Synopsis

 

One phone call was all it took to upend my entire life in completely unexpected ways.

Whoever said that you can’t go home again was a lair. After the senior year from hell, I had spent a decade trying to avoid Beacon Hill and its residents. My luck came to a sudden end after daddy had an incident with a rotted floor. In and out, I promised myself. I was just there to help my parents for a week or two tops.

Things in Beacon Hill hadn’t changed much since I’d been home last. Mama still worked at the hub of gossip known as Trixie’s, Mrs. Thomas still made the best chicken salad in all of Georgia, and my sister was still the devil in a pushup bra. And of course, the St. James family was still local royalty. Our very own version of the Kennedys.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that, not only is my sister back in town after a failed modeling career, she’s also engaged to Macon St. James. The golden boy of Beacon Hill, and the star of every single one of my teenage fantasies.

The biggest surprise of all was Holden St. James. I thought he would be one of the villains in this story, but I was learning that I had been wrong about a lot of things. And Holden just might be worth coming home for….

 

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Once he was all settled, I got into the front seat and took a fortifying drink of my coffee.

“Okay, big guy, let’s set some ground rules for this drive.” I met his narrowed gaze in the mirror and smiled widely. “I don’t want to hear one single word about where my hands are on the wheel, the speed limit, the space between cars, or motion sickness. Got it?”

“Sutton Louise Buchanan, I was there for the day you took your first breath and I can — ”

“Good enough.” I turned the engine on and put the truck in reverse. “Why are you working on a Saturday anyway?”

“I want to make sure my crew stays on schedule while I’m laid up.” Daddy leaned forward and reached between the seats to grab his coffee. “It’s a real big job so I don’t want to fall behind right out of the gate if it can be helped.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. Where are we headed?” I came to a stop at the sign just at the end of our street.

“To the old Bradford place.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise as I turned the truck in the right direction, memory taking over. The old farmhouse had originally been built in the mid-1800s and had been renovated sporadically until the owners abandoned it in the 1980s. It was a beautiful old house — or it had been — with big porches and a sunroom that had been added on at some point. Something about that house had always called to me. I’d daydreamed about being the one to finally breathe life back into it, restore it to its former glory. Of course, all that was before Sissy had made staying here seem impossible.
There were always lots of rumors circulating about why the Bradfords had abruptly moved away after living and farming on the land for centuries, but no one really knew the reason. Beacon Hill loved its gossip. A local favorite was that one of the Mr. Bradfords had killed his entire family, and their ghosts haunted the house. Every Halloween, high schoolers would break in and try to spend the night inside. I had never been invited.

“Someone finally bought that old place?”

“Sure did, and it’s a total gut job. There were structural issues.” Daddy sounded practically gleeful at the prospect. I pictured dollar signs floating around his head like little cartoon hearts.

“I’m really happy to see that house get the love it deserves, but whoever bought it either has too much money or is an idiot.”

Daddy was silent, his fingers playing a rhythm on his Thermos.

“Well, I’d say it’s probably the former.” Daddy paused. “I don’t think anyone can call Holden St. James an idiot.”

“What?” I screeched, whipping my head around to look at him and jerking the steering wheel in the process, causing us to briefly veer off the road and onto the shoulder.

“Eyes on the road, Sutton!” Daddy yelled, bracing himself. “Jesus remember me, how many times can a man almost die in one week?”

Car in the proper lane, I took a deep breath.

“Did you just say Holden St. James bought the old Bradford place?”

“If I answer that question, are you going to be able to maintain control of the vehicle?”

I rolled my eyes, but kept them facing forward — both for safety and so Daddy wouldn’t see it.

“You’re getting dramatic in your old age. I was just surprised. It doesn’t seem like someplace Holden St. James would be interested in living. I pictured him in a sterile, ultra-modern penthouse where every single piece of furniture makes a statement and is uncomfortable.”

“Think highly of the boy, do you?” Daddy drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm.

I shrugged, reaching for my coffee. Daddy cleared his throat pointedly, and I immediately returned my hand to the wheel.

“I’d be a better driver if I was fully caffeinated,” I mumbled. “Oh! I bet he’s going to flip it. That makes sense. The property value on that place will probably be insane once you’re done with the renovation, especially with all the land it sits on.”

 

 

Guest Post

 

Picture it. The year is 1994, and this family does not have cable television. There is one computer, three kids, and two adults. The math ain’t mathing. Your fifth-grade self is busy writing the next great American novel on the top of the swing set with nothing but some notebook paper tied together with string and a number 2 pencil. Not even the mechanical kind, because your mom thinks they’re bad for the environment. Don’t even get her started on gel pens. The story is about a group of female pirates. Reruns of Baywatch have just hit one of the local stations, so it’s obviously a romance. The story is never finished, because your sisters need you to compete in the balance beam event to secure a gold medal for team USA in the Olympics. We won gold.

Picture it. The year is 2004 and you have your favorite English teacher, Cheryl Huffer, for the second time. She hands you back an assignment with “I am so jealous of all the papers your college professors will get to read” in bold black ink at the top of the page. You think to yourself “I wish I could do this for the rest of my life.” Spoiler Alert. You’re about to make some big decisions about your future that will absolutely not work out. Also, your migraine disease is about to go from episodic to chronic and intractable. Best wishes.

Picture It. The year is 2014 and you’re a lawyer now. Feels like it kind of came out of left field, huh? Yeah, you’re not really sure how you got here either. The good news is that you met your future husband while you were in law school. The bad news is that being a lawyer is slowly crushing your soul, and you now have chronic migraine and chronic anxiety. #thriving. You spend a lot of time laying in a quiet, dark room making up stories in your head to pass the time. Your future husband says that you should start writing these stories down. A few weeks later, you jot down a scene about a lawyer who realizes she hates being a lawyer while your boss does push-ups in front of your desk. Again. You write almost 1000 words about how awful being a lawyer is, turns out you are very passionate about this subject. The lawyer you work for does 100 push-ups. It’s a new record.

Picture It. The year is 2023, and you’re sitting on a couch in a hotel room. Your husband has a lot of trade shows to attend this year, so you’ve been tagging along since you can write from anywhere. You’re spending the morning trying to organize all the book signing events you want to attend in 2024 as an author. There are three messages from readers asking when the next book in the Beacon Hill series will be released. Oh, and is Gabe from Everything Girl ever going to get his own book?! You’ve cried zero times today. It’s a new record.

If you made it to the end of this post and are wondering what the point is, I’m guessing that you’re not alone. The point is that life is crazy and will take you places that you wouldn’t even dare to imagine. So, keep daring; keep imagining; keep dreaming, and your own happily ever after might just surprise you!

 

About the Author

 

Emily Mayer is a part-time lawyer, full time storyteller, and an aspiring writer. She lives in Central Ohio with the two loves of her life; her husband and her dog. If she isn’t working, you can usually find her somewhere with a book in her hand.

 

Website * Facebook

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

Peace bought by blood seldom lasts, for vengeance knows no end. The same is true for mortals and Gods alike. Decades, centuries, eras may pass, but the cycle remains. As war and revolution rise again, Zephyrus finds himself at the center of it all. Chosen by the Gods, hailed as a prophet of liberation, and forged as a weapon to break the kingdom and restore balance to the realm, hope rests squarely on his shoulders.

If only he could remember…

Enslaved as a gladiator and thrust into a prince’s game of espionage, Zephyrus has only two clues to help unlock his shattered past: a prophecy foretelling destruction, and a letter to the enemy king, promising peace. Now Zephyrus must survive the dangers of the gladiatorial arena, the cunning fury of the Prince’s enemies, and the Gods’ torment if he is to find the truth of his identity and fulfill his fate. But to have any hope of breaking the cycle, first he must secure his freedom—and not just from his slavers.

Within this vengeful realm, a queen protecting her kingdom, a prince defending his father, and a gladiator slave haunted by a prophecy each contend for their own brand of freedom. But the Gods have an agenda of their own, and they’ll use any vessel—patrician, plebeian, or slave—to see it done.

The scales must be balanced. By peace. Or by blood.

 

 

 

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Excerpt

 

From Chapter 16

 

“Good afternoon,” Nallia said from behind him. “I hope you’re resting well despite the accommodations.”

“You mean these?” Zephyrus asked, lifting the manacles binding him to the cot. “I hadn’t noticed.” With his wrists chafed raw and an itch on his nose that even sleep couldn’t ignore, he most certainly noticed.

“I trust no one’s tried to kill you since my last visit?” Nallia asked.

“Besides the medicus?” Zephyrus asked.

“No one’s killin’ no one.” The medicus shuffled past. “But ya need new bandages or else ya risk infection.”

“I’ll change his bandages,” Nallia said. The medicus opened his mouth to object. “I have watched you do more difficult things a thousand times before. I’ll summon you if needed.”

The medicus bowed and left the room, muttering to himself along the way.

Nallia grabbed fresh bandages and set them down on the edge of the cot. “You’ve kept me quite busy today.” She slipped something between his fingers. “Found this out by the palus.”

The scroll addressed to the king.

The parchment was weathered but still intact. Zephyrus didn’t know what to say. After Vykannis’s absence and surviving—and nearly killing—Lenox with only a cheese knife, he thought perhaps his prophecy was real. Not just a trick, or a myth to inspire hope. When he realized the scroll was lost, it almost provided him with a sense of comfort. His past didn’t matter if he trusted where he was going. Twice now, it’d been removed from him, once by Laeden, and once on his own accord, yet somehow, it found its way back to him.

“Any idea what it means?” Zephyrus asked.

“I didn’t read it,” Nallia said. “But I don’t think anyone else lost a parchment covered in blood exactly where you said you lost something.”

“Gratitude,” Zephyrus said, unsure if he could trust her. For all he knew, she was one of the Revivalists Laeden asked him to uproot. She could be just as bad as Lenox, for all I know. Then again, in a way she was worse; Lenox worked for the slavers. Nallia was one.

“Of course,” Nallia said. Beginning with his right palm, she removed the old bandage, washed the wound with wine, and applied a new dressing. “I have a healer coming this afternoon who I hope will be able to help reclaim your memories.”

Zephyrus scoffed. She didn’t make sense to him—a Valencian who recited Celestic prophecies. A slaver who served him. “What do you want? This isn’t charity or goodwill; this is transactional. You want something.”

“Don’t we all?” Nallia asked with an unnerving smile. She walked around to his opposite hand. “What do you want? Besides your memories.”

 

 

About the Author

 

When Tim isn’t writing epic fantasy, he can often be found in his garage gym or in the mountains where he lives. A virtual fitness professional by trade, he integrates his creative passions into movement, training with maces, clubs, staves, and swords to unlock his inner gladiator. To inquire about Gladiator Training, reach out to him via Email.

More than writing, reading, gaming, playing music, hiking, and paddle-boarding, Tim loves story. If he’s not working on his own story, he’s helping others develop theirs as an author coach. To inquire about Author Coaching services, visit the website.

Living in Arizona with his wife, Colleen, Tim continues writing epic fantasy novels while exploring different storytelling mediums so he can inspire others to hope. To live. And to believe.

Website * X (Twitter) * Instagram * TikTok

 

 

Synopsis

 

In this collection, Jim looks into what it means to be human in this day and age. How do we cope with the loss of a loved one? What brings us joy? How important is friendship? Can Nature heal?

These are heavy questions, and Jim tackles them head-on with stories that are both intriguing and entertaining. He is not afraid to look deep into life’s challenges. He looks at love and loss, our hopes and dreams, and our own inner fears. Ultimately, his stories show us the strength of the human character.

Jim’s gentle stories are sensitively written and character-driven. The main character is often faced with a life issue many of us face: coping with life’s day-to-day annoyances, or finding a way to derive meaning in a complicated world. These stories are heartfelt and told with quiet passion and a gentle touch. In the end, they resonate with Jim’s appreciation for the challenges we all face and, ultimately, the beauty of what it means to be truly alive and to live in this world.

The main character is often faced with issues shared by us all such as coping with day-to-day annoyances or finding a way to derive meaning in a complicated world.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Music On The Wind

 

George and Ida Ferguson, my great-grandparents, were second-generation cattle ranchers in eastern Montana. Mom kept a framed picture of them on the fireplace mantel when I was a kid. It was taken in their parlor and you can just make out a piano behind Ida with a vase of cut wildflowers on it. They were dressed for the occasion, she in a calico dress, her long auburn hair wrapped around her head in a twirled braid, he in a white, snap button shirt, vest, and gray Stetson hat. The flat prairie land of the Yellowstone River valley can just barely be glimpsed through the billowing curtains of a window in the background.

I spent countless hours as a kid imagining what their life in nineteenth-century cattle country would have been like: herding longhorns, busting broncos, and mending fences. My tastes back then ran toward cowboys and Indians, so their romantic love was certainly not on my radar, but the true fact of the matter was that their love for each other was known far and wide.

“That’s right, Stevie,” Mom used to tell me, “They were hard workers and humble, salt of the earth people, busy with chores from dawn to dusk. But in the evenings they made time for making music. Ida played piano and sang while George accompanied her on fiddle. I’m told that their songs brought joy to even the crustiest cowhand’s heart.”

As a kid, that kind of talk was embarrassing to hear and often turned my ears red. But as I grew older, I started to imagine a different scenario, one in which they not only lived the hard life of cattle ranchers on the western frontier, but also found it within themselves to love deeply while creating beauty and harmony through their music in juxtaposition to that rugged land.

Years later I met Janie and we fell in love. While we were dating, I talked often about George and Ida. Did I idealize them? Maybe. But Janie told me she thought it was sweet they loved each other the way they did and that was good enough for me. It got me thinking that maybe she and I were kindred spirits like my great-grandparents were.

The summer after we married, Janie and I took a driving trip west to the great plains to see firsthand the land of my great-grandparents. We ended up parking our car outside the small town of Willow Creek, Montana, and spent the day hiking rolling pastureland amid pungent sage, prickly cactus, and golden fields of wildflowers, kept company by prairie dogs, meadowlarks, and a small herd of pronghorn antelope.

By sundown, we had made our way to the top of Buffalo Butte, the highest point of land in Stillwater County, and the overlook where George and Ida’s ashes had been scattered. The sun was low in the west, the sky exploding in a fiery orange from the last light of day, the land stretching out to the horizon where we could just barely make out the shadowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains.

The peace and quiet were immense, so quiet I swear I could hear both of our hearts beating. I said to Janie, my voice a whisper, “Legend has it that you can still hear my great grandparent’s music if the wind is right.”

Janie turned from viewing the scene spread out before us and took in a deep breath of fragrant prairie air. Then she took my hand, her smile as wide as the big sky above us, and said, “I’m so happy you brought me, Steve. I love you. I love being here with you.” Then she leaned in and kissed me.

“I love you, too, Janie,” I told her. “Forever and all time.” And we embraced, holding each other tight, our bodies molding into one.

Then, out of nowhere, we heard it. Faint strains from a piano, a fiddle, and then a soft voice singing. We stood together, our love growing stronger with every note we heard, listening to the heartfelt music played by my great grandparents, songs of love I somehow knew Janie and I would carry with us for the rest of our lives. Songs from my great-grandparents brought to us from them on that gentle prairie wind.

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

 

Website

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

In this collection of 101 stories, Jim Bates touches on the simple moments of life, sometimes memorable, sometimes nearly forgotten, but always meaningful. Memories abound:  building model airplanes, learning to bake oatmeal cookies, walking in the woods, summers spent at an aunt and uncle’s cabin, graduating from college, raising a family, and dealing with the death of a loved one. All these stories are lovingly written. They bring to mind the importance of taking the time to consider what is truly meaningful in one’s life; what is truly important. Ultimately, though, they deal with love and relationships and what it means to be human in this day and age.  The journey through life can be quite the ride. Join Jim on this one.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Snowflake

A stuffed animal? No, not to the young boy. More than a Christmas gift, she was soft, oh so soft, fluffy and white; a cuddly bundle of something he couldn’t name. Something he needed.

He called her Snowflake. Later that winter, sick in the hospital, bright lights glaring, monitors beeping, she kept him company. Thankfully. Especially in the deepest darkest night with long hours stretching endlessly to dawn. Snowflake stayed with him nestled softly in his arms, never leaving, keeping the unrelenting loneliness at bay. Always there through the fearful tests, the poking and prodding and the needles sticking. Magically purring she was right with him, the only companion he could count on.

Even after he got home. Amid all the anger and his parent’s fighting and the arguing, Snowflake stayed by his side. Especially even then. She was in it for the long haul. He could just tell. His constant furry companion. There was something about her. The way she looked at him. The way she never complained. The way she showed him how much she loved him. Like his parents used to do. It was the best feeling in the world.

 

 

About the Author

 

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

 

Website

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

The scent of mountain sage. Learning to bake cookies. Overcoming a fear of heights. Identifying a special bird. All moments in time, often inconsequential, yet over the years becoming lodged in the memory until they need to come out, finding expression in the 101 poems in this collection. We are all one of a kind. Yet we share so much, especially when it comes to life experiences. Yes, those experiences are different but how we respond to them is what makes us whole. These short poems hope to capture both the uniqueness of we humans as well as how in many instances we are similar.

 

 

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Praise

 

With these poems, Jim Bates once again allows us to experience those honest, beautiful moments of life.  Jim pulls at our heartstrings, sharing moments of magic, love, and human bonding.   With a backdrop of the beauty of nature, these poems are exquisite. This book will take ages to read – not because of the length of the poems, but because each poem is so rich and packs such an emotional punch that we have to step back and gather ourselves after each read. Congratulations and well done Jim – this book needs sharing far and wide.” Ger White is an Irish poet and storyteller. “Newspapers On the Floor” and “Celtic Visions” are her most recent collection of poems.

The Alchemy of Then is a powerful book of poems that will move, inspire, and delight the reader by the transcendent alchemy of poetry. Jim Bates is a prolific writer I have great respect for. You will be glad that you read this book!” Justin Wiggins, Author of Tír na nÓg & Celtic Song

Jim Bates recalls moments in time with poems that lead you through the door of his imagination into such memories as summer mornings, classrooms, icy ponds, and building model airplanes. From childhood loss to adventure and joy, he explores emotions we have all experienced. Some life lessons are hard. Others are magical.  Each poem stands on its own, yet when read altogether, the author blends each piece into one another seamlessly. As he reflects upon baking oatmeal cookies with his mother, our own memory banks open, and we withdraw events from long ago. We, too, want to help stir the cookie dough. We, too, reflect on the fine line between life and death when a young boy falls into a lake and conjure up our own ghosts. And we, too, can enjoy a simple day cast in a simpler time. I did not want this book to end. Tonight, I will pour a cup of tea and remember…”The Alchemy of Then.” Alchemy indeed, as Jim Bates casts memories into gold.” Acclaimed author Sharon Frame Gay is the author of “Song of the Highway” and “Nomad Diner.”

 

 

Clothes Pole

 

Set firmly in the ground

It had its own spot in the backyard

A heavy-duty metal post with wooden arms attached

Held together with clothesline rope

A lever controlled it going up and down

A thing of mechanical beauty

Simple utility and grace.

 

His mother hung sheets from it every week

White cotton flags waving in the wind

The kids would run back and forth under it

“Get away from there!” she’d yell

Laughing they’d run away loving the game.

 

At night he lay in bed

Reading a Hardy Boys mystery

Listening to a baseball game on his silver transiter radio

Wrapped in those sun-drenched sheets crinkly and cool

Until lights out

Then snuggling in amid the aroma of outdoors

With just a hint of sunshine

Eyes slowly closing until finally

Drifting into peaceful sleep

Fresh summertime sheets flapping gently

In a tender dreamy breeze.

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

 

Website

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

“You will bloom in Versailles like an exotic flower. The vampyres of the palace love anything out of the ordinary. But beware: the Court of Shadows has its codes, its deadly traps, and the slightest faux pas pay with the price of blood…”

In the year of grace 1715, Louis XIV transformed from the Sun King into the King of Shadows when he embraced immortality and became the world’s first vampire. For the last three centuries, he has been ruling the kingdom from the decadent Court of Shadows in Versailles, demanding the blood of his subjects to sate his nobles’ thirst and maintain their loyalty.

In the heart of rural France, commoner Jeanne Froidelac witnesses the king’s soldiers murder her family and learns of her parents’ role in a brewing rebellion involving the forbidden secrets of alchemy. To seek her revenge, Jeanne disguises herself as an aristocrat and enrolls in a prestigious school for aspiring courtiers. She soon finds herself at the doors of the palace of Versailles.

But Jeanne, of course, is no aristocrat. She dreams not of court but of blood. The blood of a king.

 

A major international success, the VAMPYRIA series has been widely translated and is available in 9 languages (French, Spanish, Italian, Czech, German, Russian, Dutch, Finnish, and now English).

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Chapter 4 – Departure

 

I’m paralyzed with fear.

My body feels like it’s sewn to the black leather lining the inside of the ebony carriage, its vibrations reverberating right through to the hollows of my bones.

On the bench opposite mine, the vampyre sits, immobile. His chiseled face is turned toward the nocturnal landscape passing by the window. The dark night obscures his fixed gaze. There’s not the slightest breath to make his nostrils quiver. It’s hard to believe that one hour ago I held his arm to go down the hill until the carriage met up with us. We didn’t cross paths with anyone. As with the villagers, the baron’s staff stayed cloistered in the outbuildings, in keeping with curfew. Perhaps they sensed that a lord of the night was prowling about the castle . . .

Just as in the baronette’s bedchamber, I have the impression of being in front of a statue. The only thing that’s moving is his magnificent red hair, which gently vibrates in rhythm with the carriage.

On occasion, I saw my father prepare the dead bodies of villagers for burial. Supposedly, after one’s demise, the nails and hair continue to grow. In the case of vampyres, that’s certainly true, as Dr. Boniface explained in his sermons celebrating the magical beauty of the lords of the night. Whereas mortal noblemen, along with many noblewomen, adorn themselves with wigs and hairpieces in order to appear more impressive, the immortals don’t need such artifice. Having gorged on the blood of all those on whom they feed, their hair is supernaturally dazzling and vibrant.

I grind my teeth to stifle a groan.

I’m face to face with an undead brimming with life. It’s the paradox of vampyres, a notion that was always an abstraction for me until now. But tonight it’s become horribly concrete. A living death is just that: a total petrification, after which comes the ability of supernatural speed; a coldness that seems to emanate from the passenger and latches on to me in spite of the blanket he threw over my shoulders; and most of all, this awful silence that no intake of breath disrupts. The two dragoons aboard the rear of the vehicle don’t say a word. I can hear only the creaking of the axle, the trotting of the horses, and the brief snap of the coachman’s tongue encouraging them at the front of the carriage.

And so I’m swept off into the unknown night, traveling farther than my steps ever took me, my body chilled and my mind numb, too shocked to mourn all those I’ve lost.

“Would you like to eat, mam’zelle?”

Slowly, I open my eyes.

A flood of dazzling light washes over me. I promptly close my eyelids.

I have to blink several times in order to banish blinding tears. As my eyes clear, I take in the padded interior of the carriage, its black leather glistening in the sunlight. Across from the bench where I dozed off, the space is empty.

As if the vampyre simply faded come morning.

As if everything had been a bad dream.

“Mam’zelle, are you hungry?” the dragoon asks again as he opens the carriage door to speak to me.

He holds out a wicker basket filled with warm bread and lard.

My muscles, which all night were paralyzed by the presence of the vampyre, recover a little of their suppleness. My mind regains its pluck.

An idea forms: I must escape.

As soon as possible and by any means.

Although the dragoon speaks to me courteously, no doubt under strict orders, his lips do not smile, and his eyes watch me attentively. A gun is slung over his shoulder, and a sword hangs from his belt. It’s a brutal reminder of the sword that decapitated Valère. The vision of Maman’s slit throat stops my breathing.

Swallowing my pain, I pretend to grab the basket when I’m really trying to assess my chances of fleeing. I pop my head outside the door and notice the rear of the carriage: two large iron trunks are strapped under a black leather canopy, where the two other dragoons must have traveled during the night. At present, they’re eating on the grass, taking big, hurried mouthfuls before we set off again.

As for the carriage’s fifth passenger . . .

“The vamp . . . the viscount,” I whisper, only just correcting myself.

“Is he gone?”

A flicker of fear crosses the dragoon’s eyes.

“The viscount is here,” he answers lugubriously.

I absorb his words and tone, but I don’t see the viscount anywhere in the carriage. I open my mouth to question him further, but the mere mention of his employer has sent him into a feverish state.

“Well, I’ll let you eat, in case you’re hungry,” he says, tossing the basket onto the bench. “We have to leave soon if we want to reach Versailles the day after tomorrow.”

“Wait!” I yell, completely disoriented.

Versailles, the day after tomorrow? I thought it took a week to go from the Auvergne to the Île-de-France, the region around Paris.

The door shuts with a loud bang on my protests, and then the lock turns with a click.

So much for my window to escape.

As the carriage sets off again, I lower my eyes to the floor.

There’s an iron ring in the center that I hadn’t noticed until now.

The handle of a trapdoor.

In horror, I realize that the creature is most definitely here—protected from the sun’s rays as he rests in the obscurity of the luggage hold beneath my feet, closer to me than ever before.

 

 

About the Author

 

Victor Dixen is the author of many bestselling French novels, including four series for young adults: THE STRANGE CASE OF JACK SPARK, ANIMALE, PHOBOS and VAMPYRIA; and he is a two-time winner of the Grand Prix de l’Imaginaire, the most prestigious science-fiction and fantasy award in France. Born to a French mother and Danish father, Victor grew up in the city of Versailles. As an adult, he has lived in Denver, Dublin, Singapore, and New York City. He now divides his time between Paris and Washington, DC with his family and his two inquisitive cats.

 

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About the Translator

 

Françoise Bui spent twenty years as an executive editor at Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, where her list of edited books included numerous novels in translation. Of these, four received the Mildred L. Batchelder Award (for most outstanding children’s book initially published in a foreign language), and two were Honor titles. Originally from France, Bui lives in New York City.

 

 

Synopsis

 

Ex-hotshot trader Dylan Cash returns to Wall Street, to investigate a possible cyber-crime with financial ties to a huge defense contractor. But what he thought was a simple case of insider trading is soon revealed to be much more dangerous.

When Detective Charles Sleetch investigates the murder of a wealthy Wall Street banker and his girlfriend, it seems like your average, routine robbery homicide. Then a second woman dies and a third goes missing.

Two completely unrelated crimes, or is it all connected? Follow the money – find the murderer.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

“It could not have been easy. I had a daughter of my own…” Sleetch felt a surge of emotion. “Have you heard from your daughter?”

“Kat is fine. She disappears for weeks at a time. Who knows where she goes?”

“I understand, Anna. But how much do you know about your daughter’s place of work: The Body Shop?”

“My daughter works in banking, at an office in Midtown.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“My daughter was studying for her Series 7 license. She told me that the exam was next month.”

“I understand that. But that is not what we’ve learned over the last twenty-four hours. Mrs. Anjelska—”

“Please, call me Anna.”

“Anna, your daughter worked at a place called ‘The Body Shop.’ Are you aware of the type of business that is?”

“I don’t know.”

Sleetch shook his head vigorously back and forth, as he slid a copy of a print ad from the strip club across the table toward her. “It’s a place where women entertain men by dancing for them.”
Anna Anjelska was speechless, and this was what he had been dreading.

“Anna, The Body Shop is a strip club. Exotic dancers.”

“My daughter didn’t work in a strip club. She worked at a bank.”

“A bank?”

“Thatcher Reed.”

Anna got up and retrieved her purse, then returned and sat back down. “Here,” she said as she handed him a card. “Thatcher Reed. My daughter works here.”

Sleetch looked at the card incredulously, wondering if it was real. He recognized the name as the place of employment of Dave Tanjano. For a moment it seemed to be a cheap imitation, the type that could be made from a printing kiosk in a mall somewhere. But on second glance he noticed the watermark. Then, he wasn’t so sure. “Perhaps I was mistaken,” he said.

“My daughter told me she was still in training. And this was why her…why her schedule was flexible. At night she often told me she was out seeing clients.”

“I understand that. But that’s not why I am here. Your daughter is dead.”

The room suddenly turned hotter and hotter. Sleetch jabbed at the tie around his neck and loosened it. He looked into Anna’s eyes and saw the same drunken pain and confusion and haze that he felt each morning. “Anna, is there anyone you know that would want to hurt your daughter?”

“No,” Anna said, as she shook her head violently. “Everybody loved my daughter.”

 

 

About the Author

 

Brooklyn-based author and experienced Wall Street investment banker Carey Keith Green draws on his professional experience in the world of finance, to explore the tenuous threads that connect the world’s richest with the shady behind-the-scenes workings of global geopolitics in his work. Green earned his bachelors from Columbia College and he holds an MBA from Fordham. The Art of Privilege is the second in a series and Green’s third book.

 

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Synopsis

 

On a school camping trip, fifth graders experiment with a dangerous new hallucinogen and die in a horrific accident, their deaths shattering the quiet town. Assistant Superintendent Ken Parks, hoping to redeem a fatal mistake from his past, grasps the opportunity to conduct the district investigation of how students are getting the drugs. Almost before he begins, the cops make a stunning arrest. But Parks battles on, convinced the real pusher is still out there, poisoning more kids until he receives an anonymous if he continues, those close to him will pay. Is Parks willing to risk those he loves for a chance at redemption?

 

 

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Review

 

This mystery, set in 1995, took me back to a simpler time (no electronics outside of email) and a mystery that had me scratching my head.

Ken Parks is a school administrator who goes the extra mile for the schools he oversees. The tragic deaths of four young men throw him into the fire of seeking out the truth. There are many twists and turns, and I have to be honest, I was a bit surprised when all was revealed. But even at that point, the twists don’t stop.

The story does move at a slower pace than I would have expected. There is a lot of information to sort through, and because it is set in 1995, the methods to uncover the truth and details take a bit longer. There is no searching the internet for facts.

There are many potential suspects. Some are red herrings, others are involved in the situation. While I wanted a few characters to be guilty, they either weren’t or were guilty of something far less serious.

There is a side story regarding Ken’s wife, Amanda. She isn’t happy anymore in their relationship because Ken’s job seems to take up a lot of time. Instead of working through it with him, she decides to have an affair. I am not sure how I feel about this development, but I can understand her frustration. Not to say that Ken wasn’t without his faults, but I think blame could be laid at both of their feet.

Overall, this story was enjoyable, and we give it 4 paws up.

 

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

From the bend, the road descended quickly and Amanda felt the car picking up speed as gravity and its powerful engine propelled it downhill. As she approached the next turn, she realized she was coming in a little too fast. She slid her foot to the brake. Her concentration on steering the twisting road ahead, at first it didn’t register. She dared to take her gaze off the road and look down at her feet before she understood. When her right foot depressed the brake, the pedal glided all the way to the floor. No friction. She pulled her foot back and slammed on the brake again. The pedal slid all the way down. Unbelieving, she pumped it, again and again.

There was nothing there.

She jerked her eyes back. The hairpin turn hurtled at her. On instinct, she kept jamming on the pedal. It was supposed to work. She turned the wheel wildly. The big car shuddered as it tried to negotiate the turn. The two rear wheels slipped off the pavement, spinning in space. With the front wheel drive, the front two tires managed enough traction to catch. The car veered around the curve and headed down the next straight incline. The heavy vehicle rolled faster again as gravity pulled it down the hill.

Amanda’s mind reeled. What was she supposed to do?

Struggling desperately to force her mind to think, Amanda tried to consider her options. It was all happening too quickly. The next treacherous turn came at her fast. She had no way to slow down. White knuckles gripped the steering wheel.

The bend ahead showed a hard curve to the right, not quite as tight as the last one, but steeper. And she felt the car accelerating, though she hadn’t touched the gas pedal. Right before the car hit the curve, Amanda spun the steering wheel. The car lurched around the bend. The driver side of the car lifted up. Halfway through the long bend, Amanda watched the hood tilt in the turn until it was almost vertical. No seat belt on, she was catapulted down the leather seat, crashing into the passenger door.

“Hell!” she cried, reaching to grab her bruised shoulder.

She froze as the two wheels still on the ground shuddered in the gravel, sliding off the small road. Slammed against the side door, she heard the tall weeds and low branches whip against the body. But the car didn’t slow. Blood streamed from a gash on her forehead. For an instant she lay there stretched across the passenger door, holding her breath.

Then she sensed the car teetering. The front tire bumped something hard. Amanda stared, unbelieving, as the car began to flip. As the Regal made the first revolution, she screamed.

 

 

About the Author

 

Dr. Randy Overbeck is a best-selling author of the award-winning series The Haunted Shores Mysteries, the three entries earning such national awards as the Gold Award from Literary Titan, Mystery of the Year from ReaderViews, Best Book from Chanticleer and Crowned Heart of Excellence from InD’tale Magazine. He hosts a new podcast, “Great Stories about Great Storytellers,” which reveals the unusual backstories of famous authors, directors, and poets. He is also a speaker in much demand, sharing his multi-media presentations, “Thanks Still Go Bump in the Night” and “A Few Favorite Haunts,” with audiences all over the country.

 

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Synopsis

 

Resa Stone is one of the first humans to set foot on a foreign world. But ever since arriving on planet Wandelsta, the introverted teen witch can’t sleep. Visions of a mysterious jeweled forest haunt her dreams. Who is the ghostly shrouded girl who emerges from those woods? And what is the meaning of the ominous message she delivers: You are the one?

And when the unearthly messenger appears in her waking life and leads her to a mystical glowing gem, Resa learns of an ancient legend that suggests the stone may be a remnant from a crystalline paradise called Gemja and harbors great power. On a quest to discover the significance of the stone, Resa is transformed by love, betrayal, magic, and hidden secrets. And when danger befalls her, she must summon the courage to journey into her dream realm to confront the ghost for answers…

Only to discover that deciphering the message reveals a painful truth…

One that may cost Resa her life.

 

 

 

Amazon

 

 

Excerpt

 

“Grams, have you heard of Gemja?”

She shook her head. “No, what is that?” She pulled me toward her so that my back was leaning against her.

“A magical crystal planet where only peace and love exist,” I said, not doing the legend justice. “Maybe it’s where we’ll all meet again one day.” I didn’t want to leave her. I rested my head on her shoulder.

“Ah, then it must be a wonderful place,” she said, stroking my hair. “If I can go to this Gemja, I will,” she reassured me. “I’ll wait for you there.”

“Promise?”

“Of course,” she said, “but you had better make me wait a very long time. There is so much for you to do in your realm. Come now. It’s time.” She patted my arm as a signal for me to stand. “You have to go meet Nitika before it’s too late. I fear the white creature will come for you unless we stay one step ahead of it.” She held out the single filament. “It’s time. Help me sever it.”

I dug into my bag, feeling for something that could snap the filament. I pulled out a pair of wire cutters.

“That’s my girl,” she said. “Always prepared.” She held out the filament for me to cut, but I hesitated. “It’s all right now,” she said, laughing. “You’re giving me life. What better gift could there be?”

I had to see her one last time, so I turned on the flashlight. When I looked into her eyes, there was no fear in them. No uncertainty. They were shining brightly with hope.

I opened the cutters around the filament and paused. I wished that she could have closed them herself, but the angle was all wrong. “Still want to be the lone red daisy?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Her answer startled me. “I would have it no other way,” she said. “And I’m hardly alone. I have you. Both of us were chosen…to do something wonderful, I imagine. The universe doesn’t give you more than you can handle, so you must embrace being red.” She put her hand to my face. “No tears. This is not the end. You’re giving me life. Remember to tell your grandfather.”

“I will, I promise.” I didn’t want to leave her. I had so much to ask her. So much to tell her. I had just said hello, and now it was already time for goodbye?

“Hurry, you must turn off the flashlight,” she said. “Do it now. Both our lives depend on it.”

“I love you, Grams,” I said.

“And I you, my darling. It’s time. I’m ready to go.”

I wasn’t ready. Still, I forced my hand shut. The cord snapped. And my grandmother floated upward, transforming into a beautiful barn owl before flying out of sight, leaving one lone feather and a sparkling trail of violet stardust in her wake.

 

 

Praise

 

“An edge-of-your-seat adventure…sweeps to a cliffhanger climax. A rousing introduction to a promising new series.” –  Booklife Reviews by Publishers Weekly

“A fast-paced tale with richly drawn characters that revels in mythical worldbuilding…It blends fantasy and SF elements, along with witchcraft and teenage romance, with a degree of skill that’s likely to satisfy fans of all these genres.”  – Kirkus

“Gemja: The Message offers a compelling blend of witchcraft and magic and establishes an immersive fantasy realm. Protagonist Resa is an alluring and relatable teen witch. Readers will eagerly engage with her as she attempts to unravel the mystery behind her visions of a ghostly figure.” – Critic’s Report: The Booklife Prize

“Messina blends witchcraft, prophesies, aliens and interplanetary tensions into a highly enjoyable young adult drama…set to be a captivating and popular series.” (Starred Review, Notable Book – Blueink Review

“Climactic moments and powerful revelations are plentiful. Worlds of unexpected wonder and danger abound.” – Clarion

“A wonderfully, well-written read. 5 stars.”  – Readers Favorite

 

 

About the Author

 

K.M. Messina is an earth and space science teacher, a dog mom, and a lover of all things mystical. Her black German shepherd Luna is the star of her award-winning picture book, IF YOU COULD ASK YOUR DOG ONE QUESTION, which won the Best Independent Book Award (BIBA) and the Moonbeam Children’s Book Award for best picture book for all ages. She lives on the rocky coast of Long Island, New York, where she enjoys feeding wild turkeys, moon gazing, and adding to her ever-growing collection of stones and crystals.

 

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The Fog Ladies: Date with Death (A San Francisco Cozy Murder)
Cozy Mystery
4th in Series
Setting – California
Wild Rose Press (October 2, 2023)
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 338 pages

 

Synopsis

 

The Fog Ladies are at it again, spunky senior sleuths and an overstressed young medical resident solving murders from their elegant apartment building in San Francisco. They join a senior dating group, and romantic intrigue soon turns to murder. Graham Parselle, lady killer extraordinaire, plunges off a cliff on a Senior Singles outing. Did one of his dates pitch him over? Or is Olivia Honeycut’s new beau to blame?

 

 

 

Amazon

 

 

Excerpt

 

Enid Carmichael ducked her head and squeezed her eyes shut and waited for Beverly’s car to smash them to smithereens. Enid was squished in the back of this tin can Mr. Glenn called a car with a huge furry hound taking up more than his fair share of the seat and fouling the air with his stinky breath. She had survived eighty-one long, tedious years. This was not how she wanted to die.

The tin can hurled and thrust her sideways into Boris. He let out a yelp and so did she, but she was alive and she had plenty more tedious years to live, so she could shout all she wanted.

“You did it, Alma! Now get us away from her.”

“I’m trying, but she’s right there! Right behind us.”

Mrs. Carmichael twisted her head around, but her neck didn’t move like it used to. She opened the window and stuck her head out for a better view. Beverly’s car picked up speed and was suddenly so close Mrs. Carmichael could see the maniacal look on her face.

Couldn’t Mr. Glenn’s car go any faster? Wait a minute. “Alma, what are you doing? Don’t stop for the stop sign! This is life and death!”

“I have to stop for the stop sign. What if I hit someone?”

“Hit someone? It’s us who’re being hit. Put your rear in gear.”

Alma pressed the gas pedal, and they shot through the intersection. Shockingly, Beverly’s car slowed for the stop sign, too, but in an instant she was on them.

Alma was whining again. “I’m not allowed to drive without a supervising adult in the car. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

“Supervising adult? Good God. Alma Gordon, put the pedal to the metal or I’ll do it for you.”

Alma tugged the wheel one way then the other, pitching them up one street and down the next.

“Good driving, Alma. I think you lost her.”

Clang, clang

“Oh, no, Alma! What street are you crossing? Hyde?”

“Cable car! Hold on, Enid!”

A cable car rocketed down Hyde, passengers hanging out the side taking photos of the San Francisco Bay at the bottom of the steep street, oblivious to the sure death that awaited them when they T-boned Alma and Enid. Or would the cable car slice right through Mr. Glenn’s flimsy car, leaving the ladies sawed in two like a big-stage magic trick gone awry?

The cable car bell clanked incessantly. Alma dodged in front of the outsize doom mobile. Her car teetered on two wheels, Enid was sure. The tires spun and they ended up facing the water far below, the cable car on their bumper.

“Go, Alma, go!”

Enid saw the gripman’s expression, somewhere between terrified and infuriated. His brakes screeched. His passengers screeched.

He yelled, but Enid’s view of him was cut by a car slipping in between them. “It’s Beverly!”

Enid’s stomach heaved as Alma sped downhill. Boris’s body flew up and he landed with his front paws in her lap. He shoved his big head out the window, completely obscuring her sightline. Her face was in his fur and all she could see was his enormous, platter-like tongue, lolling in the wind.

“Eek,” Alma shrieked. “We’re going too fast. These brakes aren’t enough. Brace, Enid, brace!”

Enid was as braced as she could be, squashed behind this dog. The car lurched around a corner, tires squealing.

“Woof, woof, woof,” Boris protested.

Enid opened her mouth to protest, too, but was met with a mouthful of fur. Yuck.

“She’s still there! Enid, I can’t shake her. Hang on!”

Enid’s body hurtled against the door. Mr. Glenn’s car better hold. If the door latch gave way and she plummeted out onto the streets of San Francisco, she’d never forgive him. And just her luck, Beverly’s car would crush her flat into the pavement, and she’d be nothing but a thin smear on the asphalt adorned with a red crop of hair.

She was not going like that. She threw the dog off her. She leaned forward, shot her long arm around Alma’s puny body, and seized the steering wheel. If Alma couldn’t save them, Enid would.

 

 

About the Author

 

Susan McCormick is an award-winning writer and doctor who lives in Seattle. She graduated from Smith College and George Washington University School of Medicine, with additional medical training in Washington, DC and San Francisco, where she lived in an elegant apartment building much like the one in the Fog Ladies books. Susan served as a doctor in the US Army for nine years before moving to the Pacific Northwest and civilian practice. In addition to the Fog Ladies series, she also wrote Granny Can’t Remember Me, a lighthearted picture book about Alzheimer’s disease and dementia, and The Antidote, a middle grade to adult medical fantasy. She lives with her husband and two sons and loves giant dogs, the bigger and slobberier the better.

 

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Giveaway

 

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