the front pouch, I notice a small novel with a black cover. “Hey,” I say, nodding my head in the backpack’s direction. “Whatcha reading?”
“Uh, nothing,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders.
I put out my arms and tap my fingers together like a baby grasping at something. “Lemme see it!”
“Nah. It’s really nothing,” he repeats, but he’s unconvincing, and it makes my curiosity burn a hole in my brain.
Kit’s curiosity is piqued as well, so she stands up and moves behind the chair with the backpack. “Now, now,” she sings. “No secrets here, Dan!” She grabs the bag from the chair and pulls out the book. “The Satanic Bible?”
Dan quickly shoots up from the chair, snatches the book away from her, and cradles it to his chest as to hide the cover from us. “Shhhh…” he admonishes as he looks side to side, assessing if my mother was in the vicinity or not.
I hold out my hand again. “What are you reading that for?” I ask. “Give it here.”
Reluctantly, he turns the book over to me, and I examine the cover, the spine, and the back like an investigator studying a piece of crime-scene evidence. Only, I don’t have on rubber gloves. I’ve known about this book. Heard about it. Knew the story of the author, Dr. Anton LaVey, and his Church of Satan. Practically, every youth ministry I had attended had mentioned the evil of this piece of literature at some point in time: If you even look at the book, you can be possessed. Being in its presence alone can have a profound effect on your heavenly soul. Dare not open or read the pages for fear of infiltration by a powerful demonic force. But as I actually hold the book for the first time in my life, I feel … nothing. No fear. No wonder. No spooky taboo. I press the book in my palms trying to feel for any ‘other-worldly’ vibrations or indication that if I open it up I will be damned to hell. But no. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. And more lies and deception from my past teachers come into clear view. “Dude. It’s just a book.”
“Yeah, I know it’s just a book,” he huffs, grabs it from me, and shoves it back into his bag.
The three of us sit back down in silence for a few minutes.
“You okay, man?” Kit asks, concerned.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Clearly, he’s not.
“Where’d you get it?” I ask.
“Why’d you get it?” Kit emphasizes.
Dan looks behind him and scans the kitchen again. Then, he moves his upper body slightly across the table as if to beckon me and Kit to huddle in. We oblige him and he speaks in a soft, hushed tone: “Thomas. This guy from my school. He got the connection with that Ricky kid and the Knights of the Black Circle.”
“The Knights of the Black Circle?” I ask. “What’s that?”
Dan glares at me and holds up his arm revealing the faded black circles drawn up and down his arm, over and over and over. I had thought they were just silly drawings borne out of boredom, but…
“They wanted him to read the book and know some stuff before they accepted him,” he continues. “Thomas said he could probably get me in, too, and told me what passages to study and shit.”
Kit’s pretty eyes widen, and her bangs touch her eyelashes again. “He knows the Acid King?”
A sneer forms on Dan’s lips and he nods. “Uh huh.”
“Wait,” I protest. “What are you talking about? Who are the Knights of the Black Circle?
What’s an Acid King?”
“The Knights…” Dan explains, “they’re a group. Local. They do stuff. They know stuff.”
Witch of the Red Thorn Dawn of the Blood Witch Book TwoMaria DeVivo
Genre: Occult Horror Publisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: June 5, 2022ISBN: 1644505614ASIN: B09TGWNY76Number of pages: 254Word Count: 58k
Tagline: Three years after the Salem Witch Trials, a new evil awakens to terrorize an unsuspecting town.
Book Description:
The residents of New Haven Harbor, Massachusetts think they've escaped the madness of the Salem Witch Trials, but when a new Reverend is dispatched to their church to take over for their aging vicar, they soon realize the darkness is far from over. Dutiful Christian wife Barbara Flynn is immediately affected by the new pastor's presence. Intense thoughts and feelings she has never experienced before stir inside, drawing her close to the strange man.
When a series of grisly occurrences tear through the town, Barbara and the new Reverend join together to wade through the carnage. But on their journey, Barbara soon discovers she is part of a larger design - a plan that has been in the making since the dawn of time. As shadows loom over the quiet seaside town, the simple townsfolk grow frightened. Fear soon turns to anger as fingers point in every direction to snuff out the source who has once again brought witchcraft into their midst.
Can Barbara control the demons within her to assure the town's safety? Or will the mob force Barbara and the new Reverend to atone for the sinister magic devouring New Haven Harbor?
Reader Advisory: Witch of the Red Thorn contains violence, gore, Satanic rituals, and graphic sexual situations
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/W6XsJ-Bksi0
Amazon
Excerpt:
I didn’t realize how long we had been out in the clearing of the woods until Tansy’s screaming snapped me back into reality. It was almost like a dream—when you fall asleep into that dream world and your story just picks up in the middle of a scene, yet you have all the memory and knowledge of the world your mind has temporarily created for you. One moment we were walking out into the forest in the purest daylight to gather fresh flowers for the chapel, and in the next instance, it was pitch black and Tansy was pulling hard on my pinafore dress and howling at the top of her lungs for us to run.
“Run, Barbara! Run! Go!” she commanded as I twirled at the edge of the clearing, awestruck at the sight that lay before me—strewn in a circle lay twisted animal parts covered in leaves and muck and blood. Symbols arranged neatly with twigs, flower heads drenched in the crimson sticky blood, and black candles burned to their nubs protruded from the ground. Something about it enthralled me, bewitched me, and I stared hard at the tableau—unafraid and somewhat curious at the peculiarity of it all.
With one final tug of my dress and a shake to my shoulder, I locked eyes with my sister. Her words finally registered in my head, and her urgency struck deep into my soul: Run. Go. Now. We both took off running, my legs swiftly carrying me to presumed safety, my hands still clutching tightly to the cluster of Bellflowers I had previously picked (with no recollection of doing so).
When we finally made it to the edge of the Black Wood, the both of us slumped forward, hands on knees, panting hard for air to fill our lungs back up.
“Did you see it? Did you see it?” Tansy struggled to force the words out.
“Yes, Tansy, I saw!” I answered.
“I… I… I thought we were done with all of that! I thought that was passed us! I thought…”
“As did I. As did I.”
Tansy’s upper body shot up with a sense of awareness. Her torso tensed and stiffened, and her face drew dark and contemplative. She furrowed her brow as if trying to piece some wild puzzle together or connect the dots to some great revelation. I saw it glittering in her soft hazel eyes, like words and images dancing in her mind, yet they were too fast for her to catch and put together. When it dawned on her, it was like a candle flame flickering to life. “Today’s the 20th, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “It’s been almost three years, Barbara. Almost three years to the day that Martha Corey and the others were hanged in Salem. You know, the last of the trial judgments. Do you think it’s happening again? Do you think what happened over there is now happening here?”
“Hush your mouth, Tansy Wilkins!” I snapped back. “We are God-fearing women of our community. Peace-loving. We reject Satan and all his minions.” I paused after those words. For some reason, it didn’t feel right for me to say them. A creeping feeling of doubt entered my heart, but I pushed it aside. “Don’t you be putting that energy out into the universe,” I continued my admonition. “And for God’s sake, don’t go saying that around anyone else. You know how on edge everyone has been since all that business over there.”
“But Barbara, I’ve heard stories. Been hearing stories…”
“And stories they just are. The same ones I’ve been hearing, too. Nothing but silly ghost tales and monsters under the bed. Now shush, and don’t go putting wood on someone’s fire. Because the last thing we surely need is what happened there to infect us here. It’s still fresh. It’s going to take a little while for that wound to heal.” That much was true! I knew our town of New Haven Harbor would never be able to survive the horrors of Salem.
Her face darkened again at my words. It was obvious she wasn’t fully convinced by what I told her. I knew I wasn’t convinced myself, but I had to say the words to quell my sister’s suspicions. It would be a shame if she had opened herself to the hysteria of our neighboring town. Who knows what influence or bogeymen she might allow in?
Like a pinprick in the back of my mind, I could feel the scene in the clearing calling me—beckoning me to go and investigate. But I ignored it, and instead, I tried to convince my sister nothing nefarious was afoot.
“Winnie Gordon told me that two young children went missing over in Salem just last week.
They were playing at the bottom of the ledge where the witches were hanged, and no one has seen them since. Winnie says those little kids must have awakened something because strange things have been happening since then.”
“You know I can’t stand that Winnie Gordon. Never could,” I barked.
Tansy’s eyes went wild. “Barbara, stop that! How could you say that! Winnie has been my best friend since grammar school!”
“And pray tell, why is it that she needed to repeat her studies multiple times? Winnie Gordon is not the smartest of women, now is she? There are at least four, maybe five children in this town who bear the face of her sweet husband Jedidiah Gordon yet do not belong to Winnie herself…”
With a swift shot to the shoulder, Tansy huffed, “Barbara!”
I smirked from the corner of my mouth. “I speak nothing but truth, dear sister. And as for Winnie Gordon, I don’t think she could recognize truth if it slithered its way from between…”
She gasped again at my seeming vulgarity. “Barbara! Enough!”
I must admit, I too was taken aback by the images in my mind and the words that formed on my lips. It was no secret that Winnie’s husband was a fine catch for her. A brokered deal among their families to afford the best financial possible outcome for all parties involved. And it was no secret that Jedidiah Gordon was the desire of many of the women in New Haven Harbor, to which he heartily obliged. I envisioned all types of women in our town lying on their backs, receiving the full weight and girth of Jedidiah at once in a passionate ceremony, as if he were shapeshifter who could penetrate them at the very same time, all at once, thrusting and pulsating and rising and… I shook my head to rid myself of the thought, but the pinprick sensation was still needling its edge in the back of my head, sending electric waves down my spine.
I gave Tansy the bouquet of bluebells and instructed her: “Take these back to the chapel.
Someone will probably be wondering where we are and why we’re taking so long. Not a word of this, though. To anyone. Not even Winnie Gordon, you understand me. Someone is clearly playing a cruel joke, trying to get everyone excited and spooked for the upcoming anniversary. I’m going to go back to the clearing to tidy up so no one else sees it. I’ll be quick and come back with more flowers. Say I was unhappy with what was out there and wanted prettier ones.”
Tansy gave a quick nod and went on her way. I turned on my heels and headed straight for the clearing—straight back to the scene of grisly ritualistic murder, straight back to the scene that seemed to call to me, that drew me in. On closer inspection, I realized the twigs were arranged in the shape of a makeshift circle with the five-pointed star in the center. At each point of the star, a black melted candle was stuck into the earth. The waxy pools at their bases held them in place. A squirrel’s severed head was in the center of the star and there was blood—so much blood— adorning the center and outside of the circle.
But the blood sings.
I knelt at the end of the ground altar, entranced with the precision at which it was constructed and thought: Who could have done this? Why did they do this? What is the meaning behind it all? But my internal questions were drowned out by the song of the blood and replaced with the only thing I could describe the feeling as—knowing. The scene was suddenly beautiful to me, and a wave of guilt tumbled into my soul. I should not feel this way. I should not feel this way…
Yet something in me did.
Witch of the Silver Locust Dawn of the Blood Witch Book ThreeMaria DeVivoGenre: Occult Horror Publisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: January 24, 2023ISBN: ASIN: Word Count: 59k
Tagline: Trent travels through time to find the Blodheska and open the gates of Hell.
Book Description:
Follow Trent as he unveils the origin story of the mysterious and powerful world of witches across centuries. He’s been known as the witch Trond, or even as Galen, and finally Trent, the Witch of the Silver Locust. He will seek the Blodheska no matter where or when to nurture the powers they hold.
Traversing each moment, he must face opposing forces that have their own plans for their ideal apocalypse. He will face his enemies no matter if they are human or demon--or even the Church of Satan itself. As he defends his goal, Trent will ally with both new and old friends as he tries to open the gateway to the old ones and bring about the witch utopia of New Eden on earth.
Inspired by true events, this tale follows Trent as he endures an exorcism, the Church of Satan, and the Son of Sam while moving closer to fulfilling his destiny.
Reader Advisory: Witch of the Silver Locust contains violence, gore, Satanic rituals, and graphic sexual situations
Books2Read Amazon
Excerpt:
Three moon tides had passed, and Runa remained in our care. A subject? A prisoner? I could not truly tell the difference. Sten had returned to the cave that first night with the supplies Aizel told him to procure—supplies that were just a diversion so that she could make her final judgment on what was to be done with the girl. Aizel told Sten to set up camp in our village and wait for us to call for him. He knew she was well respected and that our people would take care of him if need be, so he left our cave to go into town and patiently waited until his child was delivered from the evil that took hold of her hugr and fylgja—in essence, her soul.
Sten was obedient and did as he was told—partly because he was a doting father who wanted to see his daughter healed, and partly, because at his core, he was a weak man who fell easily under Aizel’s spell. She promised him she would do whatever she could to help Runa, and if that meant Sten had to run into a pack of snarling wolves, he would have complied. But I knew the truth. There was no intention of expelling the draugr from the girl. Aizel was stalling for time as the demon inside Runa slowly festered and consumed her bit by bit.
And as the days passed, I purposefully and consciously locked my mind like a steel cage against Aizel so she couldn’t go digging around. I hadn’t told her what I had heard Runa say—how she had called out the sacred nickname my sister had bestowed upon me, for I knew she would have forbidden me to even go near the girl after that. Nevertheless, I was intrigued. How would she have known that name unless by some divine intervention? I was certainly convinced that this was more than just the average possession we were used to dealing with, and I was determined to find out more. What was this demon, and why had it made itself known to me the night of the full moon, and more specifically during a time of my great despondency?
So, without Aizel’s knowledge of my actions, I stole away into the storage alcove where Runa had been tied up for the last three nights in hopes of getting as much information from the creature as I could. I brought my canteen of water under the assumption that maybe a drink would satisfy it and give it reason to open up. When I reached the room, the air was thick with an unnatural heat and a steamy sheen blanketed the space around us, much like the steam from the hot springs a bit south of us.
I stood in the opening and watched as Runa’s slumped body breathed in and out with those frenzied pants. Her head tilted to one side as if the weight of her long, silky black hair was pulling her down in her slumber. She looked peaceful, even with her chest heaving up and down as frantically as it was. I wondered what type of frenetic dream she must be having. Was she running in a field? Were the wolves chasing her? Was a hoard of marauders ravaging her fragile body?
I dipped my foot gingerly across the imaginary threshold of the room, and suddenly she stopped, shot up, and opened her eyes wide. “All three,” she cooed with a smirk.
I froze for a moment, surprised by her abrupt actions, then continued my way inside.
Runa smiled wide, and the evidence of the draugr’s hold on her was blatantly clear. The soft pink tissue of her gums was coated with a dark black substance giving her mouth the appearance of a gaping void.A void to swallow me whole and transport me to another dimension…
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she blurted.
“You know I’m not afraid of you, right?” I said. “I’ve seen the likes of you before.”
She giggled. “Oh, have you?” she responded. Her voice was low and gravelly, and it echoed in the cave as if there were more than one being speaking simultaneously. I couldn’t tell if it was the acoustics or if she actually represented the power of the many. And the voice, that guttural, grinding tone was so familiar to me, yet I could not place where I’d heard it before.
I approached her in the chair and held my canteen to her face. She eyed me coolly. “No,” shesaid. “It would just prolong the process.”
“Oh? And what process is this you speak of?”
“I know your plans. The girl is gone. There’s no use in saving her now.”
I pursed my lips together and nodded. “True. True.” I agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you still can’t serve a purpose for us.”
The draugr laughed aloud. Its voice pierced the inside of my eardrums so sharply that I winced.
“Untie me, and I’ll show you what purpose I can serve,” she said with a sly hint of seduction.
I looked down upon her and scoffed. Up close I could see the demon had begun to transform her. Runa’s visage had begun to crack. The pale skin of her once soft face had turned gray, and the dark green veins from beneath her skin pressed up close to the surface and pulsated as if they were their own living, breathing entities. Her cheeks had further sunken in, giving the sharp angles of her face an even more inhuman appearance. She grazed her thick black tongue across the surface of her dry lips. “I won’t bite,” she cooed.
I huffed and took a step back. “Do you think that’s what it would take to tempt me? I told you, I’ve done this before. You’re not the first draugr to grace this cavern. Do you even know how old I am?”
“Do you even know how old I am?” she shot back.
I knelt next to her and decided to seize the opportunity. Demons are all-knowing, or at least they think they are. And they like to talk, mainly about themselves and their powers. And it’s often their narcissism that contributes to their downfall. I remembered that from Blodwyn’s teachings. Long ago, she had guided me through my first expulsion of a draugr. I had watched her perform the ritual flawlessly on many occasions, and when it came time for me to go out on my own, it was less than a stellar effort. “Don’t worry,” Blodwyn had said, “your strengths lie elsewhere. We each have our own gifts and talents. Don’t let this one failure discourage you. And I wouldn’t even call it a failure…”
“The boy would have died anyway,” the draugr said, finishing my memory.
I pulled back a bit. “Oh. So, you’re in here?” I said, pointing to my temple.
“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. It comes and goes like flashes of light, like a gust of icy wind, like the paper-thin cry of the locust swelling to a crescendo then leveling off.”
My face twisted in confusion for a second. “How did you know that name?”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head forward. “I know not of what you speak,” she said with an agitated tone.
I placed my hand on her knee, and she quickly opened her eyes again. “Yes, you do. You said a name the first night you were here. You called out to me.”
She laughed again. A low and menacing rumble from her chest. “Pink Silver,” she grimaced, and her chest heaved up giving way to a wretched cough. She turned her head to the opposite side of where I knelt, spit out a gob of inky black substance, cleared her throat, and looked back at me.
“Tell me your name,” I commanded.
The draugr ‘tsked’ her thick black tongue against the back of her teeth.
“You told Aizel! Why won’t you tell me? You know my name, Trond. And you know my secret name, Ruz. It’s only fair if we’re going to continue this relationship, don’t you think?”
The draugr’s voice lowered, “I told that witch nothing!” it spat. “She stole that from me.
The girl was fighting hard, and there was a moment of weakness. I’m better now.” It smiled again, and for a split second. There were maggots weaving in and out of its teeth. I blinked rapidly, hoping it would go away. The draugr laughed.
About the Author:Maria is the Author of the Amazon bestselling and award winning series The Coal Elf Chronicles, the YA psychological horror series The Altered Experience, and the NA Urban Fantasy series The Aestrangel Trinity.
When not writing about dark fantasy and horror, she teaches Language Arts and Journalism to middle school students in Florida. A lover of all things dark and demented, she takes pleasure in warping the comfort factor in her readers’ minds. Just when you think you’ve reached a safe space in her stories, she snaps you back into her twisted reality.
Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/mariadevivo
Website: https://www.mariadevivo.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mariadevivoauthor
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@authormariadevivo
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authordevivo/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorDeVivo
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/c/MariaDeVivo
Newsletter: https://bit.ly/MariaNewsletter
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Maria-DeVivo/e/B00CIAYHKY
January 10, 2023
Witch of the Red Thorn by Maria DeVivo
Witch of the Red Thorn Dawn of the Blood Witch Book TwoMaria DeVivo
Genre: Occult Horror Publisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: June 5, 2022ISBN: 1644505614ASIN: B09TGWNY76Number of pages: 254Word Count: 58k
Tagline: Three years after the Salem Witch Trials, a new evil awakens to terrorize an unsuspecting town.
Book Description:
The residents of New Haven Harbor, Massachusetts think they've escaped the madness of the Salem Witch Trials, but when a new Reverend is dispatched to their church to take over for their aging vicar, they soon realize the darkness is far from over. Dutiful Christian wife Barbara Flynn is immediately affected by the new pastor's presence. Intense thoughts and feelings she has never experienced before stir inside, drawing her close to the strange man.
When a series of grisly occurrences tear through the town, Barbara and the new Reverend join together to wade through the carnage. But on their journey, Barbara soon discovers she is part of a larger design - a plan that has been in the making since the dawn of time. As shadows loom over the quiet seaside town, the simple townsfolk grow frightened. Fear soon turns to anger as fingers point in every direction to snuff out the source who has once again brought witchcraft into their midst.
Can Barbara control the demons within her to assure the town's safety? Or will the mob force Barbara and the new Reverend to atone for the sinister magic devouring New Haven Harbor?
Reader Advisory: Witch of the Red Thorn contains violence, gore, Satanic rituals, and graphic sexual situations
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/W6XsJ-Bksi0
Amazon
Excerpt:
I didn’t realize how long we had been out in the clearing of the woods until Tansy’s screaming snapped me back into reality. It was almost like a dream—when you fall asleep into that dream world and your story just picks up in the middle of a scene, yet you have all the memory and knowledge of the world your mind has temporarily created for you. One moment we were walking out into the forest in the purest daylight to gather fresh flowers for the chapel, and in the next instance, it was pitch black and Tansy was pulling hard on my pinafore dress and howling at the top of her lungs for us to run.
“Run, Barbara! Run! Go!” she commanded as I twirled at the edge of the clearing, awestruck at the sight that lay before me—strewn in a circle lay twisted animal parts covered in leaves and muck and blood. Symbols arranged neatly with twigs, flower heads drenched in the crimson sticky blood, and black candles burned to their nubs protruded from the ground. Something about it enthralled me, bewitched me, and I stared hard at the tableau—unafraid and somewhat curious at the peculiarity of it all.
With one final tug of my dress and a shake to my shoulder, I locked eyes with my sister. Her words finally registered in my head, and her urgency struck deep into my soul: Run. Go. Now. We both took off running, my legs swiftly carrying me to presumed safety, my hands still clutching tightly to the cluster of Bellflowers I had previously picked (with no recollection of doing so).
When we finally made it to the edge of the Black Wood, the both of us slumped forward, hands on knees, panting hard for air to fill our lungs back up.
“Did you see it? Did you see it?” Tansy struggled to force the words out.
“Yes, Tansy, I saw!” I answered.
“I… I… I thought we were done with all of that! I thought that was passed us! I thought…”
“As did I. As did I.”
Tansy’s upper body shot up with a sense of awareness. Her torso tensed and stiffened, and her face drew dark and contemplative. She furrowed her brow as if trying to piece some wild puzzle together or connect the dots to some great revelation. I saw it glittering in her soft hazel eyes, like words and images dancing in her mind, yet they were too fast for her to catch and put together. When it dawned on her, it was like a candle flame flickering to life. “Today’s the 20th, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “It’s been almost three years, Barbara. Almost three years to the day that Martha Corey and the others were hanged in Salem. You know, the last of the trial judgments. Do you think it’s happening again? Do you think what happened over there is now happening here?”
“Hush your mouth, Tansy Wilkins!” I snapped back. “We are God-fearing women of our community. Peace-loving. We reject Satan and all his minions.” I paused after those words. For some reason, it didn’t feel right for me to say them. A creeping feeling of doubt entered my heart, but I pushed it aside. “Don’t you be putting that energy out into the universe,” I continued my admonition. “And for God’s sake, don’t go saying that around anyone else. You know how on edge everyone has been since all that business over there.”
“But Barbara, I’ve heard stories. Been hearing stories…”
“And stories they just are. The same ones I’ve been hearing, too. Nothing but silly ghost tales and monsters under the bed. Now shush, and don’t go putting wood on someone’s fire. Because the last thing we surely need is what happened there to infect us here. It’s still fresh. It’s going to take a little while for that wound to heal.” That much was true! I knew our town of New Haven Harbor would never be able to survive the horrors of Salem.
Her face darkened again at my words. It was obvious she wasn’t fully convinced by what I told her. I knew I wasn’t convinced myself, but I had to say the words to quell my sister’s suspicions. It would be a shame if she had opened herself to the hysteria of our neighboring town. Who knows what influence or bogeymen she might allow in?
Like a pinprick in the back of my mind, I could feel the scene in the clearing calling me—beckoning me to go and investigate. But I ignored it, and instead, I tried to convince my sister nothing nefarious was afoot.“Winnie Gordon told me that two young children went missing over in Salem just last week.
They were playing at the bottom of the ledge where the witches were hanged, and no one has seen them since. Winnie says those little kids must have awakened something because strange things have been happening since then.”
“You know I can’t stand that Winnie Gordon. Never could,” I barked.
Tansy’s eyes went wild. “Barbara, stop that! How could you say that! Winnie has been my best friend since grammar school!”
“And pray tell, why is it that she needed to repeat her studies multiple times? Winnie Gordon is not the smartest of women, now is she? There are at least four, maybe five children in this town who bear the face of her sweet husband Jedidiah Gordon yet do not belong to Winnie herself…”
With a swift shot to the shoulder, Tansy huffed, “Barbara!”
I smirked from the corner of my mouth. “I speak nothing but truth, dear sister. And as for Winnie Gordon, I don’t think she could recognize truth if it slithered its way from between…”
She gasped again at my seeming vulgarity. “Barbara! Enough!”I must admit, I too was taken aback by the images in my mind and the words that formed on my lips. It was no secret that Winnie’s husband was a fine catch for her. A brokered deal among their families to afford the best financial possible outcome for all parties involved. And it was no secret that Jedidiah Gordon was the desire of many of the women in New Haven Harbor, to which he heartily obliged. I envisioned all types of women in our town lying on their backs, receiving the full weight and girth of Jedidiah at once in a passionate ceremony, as if he were shapeshifter who could penetrate them at the very same time, all at once, thrusting and pulsating and rising and… I shook my head to rid myself of the thought, but the pinprick sensation was still needling its edge in the back of my head, sending electric waves down my spine.
I gave Tansy the bouquet of bluebells and instructed her: “Take these back to the chapel.
Someone will probably be wondering where we are and why we’re taking so long. Not a word of this, though. To anyone. Not even Winnie Gordon, you understand me. Someone is clearly playing a cruel joke, trying to get everyone excited and spooked for the upcoming anniversary. I’m going to go back to the clearing to tidy up so no one else sees it. I’ll be quick and come back with more flowers. Say I was unhappy with what was out there and wanted prettier ones.”
Tansy gave a quick nod and went on her way. I turned on my heels and headed straight for the clearing—straight back to the scene of grisly ritualistic murder, straight back to the scene that seemed to call to me, that drew me in. On closer inspection, I realized the twigs were arranged in the shape of a makeshift circle with the five-pointed star in the center. At each point of the star, a black melted candle was stuck into the earth. The waxy pools at their bases held them in place. A squirrel’s severed head was in the center of the star and there was blood—so much blood— adorning the center and outside of the circle.
But the blood sings.
I knelt at the end of the ground altar, entranced with the precision at which it was constructed and thought: Who could have done this? Why did they do this? What is the meaning behind it all? But my internal questions were drowned out by the song of the blood and replaced with the only thing I could describe the feeling as—knowing. The scene was suddenly beautiful to me, and a wave of guilt tumbled into my soul. I should not feel this way. I should not feel this way…
Yet something in me did.
About the Author:Maria is the Author of the Amazon bestselling and award winning series The Coal Elf Chronicles, the YA psychological horror series The Altered Experience, and the NA Urban Fantasy series The Aestrangel Trinity.
When not writing about dark fantasy and horror, she teaches Language Arts and Journalism to middle school students in Florida. A lover of all things dark and demented, she takes pleasure in warping the comfort factor in her readers’ minds. Just when you think you’ve reached a safe space in her stories, she snaps you back into her twisted reality.
Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/mariadevivo
Website: https://www.mariadevivo.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mariadevivoauthor
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@authormariadevivo
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January 5, 2023
Witch of the Black Circle
Witch of the Black CircleDawn of the Blood WitchBook OneMaria DeVivo
Genre: HorrorPublisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: March 7, 2022ASIN: B09NB1G11YNumber of pages: 217Word Count: 64k
Cover Artist:
Tagline: When it comes to witchcraft, it's never just a teenage phase...
Book Description:
For as long as she can remember, high school senior Joephie Turner's mother has told her she is cursed by a witch. As she settles into her new hometown of Northport, Long Island at the height of the 1980s Satanic Panic era, Joephie is accepted into a circle of friends obsessed with the occult. Demonic messages on cassette tapes, shady youth group leaders, and passionate sexual encounters push the teen into a thrilling world that lends a deeper meaning to the proverbial mantra: "sex, drugs, and rock and roll." Until it all goes wrong.
A decade later, haunted by nightmares of cults and rituals, formidable burgeoning witch Joephie pieces her memories together in search of answers about the small group of suburban teens that meddled with dark forces. As an adult, Joephie will have to decide what, or who, she is willing to sacrifice from her past in order to claw her way back to sanity.
Inspired by true events, Witch of the Black Circle is a deliciously wicked and nostalgic journey through time where the lines of reality and the supernatural blur. Content warning: satanic rituals; sex; graphic violence; language; drug use
Amazon
Excerpt
Dan reaches over to his bag and pulls out his math book. In the front pouch, I notice a small novel with a black cover. “Hey,” I say, nodding my head in the backpack’s direction. “Whatcha reading?”
“Uh, nothing,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders.
I put out my arms and tap my fingers together like a baby grasping at something. “Lemme see it!”“Nah. It’s really nothing,” he repeats, but he’s unconvincing, and it makes my curiosity burn a hole in my brain.
Kit’s curiosity is piqued as well, so she stands up and moves behind the chair with the backpack. “Now, now,” she sings. “No secrets here, Dan!” She grabs the bag from the chair and pulls out the book. “The Satanic Bible?”
Dan quickly shoots up from the chair, snatches the book away from her, and cradles it to his chest as to hide the cover from us. “Shhhh…” he admonishes as he looks side to side, assessing if my mother was in the vicinity or not.
I hold out my hand again. “What are you reading that for?” I ask. “Give it here.”
Reluctantly, he turns the book over to me, and I examine the cover, the spine, and the back like an investigator studying a piece of crime-scene evidence. Only, I don’t have on rubber gloves. I’ve known about this book. Heard about it. Knew the story of the author, Dr. Anton LaVey, and his Church of Satan. Practically, every youth ministry I had attended had mentioned the evil of this piece of literature at some point in time: If you even look at the book, you can be possessed. Being in its presence alone can have a profound effect on your heavenly soul. Dare not open or read the pages for fear of infiltration by a powerful demonic force. But as I actually hold the book for the first time in my life, I feel … nothing. No fear. No wonder. No spooky taboo. I press the book in my palms trying to feel for any ‘other-worldly’ vibrations or indication that if I open it up I will be damned to hell. But no. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. And more lies and deception from my past teachers come into clear view. “Dude. It’s just a book.”
“Yeah, I know it’s just a book,” he huffs, grabs it from me, and shoves it back into his bag.
The three of us sit back down in silence for a few minutes.
“You okay, man?” Kit asks, concerned.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Clearly, he’s not.
“Where’d you get it?” I ask.
“Why’d you get it?” Kit emphasizes.
Dan looks behind him and scans the kitchen again. Then, he moves his upper body slightly across the table as if to beckon me and Kit to huddle in. We oblige him and he speaks in a soft, hushed tone: “Thomas. This guy from my school. He got the connection with that Ricky kid and the Knights of the Black Circle.”
“The Knights of the Black Circle?” I ask. “What’s that?”
Dan glares at me and holds up his arm revealing the faded black circles drawn up and down his arm, over and over and over. I had thought they were just silly drawings borne out of boredom, but…
“They wanted him to read the book and know some stuff before they accepted him,” he continues. “Thomas said he could probably get me in, too, and told me what passages to study and shit.”
Kit’s pretty eyes widen, and her bangs touch her eyelashes again. “He knows the Acid King?”
A sneer forms on Dan’s lips and he nods. “Uh huh.”
“Wait,” I protest. “What are you talking about? Who are the Knights of the Black Circle?
What’s an Acid King?”
“The Knights…” Dan explains, “they’re a group. Local. They do stuff. They know stuff.”
About the Author:Maria is the Author of the Amazon bestselling and award winning series The Coal Elf Chronicles, the YA psychological horror series The Altered Experience, and the NA Urban Fantasy series The Aestrangel Trinity.
When not writing about dark fantasy and horror, she teaches Language Arts and Journalism to middle school students in Florida. A lover of all things dark and demented, she takes pleasure in warping the comfort factor in her readers’ minds. Just when you think you’ve reached a safe space in her stories, she snaps you back into her twisted reality.
Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/mariadevivo
Website: https://www.mariadevivo.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mariadevivoauthor
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@authormariadevivo
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authordevivo/
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Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/c/MariaDeVivo
Newsletter: https://bit.ly/MariaNewsletter
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Maria-DeVivo/e/B00CIAYHKY
January 4, 2023
Witch of the Black Circle Dawn of the Blood Witch Book One Maria DeVivo
Witch of the Black CircleDawn of the Blood WitchBook OneMaria DeVivo
Genre: HorrorPublisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: March 7, 2022ASIN: B09NB1G11YNumber of pages: 217Word Count: 64k
Cover Artist:
Tagline: When it comes to witchcraft, it's never just a teenage phase...
Book Description:
For as long as she can remember, high school senior Joephie Turner's mother has told her she is cursed by a witch. As she settles into her new hometown of Northport, Long Island at the height of the 1980s Satanic Panic era, Joephie is accepted into a circle of friends obsessed with the occult. Demonic messages on cassette tapes, shady youth group leaders, and passionate sexual encounters push the teen into a thrilling world that lends a deeper meaning to the proverbial mantra: "sex, drugs, and rock and roll." Until it all goes wrong.
A decade later, haunted by nightmares of cults and rituals, formidable burgeoning witch Joephie pieces her memories together in search of answers about the small group of suburban teens that meddled with dark forces. As an adult, Joephie will have to decide what, or who, she is willing to sacrifice from her past in order to claw her way back to sanity.
Inspired by true events, Witch of the Black Circle is a deliciously wicked and nostalgic journey through time where the lines of reality and the supernatural blur. Content warning: satanic rituals; sex; graphic violence; language; drug use
Amazon
Excerpt
Dan reaches over to his bag and pulls out his math book. In the front pouch, I notice a small novel with a black cover. “Hey,” I say, nodding my head in the backpack’s direction. “Whatcha reading?”
“Uh, nothing,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders.
I put out my arms and tap my fingers together like a baby grasping at something. “Lemme see it!”
“Nah. It’s really nothing,” he repeats, but he’s unconvincing, and it makes my curiosity burn a hole in my brain.
Kit’s curiosity is piqued as well, so she stands up and moves behind the chair with the backpack. “Now, now,” she sings. “No secrets here, Dan!” She grabs the bag from the chair and pulls out the book. “The Satanic Bible?”
Dan quickly shoots up from the chair, snatches the book away from her, and cradles it to his chest as to hide the cover from us. “Shhhh…” he admonishes as he looks side to side, assessing if my mother was in the vicinity or not.
I hold out my hand again. “What are you reading that for?” I ask. “Give it here.”
Reluctantly, he turns the book over to me, and I examine the cover, the spine, and the back like an investigator studying a piece of crime-scene evidence. Only, I don’t have on rubber gloves. I’ve known about this book. Heard about it. Knew the story of the author, Dr. Anton LaVey, and his Church of Satan. Practically, every youth ministry I had attended had mentioned the evil of this piece of literature at some point in time: If you even look at the book, you can be possessed. Being in its presence alone can have a profound effect on your heavenly soul. Dare not open or read the pages for fear of infiltration by a powerful demonic force. But as I actually hold the book for the first time in my life, I feel … nothing. No fear. No wonder. No spooky taboo. I press the book in my palms trying to feel for any ‘other-worldly’ vibrations or indication that if I open it up I will be damned to hell. But no. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. And more lies and deception from my past teachers come into clear view. “Dude. It’s just a book.”
“Yeah, I know it’s just a book,” he huffs, grabs it from me, and shoves it back into his bag.
The three of us sit back down in silence for a few minutes.
“You okay, man?” Kit asks, concerned.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Clearly, he’s not.
“Where’d you get it?” I ask.
“Why’d you get it?” Kit emphasizes.
Dan looks behind him and scans the kitchen again. Then, he moves his upper body slightly across the table as if to beckon me and Kit to huddle in. We oblige him and he speaks in a soft, hushed tone: “Thomas. This guy from my school. He got the connection with that Ricky kid and the Knights of the Black Circle.”
“The Knights of the Black Circle?” I ask. “What’s that?”
Dan glares at me and holds up his arm revealing the faded black circles drawn up and down his arm, over and over and over. I had thought they were just silly drawings borne out of boredom, but…
“They wanted him to read the book and know some stuff before they accepted him,” he continues. “Thomas said he could probably get me in, too, and told me what passages to study and shit.”
Kit’s pretty eyes widen, and her bangs touch her eyelashes again. “He knows the Acid King?”
A sneer forms on Dan’s lips and he nods. “Uh huh.”
“Wait,” I protest. “What are you talking about? Who are the Knights of the Black Circle?
What’s an Acid King?”
“The Knights…” Dan explains, “they’re a group. Local. They do stuff. They know stuff.”
Witch of the Red Thorn Dawn of the Blood Witch Book TwoMaria DeVivo
Genre: Occult Horror Publisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: June 5, 2022ISBN: 1644505614ASIN: B09TGWNY76Number of pages: 254Word Count: 58k
Tagline: Three years after the Salem Witch Trials, a new evil awakens to terrorize an unsuspecting town.
Book Description:
The residents of New Haven Harbor, Massachusetts think they've escaped the madness of the Salem Witch Trials, but when a new Reverend is dispatched to their church to take over for their aging vicar, they soon realize the darkness is far from over. Dutiful Christian wife Barbara Flynn is immediately affected by the new pastor's presence. Intense thoughts and feelings she has never experienced before stir inside, drawing her close to the strange man.
When a series of grisly occurrences tear through the town, Barbara and the new Reverend join together to wade through the carnage. But on their journey, Barbara soon discovers she is part of a larger design - a plan that has been in the making since the dawn of time. As shadows loom over the quiet seaside town, the simple townsfolk grow frightened. Fear soon turns to anger as fingers point in every direction to snuff out the source who has once again brought witchcraft into their midst.
Can Barbara control the demons within her to assure the town's safety? Or will the mob force Barbara and the new Reverend to atone for the sinister magic devouring New Haven Harbor?
Reader Advisory: Witch of the Red Thorn contains violence, gore, Satanic rituals, and graphic sexual situations
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/W6XsJ-Bksi0
Amazon
Excerpt:
I didn’t realize how long we had been out in the clearing of the woods until Tansy’s screaming snapped me back into reality. It was almost like a dream—when you fall asleep into that dream world and your story just picks up in the middle of a scene, yet you have all the memory and knowledge of the world your mind has temporarily created for you. One moment we were walking out into the forest in the purest daylight to gather fresh flowers for the chapel, and in the next instance, it was pitch black and Tansy was pulling hard on my pinafore dress and howling at the top of her lungs for us to run.
“Run, Barbara! Run! Go!” she commanded as I twirled at the edge of the clearing, awestruck at the sight that lay before me—strewn in a circle lay twisted animal parts covered in leaves and muck and blood. Symbols arranged neatly with twigs, flower heads drenched in the crimson sticky blood, and black candles burned to their nubs protruded from the ground. Something about it enthralled me, bewitched me, and I stared hard at the tableau—unafraid and somewhat curious at the peculiarity of it all.
With one final tug of my dress and a shake to my shoulder, I locked eyes with my sister. Her words finally registered in my head, and her urgency struck deep into my soul: Run. Go. Now. We both took off running, my legs swiftly carrying me to presumed safety, my hands still clutching tightly to the cluster of Bellflowers I had previously picked (with no recollection of doing so).
When we finally made it to the edge of the Black Wood, the both of us slumped forward, hands on knees, panting hard for air to fill our lungs back up.
“Did you see it? Did you see it?” Tansy struggled to force the words out.
“Yes, Tansy, I saw!” I answered.
“I… I… I thought we were done with all of that! I thought that was passed us! I thought…”
“As did I. As did I.”
Tansy’s upper body shot up with a sense of awareness. Her torso tensed and stiffened, and her face drew dark and contemplative. She furrowed her brow as if trying to piece some wild puzzle together or connect the dots to some great revelation. I saw it glittering in her soft hazel eyes, like words and images dancing in her mind, yet they were too fast for her to catch and put together. When it dawned on her, it was like a candle flame flickering to life. “Today’s the 20th, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes, why?”
She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “It’s been almost three years, Barbara. Almost three years to the day that Martha Corey and the others were hanged in Salem. You know, the last of the trial judgments. Do you think it’s happening again? Do you think what happened over there is now happening here?”
“Hush your mouth, Tansy Wilkins!” I snapped back. “We are God-fearing women of our community. Peace-loving. We reject Satan and all his minions.” I paused after those words. For some reason, it didn’t feel right for me to say them. A creeping feeling of doubt entered my heart, but I pushed it aside. “Don’t you be putting that energy out into the universe,” I continued my admonition. “And for God’s sake, don’t go saying that around anyone else. You know how on edge everyone has been since all that business over there.”
“But Barbara, I’ve heard stories. Been hearing stories…”
“And stories they just are. The same ones I’ve been hearing, too. Nothing but silly ghost tales and monsters under the bed. Now shush, and don’t go putting wood on someone’s fire. Because the last thing we surely need is what happened there to infect us here. It’s still fresh. It’s going to take a little while for that wound to heal.” That much was true! I knew our town of New Haven Harbor would never be able to survive the horrors of Salem.
Her face darkened again at my words. It was obvious she wasn’t fully convinced by what I told her. I knew I wasn’t convinced myself, but I had to say the words to quell my sister’s suspicions. It would be a shame if she had opened herself to the hysteria of our neighboring town. Who knows what influence or bogeymen she might allow in?
Like a pinprick in the back of my mind, I could feel the scene in the clearing calling me—beckoning me to go and investigate. But I ignored it, and instead, I tried to convince my sister nothing nefarious was afoot.
“Winnie Gordon told me that two young children went missing over in Salem just last week.
They were playing at the bottom of the ledge where the witches were hanged, and no one has seen them since. Winnie says those little kids must have awakened something because strange things have been happening since then.”
“You know I can’t stand that Winnie Gordon. Never could,” I barked.
Tansy’s eyes went wild. “Barbara, stop that! How could you say that! Winnie has been my best friend since grammar school!”
“And pray tell, why is it that she needed to repeat her studies multiple times? Winnie Gordon is not the smartest of women, now is she? There are at least four, maybe five children in this town who bear the face of her sweet husband Jedidiah Gordon yet do not belong to Winnie herself…”
With a swift shot to the shoulder, Tansy huffed, “Barbara!”
I smirked from the corner of my mouth. “I speak nothing but truth, dear sister. And as for Winnie Gordon, I don’t think she could recognize truth if it slithered its way from between…”
She gasped again at my seeming vulgarity. “Barbara! Enough!”
I must admit, I too was taken aback by the images in my mind and the words that formed on my lips. It was no secret that Winnie’s husband was a fine catch for her. A brokered deal among their families to afford the best financial possible outcome for all parties involved. And it was no secret that Jedidiah Gordon was the desire of many of the women in New Haven Harbor, to which he heartily obliged. I envisioned all types of women in our town lying on their backs, receiving the full weight and girth of Jedidiah at once in a passionate ceremony, as if he were shapeshifter who could penetrate them at the very same time, all at once, thrusting and pulsating and rising and… I shook my head to rid myself of the thought, but the pinprick sensation was still needling its edge in the back of my head, sending electric waves down my spine.
I gave Tansy the bouquet of bluebells and instructed her: “Take these back to the chapel.
Someone will probably be wondering where we are and why we’re taking so long. Not a word of this, though. To anyone. Not even Winnie Gordon, you understand me. Someone is clearly playing a cruel joke, trying to get everyone excited and spooked for the upcoming anniversary. I’m going to go back to the clearing to tidy up so no one else sees it. I’ll be quick and come back with more flowers. Say I was unhappy with what was out there and wanted prettier ones.”
Tansy gave a quick nod and went on her way. I turned on my heels and headed straight for the clearing—straight back to the scene of grisly ritualistic murder, straight back to the scene that seemed to call to me, that drew me in. On closer inspection, I realized the twigs were arranged in the shape of a makeshift circle with the five-pointed star in the center. At each point of the star, a black melted candle was stuck into the earth. The waxy pools at their bases held them in place. A squirrel’s severed head was in the center of the star and there was blood—so much blood— adorning the center and outside of the circle.
But the blood sings.
I knelt at the end of the ground altar, entranced with the precision at which it was constructed and thought: Who could have done this? Why did they do this? What is the meaning behind it all? But my internal questions were drowned out by the song of the blood and replaced with the only thing I could describe the feeling as—knowing. The scene was suddenly beautiful to me, and a wave of guilt tumbled into my soul. I should not feel this way. I should not feel this way…
Yet something in me did.
Witch of the Silver Locust Dawn of the Blood Witch Book ThreeMaria DeVivoGenre: Occult Horror Publisher: 4 Horsemen PublicationsDate of Publication: January 24, 2023ISBN: ASIN: Word Count: 59k
Tagline: Trent travels through time to find the Blodheska and open the gates of Hell.
Book Description:
Follow Trent as he unveils the origin story of the mysterious and powerful world of witches across centuries. He’s been known as the witch Trond, or even as Galen, and finally Trent, the Witch of the Silver Locust. He will seek the Blodheska no matter where or when to nurture the powers they hold.
Traversing each moment, he must face opposing forces that have their own plans for their ideal apocalypse. He will face his enemies no matter if they are human or demon--or even the Church of Satan itself. As he defends his goal, Trent will ally with both new and old friends as he tries to open the gateway to the old ones and bring about the witch utopia of New Eden on earth.
Inspired by true events, this tale follows Trent as he endures an exorcism, the Church of Satan, and the Son of Sam while moving closer to fulfilling his destiny.
Reader Advisory: Witch of the Silver Locust contains violence, gore, Satanic rituals, and graphic sexual situations
Books2Read Amazon
Excerpt:
Three moon tides had passed, and Runa remained in our care. A subject? A prisoner? I could not truly tell the difference. Sten had returned to the cave that first night with the supplies Aizel told him to procure—supplies that were just a diversion so that she could make her final judgment on what was to be done with the girl. Aizel told Sten to set up camp in our village and wait for us to call for him. He knew she was well respected and that our people would take care of him if need be, so he left our cave to go into town and patiently waited until his child was delivered from the evil that took hold of her hugr and fylgja—in essence, her soul.
Sten was obedient and did as he was told—partly because he was a doting father who wanted to see his daughter healed, and partly, because at his core, he was a weak man who fell easily under Aizel’s spell. She promised him she would do whatever she could to help Runa, and if that meant Sten had to run into a pack of snarling wolves, he would have complied. But I knew the truth. There was no intention of expelling the draugr from the girl. Aizel was stalling for time as the demon inside Runa slowly festered and consumed her bit by bit.
And as the days passed, I purposefully and consciously locked my mind like a steel cage against Aizel so she couldn’t go digging around. I hadn’t told her what I had heard Runa say—how she had called out the sacred nickname my sister had bestowed upon me, for I knew she would have forbidden me to even go near the girl after that. Nevertheless, I was intrigued. How would she have known that name unless by some divine intervention? I was certainly convinced that this was more than just the average possession we were used to dealing with, and I was determined to find out more. What was this demon, and why had it made itself known to me the night of the full moon, and more specifically during a time of my great despondency?
So, without Aizel’s knowledge of my actions, I stole away into the storage alcove where Runa had been tied up for the last three nights in hopes of getting as much information from the creature as I could. I brought my canteen of water under the assumption that maybe a drink would satisfy it and give it reason to open up. When I reached the room, the air was thick with an unnatural heat and a steamy sheen blanketed the space around us, much like the steam from the hot springs a bit south of us.
I stood in the opening and watched as Runa’s slumped body breathed in and out with those frenzied pants. Her head tilted to one side as if the weight of her long, silky black hair was pulling her down in her slumber. She looked peaceful, even with her chest heaving up and down as frantically as it was. I wondered what type of frenetic dream she must be having. Was she running in a field? Were the wolves chasing her? Was a hoard of marauders ravaging her fragile body?
I dipped my foot gingerly across the imaginary threshold of the room, and suddenly she stopped, shot up, and opened her eyes wide. “All three,” she cooed with a smirk.
I froze for a moment, surprised by her abrupt actions, then continued my way inside.
Runa smiled wide, and the evidence of the draugr’s hold on her was blatantly clear. The soft pink tissue of her gums was coated with a dark black substance giving her mouth the appearance of a gaping void.A void to swallow me whole and transport me to another dimension…
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she blurted.
“You know I’m not afraid of you, right?” I said. “I’ve seen the likes of you before.”
She giggled. “Oh, have you?” she responded. Her voice was low and gravelly, and it echoed in the cave as if there were more than one being speaking simultaneously. I couldn’t tell if it was the acoustics or if she actually represented the power of the many. And the voice, that guttural, grinding tone was so familiar to me, yet I could not place where I’d heard it before.
I approached her in the chair and held my canteen to her face. She eyed me coolly. “No,” shesaid. “It would just prolong the process.”
“Oh? And what process is this you speak of?”
“I know your plans. The girl is gone. There’s no use in saving her now.”
I pursed my lips together and nodded. “True. True.” I agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you still can’t serve a purpose for us.”
The draugr laughed aloud. Its voice pierced the inside of my eardrums so sharply that I winced.
“Untie me, and I’ll show you what purpose I can serve,” she said with a sly hint of seduction.
I looked down upon her and scoffed. Up close I could see the demon had begun to transform her. Runa’s visage had begun to crack. The pale skin of her once soft face had turned gray, and the dark green veins from beneath her skin pressed up close to the surface and pulsated as if they were their own living, breathing entities. Her cheeks had further sunken in, giving the sharp angles of her face an even more inhuman appearance. She grazed her thick black tongue across the surface of her dry lips. “I won’t bite,” she cooed.
I huffed and took a step back. “Do you think that’s what it would take to tempt me? I told you, I’ve done this before. You’re not the first draugr to grace this cavern. Do you even know how old I am?”
“Do you even know how old I am?” she shot back.
I knelt next to her and decided to seize the opportunity. Demons are all-knowing, or at least they think they are. And they like to talk, mainly about themselves and their powers. And it’s often their narcissism that contributes to their downfall. I remembered that from Blodwyn’s teachings. Long ago, she had guided me through my first expulsion of a draugr. I had watched her perform the ritual flawlessly on many occasions, and when it came time for me to go out on my own, it was less than a stellar effort. “Don’t worry,” Blodwyn had said, “your strengths lie elsewhere. We each have our own gifts and talents. Don’t let this one failure discourage you. And I wouldn’t even call it a failure…”
“The boy would have died anyway,” the draugr said, finishing my memory.
I pulled back a bit. “Oh. So, you’re in here?” I said, pointing to my temple.
“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. It comes and goes like flashes of light, like a gust of icy wind, like the paper-thin cry of the locust swelling to a crescendo then leveling off.”
My face twisted in confusion for a second. “How did you know that name?”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head forward. “I know not of what you speak,” she said with an agitated tone.
I placed my hand on her knee, and she quickly opened her eyes again. “Yes, you do. You said a name the first night you were here. You called out to me.”
She laughed again. A low and menacing rumble from her chest. “Pink Silver,” she grimaced, and her chest heaved up giving way to a wretched cough. She turned her head to the opposite side of where I knelt, spit out a gob of inky black substance, cleared her throat, and looked back at me.
“Tell me your name,” I commanded.
The draugr ‘tsked’ her thick black tongue against the back of her teeth.
“You told Aizel! Why won’t you tell me? You know my name, Trond. And you know my secret name, Ruz. It’s only fair if we’re going to continue this relationship, don’t you think?”
The draugr’s voice lowered, “I told that witch nothing!” it spat. “She stole that from me.
The girl was fighting hard, and there was a moment of weakness. I’m better now.” It smiled again, and for a split second. There were maggots weaving in and out of its teeth. I blinked rapidly, hoping it would go away. The draugr laughed.
About the Author:Maria is the Author of the Amazon bestselling and award winning series The Coal Elf Chronicles, the YA psychological horror series The Altered Experience, and the NA Urban Fantasy series The Aestrangel Trinity.
When not writing about dark fantasy and horror, she teaches Language Arts and Journalism to middle school students in Florida. A lover of all things dark and demented, she takes pleasure in warping the comfort factor in her readers’ minds. Just when you think you’ve reached a safe space in her stories, she snaps you back into her twisted reality.
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January 2, 2023
Covenant with the Devil The Immanence Series Book One Linda Robertson Reinhardt
Covenant with the Devil The Immanence SeriesBook OneLinda Robertson ReinhardtGenre: Dark FantasyPublisher: Igni House PublishingDate of Publication: Oct 31, 2022ISBN: 9781685440077 ASIN: B0BKJXJZMYNumber of pages: 506 pagesWord Count: 118,000Cover Artist: Linda Robertson Reinhardt
Book Description:
After a car crash killed her family and left her in a coma, divine intervention provided Jovienne with a set of enhanced skills and directed her into Andrei’s care. He’s instructed her through years of intense demon slayer training.
Before sending her into the grueling final test, Andrei reveals a truth he’s kept hidden: if she passes, she will be transformed into an angel. His deception threatens to undermine her efforts, but after the hard-won battle, Jovienne is remade.
She quickly realizes this isn’t the life she was promised, and it isn’t what she wants. But there’s more to Andrei’s secrets and lies, and, worse, the man she trusted has manipulated her into eternal servitude.
Good thing she has a few secrets of her own. They might be the only thing that could set her free.
Listen to the Immanence Soundtrack
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/qG3suMw5SvQ
Excerpt Book One
While washing up the dinner dishes, Andrei heard Jovienne’s door open down the hall. She called, “Sun’s gonna set soon. You ready?”
He rinsed the last dish and placed it in the rack. “Yeah. Are you?” He moved to lean in the doorway, drying his calloused hands on a dishtowel.
On one knee, Jovienne tightened the lacing on her boot. “Almost.”
He glanced around the empty living room where they sometimes sparred. The walls had been drab green long before they moved in. Stains marred the ceiling, some from age and others from leaks. The floor wasn’t much better. Worn and dark, the boards had little shine left. They all creaked under foot.
He imagined the abhadhim had far better living quarters than this. Though he was stuck here, she wasn’t. She deserved better.
She stood and tossed her head, resettling her long mane of black hair. Rocking from her heels to her toes, she tested the feel of the footwear, then approached the wide wooden cabinet. As usual, she studied the weapons on the shelves. She always started by loading her pockets with throwing stars. Next, she would strap leather dagger sheaths to her wrists.
He smiled to himself when she did just that. He knew her well.
Her every move seemed part of a dance, a choreographed routine she’d performed for years. He noted every detail as her fingers worked those buckles. Nails trimmed short. A web of pale, thin scars marked the brown skin of her hands, badges earned in the mastery of all those blades.
She was a fierce sparring partner who would seize the tactical advantage. A clever and competent student and a serious young woman whose beauty drew the eye, he admired everything about her. She embodied much more than he ever aspired to be.
He could not have been more proud.
He wanted to tell her the news, but a lump swelled in his throat. Revealing the news would bring his tears. He had to master his emotion first. He’d been tough on her. Couldn’t ruin that now and risk her remembering him as a sniveling fool.
Still, he’d have to say those words soon. Too soon. But not yet.
She gave him the once over in a glance. “You going empty-handed?”
On a normal night, he’d already have his sword on his belt and daggers on his hips. But he didn’t need gear tonight.
His stomach churned. Each minute brought him closer to their parting. He didn’t know what zone she’d get, but it was possible he’d never see her again. Every second felt precious. More so because she didn’t know what awaited her tonight. She didn’t have to carry the weight of their inevitable goodbye. For now, he carried the bittersweet burden for her.
You need her far more than she ever needed you.
Every healthy thing in his life stemmed from her. Not just the training routine or emphasis on nutrition. He gained stability from being her teacher. Pushing her physical abilities to ever-better levels required him to be engaged and sharp. And it kept old weaknesses at bay. With her, he achieved his best self.
Still, the need to atone for mistakes of the past haunted him.
His highest, best hope for her entailed a successful future that justified what had been taken from her. She’d had a family. He hadn’t been so lucky.
She slid daggers into the wrist sheaths and retrieved her short jacket from the peg by the door. As the coat settled on her shoulders, the costume jewels of the collar pin sparkled in the light. Andrei grimaced and the knot in his gut twisted tighter.
He’d given her the decorative lapel dagger on her sixteenth birthday. Just over three years ago. That night should have been a happy memory. Instead, an unforgettable trauma etched into his mind.
That night she’d touched him. The child he raised had declared herself a woman and offered herself to him.
He’d refused her. Morally, ethically, it was his only option. He was the only man in her life. She had a teenage crush. It was understandable. Predictable, even.
But it wasn’t easily dismissed.
Disgusted with himself at how quickly he’d grown hard under her hand, all his self-loathing coiled into his throat as he rejected her. His tone had been harsh and critical, bursting with his need to prevent her from ever tempting him again.
In hindsight, he’d been too forceful. Bullish, even. Her defeated expression and posture told him his words had landed like fists. He fled from her room praying he hadn’t done the one thing he never meant to do: break her will.
Jovienne proved too resilient to break, but the incident cost them. Their closeness evaporated. A rift opened, impossible to bridge. The pin on her lapel became a jeweled reminder of the day they destroyed their sense of family. All that remained was teacher and student.
As it should have been all along.
A new ferocity developed in her training regimen afterward. As if she’d discarded secret feelings that had held her back. Or she’d developed new emotional armor.
Either way, it would serve her well in the future. Starting tonight.
Heretic’s Penance The Immanence SeriesBook TwoLinda Robertson ReinhardtGenre: Dark FantasyPublisher: Igni House PublishingDate of Publication: November 14, 2022ISBN: 9781685440084 Number of pages: 440Word Count: 99,000Cover Artist: Linda Robertson Reinhardt
Book Description:
Jovienne and Andrei face a new battle —each other. Andrei has embraced an ultra-religious mindset and sees her magical power heresy. Jovienne feels so persecuted at home she leaves. She wants to build a new life, yet the Call continues.
Whenever a demon arrives, she must slay it.
Not all of the demons seem evil, though, and she struggles with the work. Worse, Lucifer still wants her for her strange abilities. She turns to a local occult shop for help understanding her power. Too late, she learns she’s put them in serious danger.
Amazon
Excerpt Book Two:
Jovienne pointed at him, hand trembling with anger. “Don’t blame me for what you lost. I begged you to leave. You stayed. Like you said, choices have consequences.”
“You don’t care what your evil witchcraft cost me, do you?”
Her mouth opened, but she wasn’t willing to voice her first thoughts. “I wish more than anything you would have left.” You wouldn’t have been in danger, and I wouldn’t have done what I did to save you. Her eyes burned. Unwilling to cry in front of him, she left.
Even without the boots, her heels thudded on the cracked linoleum.
“Jovienne,” Andrei called.
Ms. Davis, the neighbor downstairs, thumped her ceiling at the noise.
Jovienne didn’t care. She stomped down the hall and slammed her door. In her darkened bedroom, she stared out the front bay window.
Moving back in was stupid. I was naïve to think we could avoid this fight.
She fought both the tears and the scream building in her throat by concentrating on the lights beyond the glass and measuring her breaths.
Andrei flung open her door without knocking.
She spun.
His face contorted and he twisted and smacked the switch up. Harsh light filled the room.
He remained silent a beat longer than she expected.
“You’re an angel now. You can’t act like a spiteful child.”
His expression and tone conveyed calm, but the flush in his face and his white-knuckled hand on the doorknob said otherwise. His dominant pose declared his control of the room.
But she saw he didn’t have control of himself.
She activated the quickening to give herself an extra moment to think.
He’d always been a firm teacher. When she first started besting him in sparring matches, he resorted to taunting her to make her lose her temper. She’d seen right through the bully tactics.
He’d done the same thing in the kitchen, but this time they weren’t physically sparring.
She’d fallen for it and let him use her emotional investment against her.
Though he blocked the doorway with his body, he was not a threat. Not physically. But his beliefs were. He didn’t care if she was a slave. Worse, he felt the servitude was an honor.
She released the quickening and sank onto the bed, staring at the floor between them. Her throat remained tight from her unvoiced scream and when she spoke, it hurt. “Moving back in seemed like a great idea.” She looked up. “Last night, I thought we were on common ground.
But today you’re acting as if you expect to pick up right where we left off.”
His brows knit. “Aren’t we?”
“You’re not my teacher anymore, Andrei. And you never were my father.”
His shoulders sagged. He released the doorknob and raked fingers through his hair.
“You’re right.” The words stood for but a second before he straightened and hurried on. “If I hadn’t failed to nurture your spiritual path—”
“Stop.”
“—if I had only—”
“Stop!”
Andrei winced, then clamped his jaw.
She stood. “There are two things you need to get through your head right now. One, I cannot forget what I learned from you or what I learned from my gramma. Not even if I wanted to. And two, you don’t get to instruct me anymore. If you have an opinion about what I should think or do or how I should live my life, you will keep it to yourself.”
Martyr The Immanence SeriesBook ThreeLinda Robertson Reinhardt
Genre: Dark FantasyPublisher: Igni House PublishingDate of Publication: Nov 28, 2022 ISBN: 9781685440091Number of pages: 635Word Count: 148,000 Cover Artist: Linda Robertson Reinhardt
Series Tagline: A renegade angel once changed human society forever… now a new angel will change it again.
Book Description:
Jovienne’s quest to understand her power and claim her freedom leads to a shocking discovery--one that will shake the foundations of modern society and sends her straight to Hell.
Bewitching Excerpt: Martyr
Jovienne found a box of Jade Oolong tea, filled the kettle, and set on the burner.
Samedi sauntered to the doorway and leaned on the far side of the casing. He blew a puff of smoke and watched her. He’d put the cane away again.
“So, Trouble, do you have any fuckin’ idea what you did back there?”
The nickname couldn’t compare with Black Diamond Woman, but it didn’t entirely displease her. “Without dirt under my feet, I had to draw on the electricity somehow. So I pulled it straight from the wires.”
He shook his head and laughed softly. “The fuck you did.”
Offended, she leaned on the counter.
“Are you not going to ask me what you did do?”
“If you have something helpful to add, by all means, say it so I can decide if I believe you.”
He touched his chest as if wounded. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Really?” She crossed her arms. “Sitting back and judging seems more your style.”
“Like you’re doing now?”
“You’re not denying it.”
“Neither are you.”
She arched a brow.
Samedi gave her a judgmental once over. “My ‘style’ is malleable,” he said, “adjusting to fit the moment, but fuck you just the same for being a rude bitch.”
Jovienne had learned a lot from spirited chats with Andrei and Eitan and Araxiel. She sensed no threat from Samedi, but saw an amused gleam, and perhaps a playful challenge, in his eyes. It reminded her of the first time she met Araxiel.
“Maybe you should start over, because from where I stand, you’re the rude bitch. You’re acting superior, hoping I’ll change my demands. Or forget them. But I won’t.” She nodded toward the other room where Nathan sat. “What happened at the morgue just threw a lot of responsibility on my shoulders.”
“I’m relieved as fuck to hear you understand the gravity of the situation.” Samedi shifted to lean on the closer side of the doorway. “I see why you think you rerouted electricity to power your magic, but it only proves you don’t know shit about electricity.”
“Demon slaying doesn’t usually involve—” She stopped. In the last week, very little lined up with what she’d trained for. Giving him her back, she opened the cupboard and searched for a coffee cup. “Electricity wasn’t in the curriculum.”
“Of course not. An abhadhon isn’t supposed to have what you have.”
“A nephilim bloodline. Yeah. I know.” She chose a Shang-Chi mug and dropped the tea bag in.
“Youshouldn’t be an abhadhon.”
“I didn’t ask for it.” She pushed the mug closer to the kettle then recrossed her arms. “Again, if you have something helpful to add, say it.”
His gaze flitted from the kettle to the mug and on to the floor as he considered. She waited. Finally, his eyes found hers. “You wouldn’t compare a nine-volt battery to a nuclear power plant because you understand enough to know that would be a fuckin’ stupid thing to say. Yet you called the power electricity. That tells me you’re ignorant.”
She turned away.
Samedi grabbed her arm and jerked her back. “That’s not an insult. It’s truth. The only remedy for ignorance is learning, so put your ego aside and let me teach you something.”
Jovienne pointedly glanced at his hand on her arm. He released her.
“Your mind made the leap straight to Frankenstein,” he said. “I get why,but forget that shit. Electricity and lightning can’t bring long-dead people back to fuckin’ life. You didn’t pull electricity from the transformers down the street. That power is crude, small, and rudimentary. It wouldn’t want to go through you.”
“Why not?”
“You aren’t negative.”
“I could introduce you to someone who’d say you’re wrong.”
“And I may well agree with them, but I’m talking about polarity, not attitude.”
The water boiled. She lifted the kettle and poured into the mug.
Samedi leaned on the doorway casing again. “Every switch has a ground wire—literally a wire that runs into the fuckin’ ground. Positive electrical charge is attracted to negative electrical charge, so any excess of positive follows the wire down and disburses into the ground.”
“Are you saying I reconnected the disbursed energy and brought it up?”
“No. I’m saying you couldn’t have used electricity because it doesn’t exist in the place you drew from.”
“If not electricity what was it?” She raised and lowered the tea bag by the string, glad for something to do with her hands. “Ley energy?”
“Fuck no.” The note of his voice dropped. “This came from a place deeper down.”
She lowered the bag slowly and let the string go. “How deep?”
“Add some sugar. It will do him good.”
“How deep?”
“Take him the tea. Then we continue.”
Jovienne let the tea steep while she searched for the sugar. Finding nothing but a few pink packets of Sweet-n-Low, she waggled them at Samedi.
“It’ll do.”
She finished preparing the tea and took it to Nathan. After passing it to him, she straightened. Samedi halted close behind her. “What?”
“Knowing without understanding has made you hard. And dangerous.” He offered his hand. “Are you ready?”
“To what?”
“To understand.” The vortex opened behind him.
She’d demanded to talk to the Angel of Death. Looked like he was going to let her.
About the Author:Linda Robertson Reinhardt is an internationally published novelist and her short stories have appeared in several anthologies. In 2022, she released The Immanence Series, a dark fantasy trilogy for which she created the covers and all the interior artwork. A life-long musician, she’s also an award-winning composer, so it’s no surprise she also wrote and produced a 72-minute original orchestral score to accompany the new books. She has even scored a few short, independent films. Her music is available on most streaming channels. She is also a graphic artist and a painter, and her artwork is available through Redbubble. If that’s not enough, she makes jewelry and hand-blends/hand-bottles fragrances that she sells on her Etsy store. A mother of four boys, Linda is married and lives in Ohio.
BLOG: https://authorlindarobertson.com/my-blog
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December 19, 2022
The Glint of the Luopan Sally Feng
The Glint of the LuopanSally Feng
Genre: Urban FantasyPublisher: CinnamonBooksDate of Publication: 11.11.2022ISBN: 978-3000739385ASIN: B0BKY2KQ15Number of pages: 292Word Count: 65.000Cover Artist: MiblArt
Tagline: A Daoist journey through New York and Beijing. A secret society. A young woman on a mission to find her dad.
Book Description:
Lai Fang, a Chinese native living in New York, is working to recover her lost memory and find her father. Along the way, she finds herself in the arms of the mysterious Suresh who supports her search in unconventional ways.
Guided by a Luopan, scattered remnants of recollections, technology, and a little magic, Lai Fang desperately clings to what she hopes will be the path to her truth. However, what if the truth lies far beyond the scope of human comprehension? What is the truth to begin with?
The Glint of the Luopan weaves a mesmerizing web of a world that begins as a dream and unfolds in a journey for family, hope, and love.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/7PxNNSQuUmQ
Excerpt
The elevator jerked to a halt and the doors slid open to a circular room with high Greek-looking columns in the corners. Everything was in muted colors, beige, and blue-grey.
“Oh wow.”
In the middle, there was a circular table with a model of China on it.
“So, this is where we plan our utopia, or at least its rough outlines.”
Izzy went up to the table and propped her hands on it.
“These are all regions in China where we have established so-called cities in the sky. You might even have seen a picture of it on the news that went viral a couple of years ago, in Foshan.
Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to prevent it from becoming public. Of course, most people took it for a mirage, a Fata Morgana.”
“Cities in the sky?” I had actually thought that nothing could shock me anymore, but this was just unbelievable.
“Yes. As of now, about half a million Chinese people live there. We are still in our experimental phase, but so far, we have made good progress.”
She talked about it as if it was an everyday thing.
“You know, China has had a demographic explosion during the last couple of years, after the pandemic. Even during the one-child policy, population growth was significant, especially in the countryside. China couldn’t admit that to the rest of the world. The outcry and the fear would have been enormous. Not to mention, the Chinese themselves began to suffer from the density of the population in the cities. They began to house people everywhere: in cellars, in tents, but there were just so many. Also, the space programs didn’t bring the desired success.” She stroked the table.
“So, the Dreamer Society began to look for other options. They rounded up a team of people from all disciplines – geologists, biologists, remote viewers – to map out a future for the Chinese population. What they found was just so, so much more interesting than anyone had ever thought.”
Izzy took a deep breath and pushed a button next to the model of China. There was a whirring sound, something opened in the middle of the model, and a glass pillar rose up. At the same time, a hissing sound rang out as the pillar f illed with smoke. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Slowly, very slowly, tiny outlines began to form out of the smoke. They looked strangely solid. The smoke pooled into walls and roofs, culminating in towers...
“What the-?”
“This is Jindan, the substance used for creating the sky cities. It’s a kind of energy that can condense into something solid. Initially, it was only used for manipulating the weather, like at the Olympic Games. Then we found out how powerful it really is. If you achieve a tremendous degree of compaction, you can actually create solid bodies. It is said to be inspired by the early Daoists who practiced inner alchemy.”
The smoke in the glass pillar was still forming and condensing. By now I could also see small roads. I slowly circled the pillar, keeping a cautious distance, and found more and more details.
“I mean…how do you create whole, life-sized cities?” It seemed suitable for a small project in chemistry class, but how could you create something lifelike with it?
Izzy circled the model and looked at the pillar as well. “Guess why it’s called the Dreamer Society?”“Dreams?”
“It turned out that the Jindan substance interacts very well with dream energy. Before that, the Society experimented with all sorts of things – hydrogen, carbon, and so on. Then, someone had what is called a ‘happy accident’. They fell asleep in the lab, and when they awoke the next morning, their dream was hanging from the ceiling. In 3D and touchable. Then, they went from there. Actually, what you see in the pillar is a sky city in its purest form, without dream energy.”
I searched Izzy’s face, but I couldn’t find any trace of exaggeration.
I didn’t know how much more absurdity I would endure. I only knew that the sky city in the vessel was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen: an airy, fluffy-looking, slightly glittering thing, like cotton candy that seemed to be constantly reassembling itself.
About the Author:
Sally Feng is an expert in Chinese culture and philosophy and loves to spread the word about these topics. She holds a Master’s degree in Literary Translation and Sinology. Her interests also include the paranormal and Asian religions.
After completing her first novel translations for different publishers, she published the Urban Fantasy title “The Glint of the Luopan”. It's set in New York and Beijing and deals with Chinese magic and philosophy, among other things.
She works as an author, translator and editor. "The Glint of the Luopan" is her third novel.
Blog: https://laemmchen.blog/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/sallyfengwriter
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December 13, 2022
In the Moment Before The Coyote And The Claw Companion Series Novella 1 C.G. Coppola
In the Moment BeforeThe Coyote And The Claw Companion Series Novella 1C.G. Coppola
Genre: New Adult Urban Fantasy Romance / New Adult Paranormal RomanceDate of Publication: 12/16/2022ISBN: 9798201753146Word Count: 39,000Cover Artist: Wicked Smart Designs
Book Description:
I hate Grayson Knight with a passion. Ever since he pulled a prank on me as kids, I’ve kept him in the mortal-enemy category, and we both prefer it that way. Now we’re seniors in high school and he’s still the same immature jerk. I avoid him as much as possible, but when an argument turns ugly and lands us in detention together, I know my life is over—especially when my dad, the city’s police sergeant, finds out.
I have no idea how we’ll get through this, so I’m surprised when Grayson comes to my rescue after I’m cornered by a sleazy basketball player. Suddenly, the boy I’ve always hated isn’t the enemy. If seeing him with new eyes isn’t confusing enough, a secret kiss sends everything scrambling, leaving me to figure out what I want, and if I can even have it. Because Grayson isn’t like other boys—and I’m starting to find out why.
Amazon Books2Read
Excerpt
“You said none of it was true.” I tighten my arms over my chest, leaning against the wall, hoping it supports me because this is about to get tough. “That people were spreading lies.”
“They are lies. We’re not dating.”
Ouch.
It’s like I’ve been punched. I know what he’s saying is true, but to hear it from him…and like that…doesn’t make it feel any better.
“You…didn’t think we were, did you?” He pops a brow, sliding his hands out of his pockets as he stands firmly in front of me, his olive hoodie unzipped. Surprise and confusion and something else brew behind his eyes, like he’s adjusting with new information.
Can’t show him I’m hurt.
I press my shoulders back, trying to project the confidence and strength I need. “That would mean I stopped hating you—and I haven’t.”
Pain flickers but disappears a moment later. He sinks his hands back in his pockets, rolling on the balls of his feet again. “You still hate me?”
“Well, it’s only physical between us, right?”
“That’s…what I want to talk about.”
“What?”
“We really should…stop.”
“Yeah?” I ask, tightening my crossed arms further. “And why should I believe anything you say? Last time you said it was a mistake, and you’ve only come on stronger since.”
“I know.” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s my fault.”
I drop my arms. Is he being serious this time? Does he really want to stop this? Why is that thought agonizing?
“It’s not fair to you.”
My chest constricts, and I can’t believe the words as they tumble out of my mouth. “So, you don’t want to…anymore?”
He glances away. He takes a deep breath like he’s still considering everything. “Probably not smart. We’re enemies, Robin. We had some fun, but—”
“Fine. Get out.”
He stares at me. “What?”
“If we’re enemies, get out.”
“You’re seriously kicking me out?”
“If you’re telling me this has all been a mistake—”
“I didn’t say that. I said it’s not smart.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, the fuck it isn’t.” He steps forward, raising his voice a little. “I don’t regret anything, okay? But I also don’t think it’s smart. I don’t do the girlfriend thing and keeping this strictly physical isn’t going to work. And, on top of everything, it’s you—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He huffs. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”
I push off from the wall and pace in a small circle, everything inside boiling. “So, what, we just pretend none of it happened?” I ask, secretly hoping he disagrees.
“Afraid so.”
Double ouch.
This hurts more than I expected it to. Part of me wants to cry, and I hate that he makes me feel this way, that he’s able to hurt me like this. I stare at him, anger still fueling my words and actions. And maybe it’s the anger that makes me brave enough to ask what I’ve been wondering this entire time. “If we’re enemies, why did you even kiss me?”
He stares back a moment, his face softening. He’s had the answer ready all along; he just didn’t want to admit it. “I was tired of wondering what it would be like.”
About the Author:C.G Coppola is the author of the sci-fi adventure series, Arizal Wars, and the contemporary romance series, Better Than This. In addition to stories that explore magic and the paranormal, she writes realistic fiction set in fantastical universes, usually with a lot of kissing. Married with two fur-babies she spoils rotten, C.G. Coppola lives in Florida where she grew up and attend college. When not writing, she can be found decorating the house, bantering with her husband, or dancing to Meghan Trainor—sometimes all at once.
Author website: https://authorcgcoppola.com/
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November 7, 2022
The Man Who Came and Went Joe Stillman
From the writer of "Shrek" comes "The Man Who Came and Went," a magically realistic novel about a grill cook who can mind read orders, and a small town diner that changes lives.
The Man Who Came and Went Joe Stillman
Genre: Magical Realism / Mature YA / Literary FictionPublisher: City Point PressDate of Publication: 3/1/22ISBN: 9781947951389Number of pages: 240Word Count: 64,000Cover Artist: Barbara Aronica-Buck and Susan Stillman
Tagline: A grill cook who mind-reads orders. A diner that changes lives.Tips appreciated.
Book Description:
Fifteen year old Belutha Mariah, our storyteller, is the oldest of three kids from three different fathers. Her life’s goal is to keep her dysfunctional mom, Maybell, from procreating yet again and then to leave the coffin-sized town of Hadley, Arizona the second she graduates high school.
Along comes the new grill cook at Maybell’s Diner, Bill Bill, a mysterious drifter with the ability to mind-read orders. As word spreads, the curious and desperate pour into this small desert town to eat at Maybell's. Some believe Bill knows the secrets of the universe. Belutha figures he’s probably nuts.
But his cooking starts to transform the lives of locals and visitors, and Belutha finds her angry heart opening as Bill begins to show her the porous boundary between this life and what comes after.
Amazon BN BaM Bookshop Indiebound
Excerpt
That day, the day Bill arrived, my mom was serving up eggs and complaints.
“Dammit, that daughter ‘a mine,” she yelled to Dolene, across the diner. “She’s like walking birth control. Does she think I’m trying to have babies? ‘Scuse me, Darlin’” Maybell gave Clover’s bubble walker a little kick, sending it between tables 4 and 6 so she could get by and dump a load of dishes behind the counter.
Dolene was homegrown, like the tumbleweed, with eyes like a golden retriever that never quite looked at you directly. She was smart enough to add up a check, but you could tell she was never getting out of Hadley. “I take it you didn’t get laid last night.”
Maybell pointed to her sour puss. “Does this say ‘laid’ to you?”
There was a ‘harrumph’ from booth 5 by the window. That was Rose. Rose was an old woman by the time she was 30. Now she was in her late 60s, . She liked to spend her afternoons at Maybell’s Diner, reading her book and keeping an eye on the goings on around her, as if she was the town’s homeroom teacher.
“Look at Saint Rose,” Maybell said, stuffing dirty plates into the plastic tub under the counter. “Thinks she smells better than Mentos. I ain’t running a library here, Rose. Next time bring Reader’s Digest!”
She never took her eyes off her book.
The door opened with a DING from the bell that hung on it. No one noticed Bill entering. He was about average in height, but his skinny frame made him look taller. You could tell from his face that he was in his mid-20s, but those were hard years he had lived, and his body looked frail and geriatric. His clothes were old and clung to him like an extra layer of skin, with a smell that would never wash out.
The angles of his face were sharp and careworn. But his eyes, those were different. His face was hard and weathered, but his eyes were soft. They seemed brand new.
No one in the diner even looked. If they did they would have seen those eyes taking in every little detail: the people talking, forks carrying food, the string lights behind the counter, Dolene ringing up a check. But what drew Bill more than anything else was the grill. Harley, the grill cook, must have had four meals going at once, each with its own set of sounds and smells. Most of those meals involved eggs. His spatula made a metal-on-metal scrape as he turned them. Bill was riveted. He went to sit at the counter to watch.
Down the counter, a porkish-looking man named Earle—probably one of three men in town who had never slept with my mom—raised his empty cup. “Can I get a refill, Maybell?”
Maybell stopped and faced him. “Seriously, Earle? Is it so goddam much trouble for you to get up off your ass and get it yourself? Can’t you see I’m working here?”
“Well…” he stammered. “I just—was I—I was—”
Maybell pointed to the coffee pot. “How far away is that? Two feet?”
“Sure, I guess…”
“Am I your personal slave, Earle? Is that why God put me on earth?”
“No, I don’t think you’re—”
Maybell grabbed the pot and sloshed coffee in his Earle’s cup. “There. You happy now?”
He nodded meekly.
While she had the pot in her hand, Maybell filled the cup sitting in front of Bill. “I’ll be by to take your order in a minute, hon.”
Maybell walked on. Bill just sat there and stared at the coffee. For him, there was no diner anymore, no Maybell, no clanking dishes or dumb conversation. He leaned closer to that cup like it was the only thing in the world. And there he was, smelling coffee for the first time. And it smelled like life. Like a whole world. Like this is how a planet smells if you’re up in space and could take a deep breath. Bill was motionless for who knows how long. And then, when he was good and ready, he took his first sip.
Those eyes, the ones that didn’t belong on his head, they closed as if he was praying. No, more like he was hearing a prayer. The coffee was praying to be heard, and Bill heard it.
About the Author:Joe Stillman co-wrote “Shrek” for Dreamworks which earned him an Academy Award® nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay and the Annie and BAFTA Awards. Other produced features are “Beavis & Butthead Do America”, “Shrek 2”, “Gulliver’s Travels”, “Planet 51” and “Joseph King Of Dreams”.
In television, he was co-producer and writer on “King of the Hill,” for which he received two Emmy Award® nominations. He was a writer and story editor for Nickelodeon’s “The Adventures of Pete and Pete” and a writer on MTV’s “Beavis and Butthead”. More recently he worked on Nickelodeon’s “Sanjay And Craig” and “Kirby Buckets” for Disney. Other TV credits include “Albert” for Nickelodeon, “The War Next Door” for the USA Network, “Clueless”, “Doug” and “Danger And Eggs” for Amazon.
Joe is currently working on “Curious George” and “Half-Baked 2” for streaming on Peacock.
https://www.joestillman.com
https://www.facebook.com/joe.stillman.16
https://twitter.com/JoeStillman1
https://www.instagram.com/joethestillman/
https://www.tiktok.com/@joethestillman
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October 30, 2022
The Bruja's Guide to Everyday Magic
The Bruja's Guide to Everyday Magic
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With the publication of Practically Pagan ~ An Alternative Guide to Magical Living, many readers have asked me what I mean when I say I write about and practice ‘everyday magic.’ In fact, a number of people have picked up my new book expecting complex spells and occult practices, only to be disappointed by pages filled with anecdotal stories and tips about energy, intention, and conjuring so subtle it’s part of our daily lives. The irony, of course, is that these simple acts of energetic awareness—what some people call mindfulness or intentional living—are actual magical practices! These daily conjurings might lack some of the sparkle and flash of more elaborate mystic practices, but they are some of the most powerful forms of spell casting and an important foundation for any kind of magical practice. I’m all about keeping it simple. Our thoughts are spells. Our energy tells us everything we need to know about a specific situation or person, as does their vibe. Our daily habits shape the kind of life we want to live—so we need to be intentional about it. We can also sometimes get a little carried away with the theater of the occult world, so much so that the real magic gets lost under the hocus-pocus. I think of it as burning incense to cleanse your home when the space is dirty and what you really should be doing is giving it a good scrub down. Light those incense, sure, but don’t ignore the important task of tending your sanctuary. It’s not just dust and crumbs on the floor, but stagnant energy that needs to be cleared out through the literal act of cleaning. That’s the thing with magic: the best kind is simple, but also hard work.Hard work—but worth it.
So if you’re just beginning your journey into the mystic world or are a long-time pagan or witchy soul wanting to get a refresher on foundational practices, check out my Bruja’s Guide to Everday Magic.
This post originally appeared on Enchantment Learning and Living
Hungry Business: A Gothic Story about the Horrors of DatingMaria DeBlassieGenre: horror, comedyPublisher: Kitchen Witch PressDate of Publication: October 12, 2020ASIN: B08L48MVHDNumber of pages: 20Word Count: 4400
Tagline: Dating. It’s hungry business.
Book Description:
Looking for love can be deadly...
A short story on the horrors of dating during a zombie apocalypse by bruja and award-winning writer and educator, Maria DeBlassie.
"Simple yet detailed, unique, and innovative. A brilliantly written little gem that is equal part creepy with the plague of walking dead and equal parts cozy with the hot chocolate and watching the neighbor's cat."
"Drawing parallels between the pitfalls of dating and dating in the zombie apocalypse, this short story packs a big world into a few pages."
"Just the right size to occupy your time while waiting. I hope you find the humor I found."
You know how it goes.
You go out, hoping to meet someone.
You wade through your fair share of brainless automatons, lifeless bodies, and ravenous undead, good at passing as human.
The more you go out, the less hope you feel and the colder your body gets.
But you keep at it.
All you need is one beating heart to match your own before yours stops pumping altogether.
How hard can it be to find one living, breathing human in a city full of bodies?
Dating.
It's hungry business.
CW: Assault
Amazon
He said he’d love to have you for dinner—but you are careful.
A woman has to be careful. Never give them your address. Don’t drink too much. Be aware of your surroundings at all times. Carry grave dirt to throw at them if they get too forward. Be ready to run to the nearest safe space if needed. The good news is that the Hungries, while persistent, are dumb as fuck (brain rot, you know) and slower than the sickness overtaking their bodies. Unless, of course, they are well fed, which is rarely the case.
This one looks a little better, you think optimistically.
You sit across from each other at the dinner table. The white tablecloth is as smooth and unblemished as his collared shirt. He has dressed for the occasion, taking care to hide the evidence of his affliction as best he can (though truly there is only so much he can do with a missing ear and half a brain). Still, the tuxedo and carefully applied makeup are enough to create the illusion of pumping blood beneath his pallid, blush-stained cheeks—in the right light. Which is another reason why you chose this place. Candlelight can hide a multitude of sins.
His manners are studied and smooth, as if he has spent a lot of time practicing more human-like movements and behavior. You admire a man who makes that kind of effort. He watches you as much as you do him, as if he is trying to remember what it was like to be alive. When you reach for your wine glass, so does he—only his thick decaying fingers almost crush the stem, whereas your nimble live ones carefully bring the dark red liquid to your mouth. You try not to notice how he stares at your lips—stained now from the wine—wondering, perhaps, how you taste. As it turns out, he does get a taste of you. You’ve been surreptitiously picking at a hangnail on your pinky finger—that’s how scintillating the conversation is—when you looked down and realize it is your whole fingernail that has come off. You stare at it in horror, letting the truth of your situation sink in.
At least he has the decency to wait until you’ve left the table before grabbing your napkin and stuffing your bloodied nail in his mouth. A little color comes back into his face. He groans in ecstasy.
Nice to know you could still have that effect on a man.
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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The Terrible Delights of Spooky Stories
I love scary stories. I’m also a total chicken. I grew up telling stories on the playground, huddled around trees or crawling into quiet places with friends to to listen to urban legends and frightening tales, from La Llorona to to Bloody Mary, to strange tales of a woman with the ribbon around her throat that literally held her head on to creepy dolls come to life the moment you closed your eyes to sleep at night…I couldn’t help myself. I devoured them!
In class, we learned more about La Llorona (a figure that inspired my novella, Weep, Woman, Weep), Baba Yaga, and all sorts of spooky stories that gave me a good chill but were rather less terrifying than what I heard on the playground.Of course, there was no better time to tell and listen to these stories than the fall, as the season slowly ripened into Halloween, the days got shorter, and the cool evenings and turning leaves were the perfect backdrop for stories that reminded us that there is more to this world than meets the eye.
I would come home from school filled up on those terrible tales and, after playing in piles of leaves in my backyard, would feel a growing sense of unease as the sun began to set and darkness took over. I was certainly grateful for the comforting presence of my dogs when darkness stole across the sky. The feelings were pushed away with dinner, in the cozy brightness of the kitchen and the warmth of family, but readily came back when I was tuckedin bed later that night.
Every creek, howl of wind, or cricket chirp sounded like aghostly footstep, theweeping woman, or all manner of supernatural threats. Mirrors were not to be looked in, when the sun went down. Windows must be closed at night, lest La Llorona find a way in. Blankets were to be tucked around you up to your chin to protect you from whatever might be lurking under the bed.
I felt would never fall asleep!
But, of course, I did. And with the coming sun, came the confidence of youth that there was nothing truly scary in this world and I went right back to the playground ready to consume more lurid and horrible tales.
They were terrifying. They were also thrilling. I couldn’t help myself—even when they gave me nightmares and my mom tried to get me to stop listening to these stories—they had this allure to me, pulling me into a world of the strange and gothic.
The feeling didn’t go away as I got older. Take, for example, the time I went trick o’ treating with a friend in middle school, one of the last times I would venture out on that childhood ritual. I was no stranger to haunted houses—there were plenty in my neighborhood. I livednext door to one and there was another a few blocks away that looked like something out of a gothic novel: big, dark, looming, and a story about a murder so strange and unexpected it devolved into its own neighborhood legend with everyone having a slightly different explanation for why the house just felt…off.
My friend and I were alone on the street and were doing our best to casually walk past the house, feeling very brave and very adult in our fairy costumes, proud of the fact that we could trick-or-treating unchaperoned. But once we neared that house, suddenly home felt so very far away, the other groups of Halloween revelers so very far away. There was only the darkness surround us and the specter of that gina those before us.
Then we heard something—a yip, a yell, from someone in the distance—and we screamed, running for the safety of my home.Gone were the bold, brave adults and in their place were two frightened children who wanted nothing more than the warm lights and safety of home. As it turns out, the noise we heard was from a bunch of wildpartiers, but it became so much morefrightening when it was disembodied and the shadows fed my imagination, as did all the terrible tales I’d been coming that season.
As scary as that was, and as silly as my friend and I felt in retrospect, there was no denying the fun we had, nor the deep sense of comfort we felt in returning to my house. That’s what scary stories do for us. They bring us home. We find catharsis in facing the darkness and making it out the other side. We appreciate the light where and when we can find it.
Here I am now—still loving scary stories. Still a total chicken. Still ready for a good tale of terror…in the daylight. Still not looking in mirrors and closing all my windows at night. And I speed up whenever I have to walk by that haunted house, indeed any haunted house, less the specters inside think to invite me in.
That’s the beauty of these early childhood frights. They gave me a solid appreciate of the thrills of a good scary story and a healthy respect for the unseen worlds or even vibes I get that tell me a person or situation is more than meets the eye.
This is why I tell spooky stories today. They reveal so much more about ourselves and the world around us than many an ordinary tale. From writing horror comedy about the terrors of dating in Hungry Business to the haunting wails of La Llorona in Weep, Woman, Weep, all my tales are inspired by the ordinary gothic all around us, pairing catharsis as we face the dark and find the light. What do you love about scary stories?
Hungry Business: A Gothic Story about the Horrors of DatingMaria DeBlassieGenre: horror, comedyPublisher: Kitchen Witch PressDate of Publication: October 12, 2020ASIN: B08L48MVHDNumber of pages: 20Word Count: 4400
Tagline: Dating. It’s hungry business.
Book Description:
Looking for love can be deadly...
A short story on the horrors of dating during a zombie apocalypse by bruja and award-winning writer and educator, Maria DeBlassie.
"Simple yet detailed, unique, and innovative. A brilliantly written little gem that is equal part creepy with the plague of walking dead and equal parts cozy with the hot chocolate and watching the neighbor's cat."
"Drawing parallels between the pitfalls of dating and dating in the zombie apocalypse, this short story packs a big world into a few pages."
"Just the right size to occupy your time while waiting. I hope you find the humor I found."
You know how it goes.
You go out, hoping to meet someone.
You wade through your fair share of brainless automatons, lifeless bodies, and ravenous undead, good at passing as human.
The more you go out, the less hope you feel and the colder your body gets.
But you keep at it.
All you need is one beating heart to match your own before yours stops pumping altogether.
How hard can it be to find one living, breathing human in a city full of bodies?
Dating.
It's hungry business.
CW: Assault
Amazon
He said he’d love to have you for dinner—but you are careful.
A woman has to be careful. Never give them your address. Don’t drink too much. Be aware of your surroundings at all times. Carry grave dirt to throw at them if they get too forward. Be ready to run to the nearest safe space if needed. The good news is that the Hungries, while persistent, are dumb as fuck (brain rot, you know) and slower than the sickness overtaking their bodies. Unless, of course, they are well fed, which is rarely the case.
This one looks a little better, you think optimistically.
You sit across from each other at the dinner table. The white tablecloth is as smooth and unblemished as his collared shirt. He has dressed for the occasion, taking care to hide the evidence of his affliction as best he can (though truly there is only so much he can do with a missing ear and half a brain). Still, the tuxedo and carefully applied makeup are enough to create the illusion of pumping blood beneath his pallid, blush-stained cheeks—in the right light. Which is another reason why you chose this place. Candlelight can hide a multitude of sins.
His manners are studied and smooth, as if he has spent a lot of time practicing more human-like movements and behavior. You admire a man who makes that kind of effort. He watches you as much as you do him, as if he is trying to remember what it was like to be alive. When you reach for your wine glass, so does he—only his thick decaying fingers almost crush the stem, whereas your nimble live ones carefully bring the dark red liquid to your mouth. You try not to notice how he stares at your lips—stained now from the wine—wondering, perhaps, how you taste. As it turns out, he does get a taste of you. You’ve been surreptitiously picking at a hangnail on your pinky finger—that’s how scintillating the conversation is—when you looked down and realize it is your whole fingernail that has come off. You stare at it in horror, letting the truth of your situation sink in.
At least he has the decency to wait until you’ve left the table before grabbing your napkin and stuffing your bloodied nail in his mouth. A little color comes back into his face. He groans in ecstasy.
Nice to know you could still have that effect on a man.
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 27, 2022
The Last Man? Journey To New Eden Favian Segovia
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The Last Man? Journey To New EdenFavian Segovia
Genre: SciFiPublisher: Writers Republic LLCDate of Publication: August 26, 2022Number of pages: 132 pages
Book Description:
A new sci-fi book series awaits readers as author Favian Segovia releases the first installment in The Last Man? He invites readers to embark on this journey to the New Eden with the last man on Earth. What will happen to the world, as people know it? Can one man still bring hope despite the challenging circumstances that lie ahead? Readers will find out in the pages of Book One of “Journey to New Eden”.
A world war of greed and power pushes the governments into their own extinction. A virus outbreak targets men into a near extinction. A military driven by women search for surviving men in an attempt to control a world in ruins. All faith has been lost with no future and no hope. Only one secret place holds the answer to restore peace. One man is the key of hope.
A man out of the ashes rises forward in search for the last city called New Eden, in the hopes and desperation to re-establish humanity. But he has to find out the hard way the perils of being the last man.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/Yg9huFumNcY
Amazon Writer’s Republic
About the Author: Favian Segovia was born in the city of Bravo state of Nuevo Leon in the republic of Mexico.Favian believes that just like most talented people that were born with a beautiful voice or with an exceptional ability to draw or paint fine arts. He believes that every person in the world has a talent that almost no one can replicate. Everyone is unique in their ability, everyone has a different approach to doing things and building great ideas or structures of disbelief. Favian believes that the mind is so powerful that it can be used for the good of humanity or its destruction. Favian believes in opportunity for everyone. Sometimes finding a great person is like trying to find a diamond in the rough. Favian wants to be recognized one day as one of the best sci fi writers.
Favian believes he can get to the top if he steps out of the ordinary in writing and goes beyond or above conventional writing. But he also is also a down to earth person knowing that it's not easy going out to change what is already established. But truly believes that nothing is out of reach if you keep dreaming and keep making those dreams come true by never giving up hope and doing everything in his power to make it happen. Once you give up you will never accomplish your dreams.
https://authorfsegovia.com/
https://www.tiktok.com/@1980author
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