THE BROKEN BELL released Tuesday, December 27
It's very nearly December 27, and that can mean only one thing...
Yes, yes, all right, that means it's nearly Tuesday. That's not what I'm referring to. And yes, December 27 also marks the last air date of the Carol Burnett Show on CBS, but again, that's not what I mean.
My new book The Broken Bell hits the stands tomorrow, bright and early, at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Samhain Publishing. This is the sixth entry in the Markhat series, and it's the longest and I think the best yet.
What's The Broken Bell about, you ask?
Well, without giving too much away, I'll say this -- it's about love and hope and fear and loss. There will be war, and rumors of war. Grooms will vanish, leaving empty altars and determined brides behind. Dark sorceries will arise. Mama Hog will grumble and stomp. A blood-feud will spill out of quaint, far-off Pot Lockney and come tramping right to Markhat's door.
And through it all, Markhat will muddle ahead, through murder, mayhem, and magic, if need be.
And need will be. I broke Rannit's peace in this one, boys and girls. Things will never be same.
To all my Markhat fans, this new one is for all of you. To anyone who hasn't read any of the series and who's understandably hesitant to dive in, well, why not check out something shorter first, just see if you like the tone and flavor of the thing? The Cadaver Client is short and a lot of fun, and it's only a couple of bucks (that was the Kindle version; here's one for your Nook).
Still not convinced? Fine. Here's the first couple of pages, with helpful links at the bottom, because I'm nothing if not helpful, especially where your money is concerned.
THE BROKEN BELL
Babysitting banshees is anerve-wracking business.And after a morning withButtercup, my nerves were not only wracked but wrecked and possibly wreaked aswell.Buttercup is all of four feettall. She weighs forty pounds soaking wet with a big rock in each hand. Anddespite what you've heard about banshees, there isn't a mean bone in her tinybody.But that doesn't mean she doesn'tenjoy a bit of old-fashioned banshee mischief when Mama Hog and Gertriss areaway and there's no one but Uncle Markhat to play with.Buttercup's favorite game is tomake that banshee hop-step that transports her from place to place without thetrouble and fuss of walking through the space between her and, for instance,the top of my desk.Hop, appear, giggle, hop. Fromdesktop to floor and back again, all in the space of a blink, with my goodblack hat clutched in her tiny banshee hands."That's my good hat, sweetie." Iput on my most winning talking-to-the-kids smile. Darla claims it looks morelike a grimace, as though someone was stepping on my toes, but it's the best Ican do. "Let's find something else to play with."Hop blur, hop blur. She went fromfloor to desktop, vanished, poked me in the small of my back and was gone whenI turned.Shoes came tap-tap-tapping rightup to my door. Not men's shoes, but female ones.They stopped. The lady knocked.No hesitation, no furtiveness.Buttercup appeared at my side.She put my hat in my hand and clung to my leg with what I fervently hoped waspurely platonic fervor.She might be tiny, and she mightbe a thousand years old, but I'm very nearly a married man, I'm told."In the back. Get under thecovers. Don't make a sound 'til I come get you."Buttercup doesn't speak muchKingdom, but she understands it well enough. She nodded once and was gone. Iheard my bedsprings squeak through the door Buttercup hadn't bothered to open.I put my hat on the rack—rightabove the new tan raincoat Darla had left there the day before.Funny. The hat was a gift fromDarla too. I wondered how long it would be before my entire wardrobe was theproduct of Darla's keen eye for my clothes.The lady at my door knockedagain. Three-leg Cat rose, arched his back and yawned silently beforesauntering toward the door, eager to slip outside.I forced a smile and obliged catand woman.Darla stood at my door, grinning.Three-leg dashed between her ankles, circling her once and issuing a rough loudpurr before darting away at a three-legged gallop. "Mama swears you've never risen before noon."Darla's brown eyes glinted. She was wearing something high-necked and purple,and the one hand I could see was wearing a silk glove. "Are you sure you'redecent at this unholy hour?"I made a show of looking at myelegantly rumpled attire. "I seem to be clothed, though by whom I don't recall.Do come in, Miss Tomas. And bring that picnic basket with you."Darla glided in, and the heavenlysmells that wafted up from the basket she carried came with her.The basket wound up on my deskwhile we greeted each other. Clever devil that I am, I managed to snag a stickybun from the basket and bring it up and around Darla so that I had a bite readywhen we finished the good morning kiss.Darla turned and laughed and tooka bite and then we sat.I chewed and swallowed. The bunwas hot and sweet and perfectly baked.I took another bite and lifted aneyebrow."So, what brings you out with thewagons, Darla dearest?" I asked. "It's so early the vampires haven't taken totheir crypts yet."One of the many things I likeabout Darla is her utter lack of pretense."I'm here to ply you withpastries and my feminine wiles. I want to hire you, Mister Markhat. I want youto find someone for me."I choked down my sticky bun. Allthe play was gone from her eyes, all the mirth from her voice. She had herhands in her lap and she was not smiling. I'd only seen her do this oncebefore."Tell me."
Hooked yet? Desperate to know what happens next? Have five bucks on ya?
Then get thee to the links below, gentle reader, and welcome to Rannit!
The Broken Bell, for the Nook
The Broken Bell, for the Kindle
The Broken Bell, any other format
One last thing -- if you get the book, and you like it, please consider leaving a review with Amazon, B&N, or Samhain. We authors live or die by word of mouth, and living is considerably more fun than dying.
Thanks!
Yes, yes, all right, that means it's nearly Tuesday. That's not what I'm referring to. And yes, December 27 also marks the last air date of the Carol Burnett Show on CBS, but again, that's not what I mean.
My new book The Broken Bell hits the stands tomorrow, bright and early, at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Samhain Publishing. This is the sixth entry in the Markhat series, and it's the longest and I think the best yet.
What's The Broken Bell about, you ask?
Well, without giving too much away, I'll say this -- it's about love and hope and fear and loss. There will be war, and rumors of war. Grooms will vanish, leaving empty altars and determined brides behind. Dark sorceries will arise. Mama Hog will grumble and stomp. A blood-feud will spill out of quaint, far-off Pot Lockney and come tramping right to Markhat's door.
And through it all, Markhat will muddle ahead, through murder, mayhem, and magic, if need be.
And need will be. I broke Rannit's peace in this one, boys and girls. Things will never be same.
To all my Markhat fans, this new one is for all of you. To anyone who hasn't read any of the series and who's understandably hesitant to dive in, well, why not check out something shorter first, just see if you like the tone and flavor of the thing? The Cadaver Client is short and a lot of fun, and it's only a couple of bucks (that was the Kindle version; here's one for your Nook).
Still not convinced? Fine. Here's the first couple of pages, with helpful links at the bottom, because I'm nothing if not helpful, especially where your money is concerned.
THE BROKEN BELL
Babysitting banshees is anerve-wracking business.And after a morning withButtercup, my nerves were not only wracked but wrecked and possibly wreaked aswell.Buttercup is all of four feettall. She weighs forty pounds soaking wet with a big rock in each hand. Anddespite what you've heard about banshees, there isn't a mean bone in her tinybody.But that doesn't mean she doesn'tenjoy a bit of old-fashioned banshee mischief when Mama Hog and Gertriss areaway and there's no one but Uncle Markhat to play with.Buttercup's favorite game is tomake that banshee hop-step that transports her from place to place without thetrouble and fuss of walking through the space between her and, for instance,the top of my desk.Hop, appear, giggle, hop. Fromdesktop to floor and back again, all in the space of a blink, with my goodblack hat clutched in her tiny banshee hands."That's my good hat, sweetie." Iput on my most winning talking-to-the-kids smile. Darla claims it looks morelike a grimace, as though someone was stepping on my toes, but it's the best Ican do. "Let's find something else to play with."Hop blur, hop blur. She went fromfloor to desktop, vanished, poked me in the small of my back and was gone whenI turned.Shoes came tap-tap-tapping rightup to my door. Not men's shoes, but female ones.They stopped. The lady knocked.No hesitation, no furtiveness.Buttercup appeared at my side.She put my hat in my hand and clung to my leg with what I fervently hoped waspurely platonic fervor.She might be tiny, and she mightbe a thousand years old, but I'm very nearly a married man, I'm told."In the back. Get under thecovers. Don't make a sound 'til I come get you."Buttercup doesn't speak muchKingdom, but she understands it well enough. She nodded once and was gone. Iheard my bedsprings squeak through the door Buttercup hadn't bothered to open.I put my hat on the rack—rightabove the new tan raincoat Darla had left there the day before.Funny. The hat was a gift fromDarla too. I wondered how long it would be before my entire wardrobe was theproduct of Darla's keen eye for my clothes.The lady at my door knockedagain. Three-leg Cat rose, arched his back and yawned silently beforesauntering toward the door, eager to slip outside.I forced a smile and obliged catand woman.Darla stood at my door, grinning.Three-leg dashed between her ankles, circling her once and issuing a rough loudpurr before darting away at a three-legged gallop. "Mama swears you've never risen before noon."Darla's brown eyes glinted. She was wearing something high-necked and purple,and the one hand I could see was wearing a silk glove. "Are you sure you'redecent at this unholy hour?"I made a show of looking at myelegantly rumpled attire. "I seem to be clothed, though by whom I don't recall.Do come in, Miss Tomas. And bring that picnic basket with you."Darla glided in, and the heavenlysmells that wafted up from the basket she carried came with her.The basket wound up on my deskwhile we greeted each other. Clever devil that I am, I managed to snag a stickybun from the basket and bring it up and around Darla so that I had a bite readywhen we finished the good morning kiss.Darla turned and laughed and tooka bite and then we sat.I chewed and swallowed. The bunwas hot and sweet and perfectly baked.I took another bite and lifted aneyebrow."So, what brings you out with thewagons, Darla dearest?" I asked. "It's so early the vampires haven't taken totheir crypts yet."One of the many things I likeabout Darla is her utter lack of pretense."I'm here to ply you withpastries and my feminine wiles. I want to hire you, Mister Markhat. I want youto find someone for me."I choked down my sticky bun. Allthe play was gone from her eyes, all the mirth from her voice. She had herhands in her lap and she was not smiling. I'd only seen her do this oncebefore."Tell me."
Hooked yet? Desperate to know what happens next? Have five bucks on ya?
Then get thee to the links below, gentle reader, and welcome to Rannit!
The Broken Bell, for the Nook
The Broken Bell, for the Kindle
The Broken Bell, any other format
One last thing -- if you get the book, and you like it, please consider leaving a review with Amazon, B&N, or Samhain. We authors live or die by word of mouth, and living is considerably more fun than dying.
Thanks!
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