November 2015 Issue of Bewitching Book Tours

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine Issue 39 November 2015

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine is a publication of Bewitching Book Tours and Bewitching Books.

Editor: Roxanne Rhoads Design Editor and Layout: Lisa McGeen Contributors include Bewitching Book Tours Authors and Tour Hosts learn more at www.bewitchingbooktours.blogspot.com Ad space rates are:

$40 full page ad $20 half page ad $10 quarter page ad You can subscribe to this magazine at http://issuu.com/bewitchingbooktours Š Copyright 2015 Stock images from www.123rf.com

Table of Contents What Makes Bewitching Book Tours Different?

3

Bewitching Book Swag

10

Green Living Tips

11

Mercury Retrograde Feature

15

Faith Savage Feature

25

Ann Gimpel Feature

32

Arrrr: 5 Reason Why We Love Pirates

48

Christian A. Brown Feature

52

Top Ten Best Hollywood Witches

59

Halloween All Year Long

66

Breaking All The Rules Feature

72

Brewing Feature

74

Forty Candles

77

Nighttime Promises

78

Did you read last month’s issue?

What Makes Bewitching Book Tours Different From Other Virtual Book Tour Companies?

Bewitching Book Tours has been in business since 2010 making us one of the oldest virtual book tour companies around. We know book promotion.

Our authors are our number one priority. This is not a hobby or a side job in addition to the day job. This is our day job, which means we put our author s fir st.

Bewitching Book Tours offers multiple tour packages and services for authors- we have one day packages for cover reveals, release day blitzes, and one day tours. We also offer one week, two week and one month tours. Bewitching also offers Kindle Free Book Blitz tours to promote your Kindle free book for up to five days. Other services we offer are Twitter parties, Facebook parties, Press Release Writing, and radio interviews.

Custom packages are available.

Bewitching has optional special features including a monthly magazine, a BlogTalk Radio Show and we offer custom Bewitching Book swag creations such as bookmarks, keychains, purse charms and more.

The most important things about Bewitching is that your book starts receiving promotion as soon as you sign up with Bewitching. A media kit is created, tour banners are made, and a page goes up on the Bewitching Blog announcing your upcoming tour. An invitation is sent out to all the Bewitching Tour Hosts and your upcoming tour is shared throughout our vast network of social media which includes multiple Facebook pages and accounts, Tsu, Twitter, Google +, Pinterest, Tumblr, and other book social sites.

Immediately your book has been put in front of thousands of book lovers. And we don’t stop there. We continue to work on your tour scheduling tour stops, reviews and more depending on your tour package chosen.

Once your tour is set up we send you the tour schedule, materials and instructions so there is no confusion. You return requested materials to Bewitching and we handle the rest.

Once your tour has started we promote every single tour stop every day on multiple social media platforms several times throughout the day. Combine this exposure with the daily tour hosts’ and the author’s social media promotion of the tour stops and you have your book in front of thousands of readers every day.

An author will have quality content that can be used after the tour including a professional media kit with all the book and author information in one place that can be distributed to future promotion locations. You’ll also have great quotes you can pull from reviews to help you promote your book.

If you wrote guest blogs or other promotional materials (character profiles, book soundtracks, the story behind the story posts, etc.) you now have content you can reuse on your blog or website as bonus material. Yes, your guest blogs and other tour materials that you created, are

yours. You retain copyright to them. Now if a blogger adds images, comments or other materials you cannot reuse the blog exactly as it appeared on their site. You retain the rights only to your original creations. I suggest waiting at least a month after your tour ends before reposting to your sites that way it does not hurt the tour blog traffic.

Interviews are not the same, not unless you provided both the questions and answers (for instance a character interview you created). If you wish to repost an interview you must ask the blogger who interviewed you if it is okay to republish their questions. Or simply post a link to the interview.

Even after the tour Bewitching continues working for you. Your name and web link will be listed on our blog as a client and your tour pages will be archived, not removed. So they will always be available for readers to access. If Bewitching has special events in the future like calls for submissions, holiday contests or other multi-author events you will be invited to participate.

Bewitching Book Tour Packages and Pricing Book sales will magically soar during one of our spellbinding virtual book tours Bewitching Book Tours specialize in tours for paranormal, urban fantasy, and paranormal erotica books with prices just right for any author's budget Every tour package includes:

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a custom media kit custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus Giveaways are not necessary during tours but they are highly encouraged. Giveaways draw many more readers and viewers to tour stops plus they help increase your social media followers.

We utilize Rafflecopter entry forms so you can offer one prize package or several throughout your tour- winners are chosen at the end of the tour. $47.50 will get you the Release Day Blitz One day book release blitz includes    

Posting on up to 20 blogs which will include- tour banner, your book info, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide) a custom media kit custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation

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two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule) distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus The release day blitz can be purchased alone or added to another tour package $50.00 will get you the week long Bewitched Book Blitz Tour

Your will receive 1 week of tour stops 

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Posting on approximately 5-7 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide) a custom media kit custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule) distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus This tour is perfect for an author to get a taste of how a book tour works

Great for new releases or for the backlist book that could use a sales boost $85 will get you the 2 week Cast a Magic Spell Tour 2 weeks of tour stops       

Posting on approximately 10-14 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide) a custom media kit custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule) distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus $140 will get you The Spellbinding Special 1 Month Tour

This is our most popular so far- with it you'll receive one month of tour stops

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Posting on approximately 20 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide) a custom media kit custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule) distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus Kindle Free Book Blitz $50

Is your book going free on Kindle?

Get the most out of your Kindle free days with Bewitching Book Tours We are now offering a Kindle Free Book Blitz Tour- Up to 5 days of promotion just $50- this includes:    

Posting on numerous blogs that will announce that your book is free is Amazon a custom media kit custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not

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guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule) Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus Cover Reveals are $45 Add a live Facebook party to any package for $100

A Facebook Party includes the coordination, set up and moderation of a live Facebook party (event) page. The party will last for about two hours.

A party page will be created and moderated by Bewitching Book Tours.

This is a great way to interact with readers. They can post questions and the author can answer in real time.

The author will be responsible for providing party content (book/author facts and links, quizzes, games, and prizes). Bewitching Book Tours can help with brainstorming ideas for content and prizes.

The Facebook party can be purchased by itself or added to a tour package.

Please understand Bewitching Book Tours is not responsible for missed your stops on your tour. After the tour is scheduled and all of the tour materials have been sent out, it is the responsibility of the Blogger who signed up for the tour to post materials on their designated day.

Bewitching Book Swag Bewitching Book Tours offers custom book swag creations that can be added on to tour packages or ordered separately.

We offer high quality, hand crafted, one of a kind items made to match your book. Currently we are offering beaded bookmarks, beaded keychains, purse charms, belt loop charms, wine glass charms, and earrings.

These items can be created with colored beads to match the colors in your book cover.

We can also add small charms to coordinate with book content- we have a wide variety of charms to choose from and if we don't have something that matches your book we can get it.

Some of the silver charms available are: vampire fangs, wolves, witch hats, keys and locks, books, hearts, haunted houses, bats, foxes, hamsas, dragons, sugar skulls, rhinestone skull and crossbones, high heeled shoes, Fleur de lis, masquerade masks, owls and many more.

You can also opt to have the items completely customized by adding your book cover to a metal charm. The book covers are encased in small metal photo frame charms and sealed in resin for a high quality charm that looks fabulous and is very durable.

Our goal is to create custom book swag that represents your book.

A Crafty Green Christmas

By Wenona Napolitano Penguins on Parade

Small yogurt cups and smoothie bottles can easily become cute penguins. I painted the bottles and cups pictured above with black spray paint for plastic.

I let that dry overnight.

Then I hand painted the white bodies with a brush and acrylic paint. I used sheets of craft foam to make the wings, feet and beaks. I drew designs on the foam then cut them out.

I used black for the wings and yellow for the beaks and feet. I glued them on with a hot glue gun (fast drying tacky craft glue would also work).

The penguins turned out absolutely adorable and are pretty easy to make.

Hats, ribbons or Christmas theme stuff like candy canes could be added to make them more festive for the holidays.

Toilet Paper Roll Gift Card Boxes I discovered that toilet paper rolls are the perfect size to become gift card holders.

For these cute little gift boxes I scavenged through Christmas stuff in my craft boxes and found stickers, old wrapping paper scraps, cutouts from old Christmas cards, and several pre-painted wooden Christmas shapes (snowmen, candy canes, reindeer, etc) and a box of assorted acrylic jewels.

This craft is super easy to create for any age and very cheap- you use what you have on hand.

Paint Chip Gift Tags Here's another simple little craft anyone can do- turn paint samples into gift tags.

It seems I am always repainting or thinking about repainting some room in my house and I end up with a lot of these paint sample colors sitting around. I hate to just throw them out. I love the colors and tend to save them. I guess I figured one day I might come up with a way to use them.

And finally I did.

One day I was wrapping a present and couldn't find any gift tags, the little box in my gift wrap supplies was empty. I happened to see a stack of paint samples on my desk and decided to cut one out, punch a hole in the corner and tie a ribbon through it - voila I had a simple, easy and colorful gift tag.

Now I use them all the time. No need to spend money on gift tags when I have colorful tag options just sitting around waiting to be used.

Soap Boxes Transformed Into Gift Boxes

Another simple recycled/upcycled Christmas craft is to take soap boxes (from bath size bars of soap) and transform them into fun little Christmas gift boxes.

They can easily be decorated with paint and any items in your craft supply box.

In the photo above I painted one box with red and gold paint and I added a scrap of old wrapping paper.

Another box I painted with green acrylic paint then I glued on three pre-painted wood shapes (purchased at Michaels for less than .25 a piece).

For the cute snowman box I painted it blue then added snowman scrapbook stickers.

The box in the middle was painted with red and gold paint and a cutout from a wrapping paper sample was added.

The gold box was the simplest. All I did was paint it gold then and a ribbon to make it stylishly elegant.

The final box has a more rustic look, painted green and tied up with jute rope and embellished with rusty tin stars.

These soap boxes are small and cute and can easily be made by even the youngest children. Kids can easily decorate them with stickers, scraps of old wrapping paper, cutouts from old Christmas cards, foam shapes or anything on hand in the craft box.

They can be decorated in so many ways and are the perfect size for gift cards. Stuff the box full of tissue and slide the gift card in, that way the receiver still gets to open a gift not just a card and the hand decorated box makes it so much more personal.

You can also apply the same paint and decorate style to any small box you have around the house even cereal boxes.

Three Books That Can Help You Plan a Great Green Christmas

By Wenona Napolitano Celebrate Green is a fabulous green book by mother daughter team Lynn Colwell and Corey Colwell-Lipson. It is the green holiday book to have because it not only covers how to green the winter holidays but it also covers pretty much every other holiday and celebration as well. It is full of fabulous green ideas, party planning tips, even recipes and food suggestions.

Celebrate Green is full of yummy recipes and fun ideas for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

The apple pie recipe for Thanksgiving sounds delicious and the suggestions for setting a sustainable table can be out to use during any season. Though I have to admit I have never seen a free range turkey or even a tofurkey in my local grocery stores so one of those will not be gracing my table this year.

The Christmas ideas in Celebrate Green are heartfelt and wonderful.

They cover all the basics of reduce, reuse and recycle and then they even get into my favorite part- going DIY. Now that’s something I can do. I am the DIY Diva.

In Celebrate Green you’ll also find that simple, fun old fashioned Christmas ideas are encouraged- old fashioned popcorn strands for the tree that can later be put out for the birds, natural decor - twigs, pine cones, and live greenery, and handmade crafts, ornaments, and decorations.

One of the best parts of the Christmas chapter is an extensive list of eco-friendly gift ideas. You’ll find something for everyone on this list of eco-gifts.

Another awesome eco-holiday book is Green Christmas: How to Have a Joyous, Eco-Friendly Holiday Season by Jennifer Basye Sander and Peter Sander with Anne Basye.

Green Christmas: How to Have a Joyous, Eco-Friendly Holiday Season is a wonderful guide to help your holiday season become greener, happier and much more eco-friendly.

It was written by the husband and wife team of Jennifer Basye Sander and Peter Sander along with Jennifer’s sister, Anne Basye. This is one of the best and the first complete guide written about for

greening Christmas. They cover everything you could consider greening from Christmas cards, to gifts to travelling during the holidays-they give you great green suggestions for everything. Lighting, decorations, gift wrap, parties, energy savings...everything is covered in this easy to read, easy to use, compact little book you can carry with you wherever you go. Even during your holiday shopping.

These writers really believe in living green. Their mantra for an eco-friendly Christmas is "give more, consume less." They encourage you to give more of yourself, give more meaningful gifts and turn away from commercial consumption. This is a great idea because not only will you tread lighter on the planet but you will feel better about yourself and your wallet won't be so drained...no debt hangover or buyer's remorse after the holidays.

I’m Dreaming of a Green Christmas: Gifts, Decorations, and Recipes that Use Less and Mean More

by Anna Getty is the newest green holiday book to hit shelves. It is a great book to help you green the winter holidays.

I’m Dreaming of a Green Christmas is a heartfelt holiday book full of tips, recipes, expert advice, crafts, decorating ideas and pretty much everything you need to make the holidays more eco-friendly.

I really enjoyed reading this book and plan to keep it on my shelves. I always hate how the holidays are always a little bit stressful no matter how well you plan or prepare. One thing I really adore about I’m Dreaming of a Green Christmas is that so many of the crafts for gifts and decorations are made with items that can be found around the home, that won’t cost you a thing to make if you already have the supplies.

There are some great crafts ideas in this book some that I really love are the: decorated matchboxes (page 70-71), the cute little twig stars (page 106-107), the salt dough ornaments (page 90-91) these are so very country Christmas I love them, the old fashioned cranberry and popcorn garland (page 104-105), the vintage button clutch (page 136-137), and the bottle cap refrigerator magnets that are so super cute for kids to make (pages 142-143).

Then there’s the recipes that sound so yummy: mini apple strudels with brown sugar whipped cream, artichoke dip with baked pita chips, roasted acorn squash soup with Parmesan and crispy sage, stuffed mushrooms, pumpkin gnocchi with browned sage butter, pumpkin butter and tamari roasted pumpkin seeds, chai hot cocoa with whipped cream…and so many more.

This is just a sampling of the crafts and recipes that I’m Dreaming of a Green Christmas has to offer in addition to all the amazing advice that offers honest and traditional old fashioned style charm to help return Christmas to the love and joy that Christmas was originally all about.

This book can really help you have the type of Christmas you’ve always dreamed of without the stress and hassle and worry of commercial sparkle and false joy.

All three of these books can help you green your life, your celebrations and your winter holidays-make them memorable, magical, and green.

MERCURY RETROGRADE CHAPTER ONE: DUST No matter how decent Petra Dee’s intentions were, things always went to shit.

Sweat dribbled down the back of her neck, sliding down her shoulder blades and congealing between her skin and the Tyvek biohazard suit. The legs of the suit made a zip-zip sound, snagging on bits of prickly pear as she walked through the underbrush of Yellowstone National Park. She clutched her tool bag tightly in her gloved grip, the plastic of the suit rustling over the hiss of the respirator in her ears. Her breath fogged the scuffed clear mask of the suit, softening the edges of the land before her with a dreamlike filter.

“You don’t have to do this,” Mike said.

“Consider it a professional favor, okay?” she said. “And you said it was weird. Now, I’m curious.”

The park ranger in the suit in front of her stopped, turned, and awkwardly grabbed her sleeve. “Look, you don’t have to. The hikers who found it said it was pretty gruesome.” Mike’s voice was muffled behind his own mask, but his brow creased as he looked at her. It was clear to her that he now thought better of bringing her here. Maybe it was his dumb, misplaced sense of chivalry, or maybe things really did suck as badly as he suggested. With him, it was hard to tell.

“You can go back,” he suggested. Again.

“Mike. You need a geologist. There isn’t anybody on your staff who can tell you if it’s safe to be up here. Weird seismic shit has been happening in the last couple of weeks—new springs and fumaroles and mudpots opening up in this area, stuff that isn’t on the maps. And you’re stuck with me unless you want to wait for the Department of the Interior to show up and tell you what you need to know.” She didn’t want to be having this discussion out in the open. There were more men and women in suits behind them, far behind, waiting to see what Mike and Petra would do. They might not be within earshot, but it offended her sense of professionalism. “Besides, I owe you.”

And she did, big-time. Petra had a knack for causing trouble for Mike. Since she’d shown up in town two months ago to take a quiet-sounding geology gig with the federal government, she’d managed to stumble into an underground war between a cattle baron and the local drug-dealing alchemist. A shitstorm of administrative paperwork had been generated for Mike when drugs and bodies turned up in his jurisdiction. Pizza and beer only went so far to balance the scales of debt.

Mike rubbed the back of his hood with a crinkling sound. “Yeah, but …”

Petra nodded sharply. “I can do this.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

“If you need outta here, just say the word.” Mike started walking again, pushing aside a branch blocking her way.

She moved forward to the edge of the tree line, beyond where blotches of color swam in her sweaty vision. A campsite. A red tent had been pitched in a clearing, though it tilted in a lopsided fashion on a broken pole, like a giant spider someone had plucked a leg from. Nice tent—a deluxe model, with mesh windows and pop-outs. A dead fire with cold ash was surrounded by a ring of rocks. Laundry dangled from a clothesline: Tshirts, jeans, socks.

And beyond it, a gorgeously pink mudpot. Iron in the underlying slurry likely yielded the soft rose color.

The acidic hot spring burbled mud, steaming into the cool air. She was reminded of the steam rising from mountains as the dew baked off in the spring. There were thousands of these mudpots dotted all throughout Yellowstone National Park, too many to catalog, despite the hazards they posed.

Petra ducked under the clothesline, wrestling for a moment with a pair of child-sized purple leggings that seemed determined to get snagged around her respirator hose. After fighting them off, she turned her attention back to the scene.

A dark-haired man sat upright at the edge of the dead fire, hunched forward, his arms tangled in a blanket as if he’d been trying to protect himself from the cold.

Her breath echoed quickly in her mask. Mike moved forward to kneel before the man. Pulling the blanket off, he reached for his neck to take his pulse.

Early morning sunshine illuminated the man’s face. It was slack, jaw open, violet tongue protruding from his lips. Broken capillaries covered his cheeks, the red contrasting with mottled grey skin. His eyes were frozen wide open, and the sclera were bright red instead of white.

The blanket fell away to reveal a red flannel shirt. Oddly enough, it looked as if part of it had been bleached, as if he’d brushed up against a gallon of white paint. A knife glinted in his right hand, trapped in a claw frozen by rigor mortis. Petra squinted to get a good look. The knife was a piece of junk—the blade had been melted.

The body rolled over on its side, landing like an action figure holding its pose in the dirt.

Mike swore and grabbed his radio. “This is L-6, be advised that we’ve confirmed a male victim. Tell the medics to …”

Petra turned. That was a big tent. Too big for just one guy. And then there were the little girls’ leggings that she’d tussled with … damn it. Steeling herself, she crossed to the tent, her suit creaking. Sweating, she grasped the tent zipper. Its teeth stuck in the PVC-coated canvas, and she tried three times before she gave up.

Part of the tent had come unstaked on the right side, letting daylight creep in. She worked that seam and pulled it open.

She stumbled back, falling on her ass.

A woman sat bolt upright in a sleeping bag, with speckled and broken skin like the man at the fireside.

She stared at Petra with the same blood-red gaze under a tangle of brown hair.

Petra leaned forward to touch her shoulder. The woman didn’t move, frozen in some unfathomable moment of shock. Heart hammering, Petra fumbled for a pulse. Through her gloves, the woman felt cold, and her chest didn’t move. Her skin felt swollen, as if stretched over an unseen trauma.

Mike crawled into the tent to stare at a bundle beside the woman. He peeled back a sleeping bag on a little girl, maybe five or six, clutching a dinosaur plush toy. Her eyes were closed, seeming very peaceful under bruised skin.

“Please let her be alive,” Petra whispered.

Mike shook his head. “No pulse. But … not a mark on her.”

Petra backed out of the tent into the clearing. Blinking, she reached for her equipment bag and dug out a handheld yellow gas monitor. Stabbing at the buttons, she waited for the sensors to start analyzing the air.

She glanced at the mudpot, that beautiful pink jewel barely the size of a bathtub. The warmth it radiated condensed against her plastic suit. When the call came in that a man had been found dead near a mudpot in Yellowstone, the rangers had all assumed that the culprit was poisonous gas, carbon dioxide or hydrogen sulfide. And that would make sense, but …

While waiting for the gas monitor to calibrate, Petra stood to peer into the bubbling mud. It was possible, but poisoning by those gases was a relatively rare phenomenon. She fished some tongue depressors out of her pack to dip a glob of the mud out into a specimen bottle for analysis.

A sharp drumming sounded overhead, and she looked up.

A woodpecker drilled into a pine tree above her, making a sound like a jackhammer. Birds had much more delicate respiratory systems than humans. If poisonous gas had seeped up from the mud here, then the bird should be showing ill effects. But instead it had found its breakfast, plucking bugs from bark, ignoring the humans below.

Her gaze scraped the perimeter of the camp. The vegetation was all wrong here—brittle and yellow and spotted, as if burned by something acidic. She knelt to pluck a piece of curled grass to stuff into a specimen bottle. Low-level amounts of hydrogen sulfide were likely to enhance plant growth. High levels could kill plants, but not quickly.

She glanced down at her gas detector. “Huh.” Mike had backed away from the tent. “Well?”

“No carbon monoxide. No sulfur dioxide. Normal amounts of carbon dioxide. No appreciable levels of hydrogen sulfide right now, which is what I assumed the culprit would be, since that’s the most common airborne poison spewed by mudpots.” She pulled the hood of her suit back to take a sniff of the air. It smelled like pine needles, not like rotten eggs. “I think that it’s safe for your people to come in. Just … tell them not to touch anything they don’t have to. Gloves and suits.”

Mike nodded and began barking orders into his walkie-talkie.

Petra lifted her freckled face to the sky, feeling the blessedly cool breeze against her cheeks. She spat a bit of dark blond hair out of her mouth and reached to take another soil sample. Maybe there was some other toxin here? Something more exotic that would need more tests run. Arsenic could be here, but it wouldn’t have killed these people so quickly. The ground was opening up in pockets in the whole Pelican Creek area. Geologists had been detecting midlevel quakes in previously quiet land. In a place like Yellowstone, the geology was always changing, but this was unusual. And it needed to be investigated.

Mike mopped his brow. “Maybe there were high levels here overnight, and the wind swept it all away,” he mused. “Or the mudpot belched. A one-time thing.”

“Could be.” Inspiration struck her, and she stood to examine the man’s body by the dead fire. He lay where he’d fallen, rigidly on his side. “Could you help me with him?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need to check his pockets for change.”

Mike rolled the guy over. The body didn’t turn over with a normal thick, human sound. Petra heard sloshing, as if they were moving a cooler full of melted ice. Mike came up with a set of car keys and a fistful of change, which he handed to Petra. She stared at the debris, pushing aside the quarters, nickels, and dimes in her palm.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Pennies … ah.” She held a penny up to the light. A 2015 penny, bright and shiny and new. “It wasn’t hydrogen sulfide poisoning.”

“How can you tell?”

“If he’d been exposed to hydrogen sulfide, the copper in the penny would have oxidized. No evidence of that, here. When hydrogen sulfide was used as a chemical weapon in World War I, copper coins in the pockets of victims turned nearly black.”

“Great. Maybe the coroner’s toxicology report will tell us what it was. I’m mostly just concerned that we’ve got an ongoing hazard situation here.”

“I’ll run some soil samples,” Petra said. “In the meantime, you should have your rangers cordon this off for at least a hundred yards until we know for sure what it was.” She wrinkled her nose and reached for her respirator. “What the hell is that smell?” It wasn’t the rotten-eggs smell of hydrogen sulfide. This smelled worse, like roadkill.

Mike turned to the body. “It …” The smell hit him, and he struggled to pull his hood over his head. “It’s the body.”

Where the camper’s corpse had been turned over to the earth, a black, viscous substance oozed. Two medics had arrived in full gear and grasped the body, one at the arms and the other at the feet. As they lifted, it seemed as if some fragile surface tension held by the man’s skin failed. The skin split open, and dark fluid soaked the dirt to splash against the white suits of the medics.

“Christ,” Mike said behind his mask. “Only a floater would behave like that.”

“A floater?” she echoed.

“A body that’s been in a river for weeks. The gases build up while the organs rot. But … these guys can’t have been here that long. We’ll know for sure when we get an ID.” More plastic suits showed up with body bags into which to pour what remained of the camper. They discussed how best to remove the woman and the child from the tent without rupturing them. It was decided to start with the child.

Petra turned away. She just didn’t want to see that. She began picking at samples around the edge of the campsite, trying to fade into the background. But the scene burned behind her eyelids. It wasn’t just the people that were dead. Death had spread to the vegetation around the campsite in a circle, as if someone had sprayed the plants with weed killer. As she ventured farther and farther away, she found a trail of rust-colored grass vanishing into the forest.

Ignoring the chatter and radio static behind her, she began to follow the trail. It spanned an area a little over three feet wide, a perfect path of brittle vegetation that contrasted sharply with the early autumn grass that still thrived. She paused before a pine tree that seemed to have had its bark scorched away by some kind of chemical reaction.

She began to regret removing her hood. Holding her breath, she chipped a piece of bark away with an awl and dropped it into a sample bottle.

The track ended abruptly at a spine of rocks that composed the next ridge. There were no plants to speak of here, only fine milk quartz pebbles and sandstone gravel.

She blew out her breath, frustrated at having lost the trail. Had there been some kind of chemical accident here? She ran through the desiccants and herbicides she knew, most of which were not good for people, but the most likely short-term effects would have been simple respiratory distress or skin contact allergies.

Nothing that could cause the amount of squish and slop that the medics were dealing with.

No rational explanation.

Maybe there was an irrational one.

She glanced behind her. No one had followed her this far, to the edge of the forest. She fumbled in her gear bag for the last bit of equipment she’d brought: a golden compass. Glinting in the sun, it lay flat in the palm of her hand. Seven rays extended to the rim, with an image of a golden lion devouring the sun in the center. The Venificus Locus, a magic detector that she still wasn’t entirely sure she believed in, but couldn’t discount. Maybe it would have something to say. Maybe it wouldn’t. But not asking the question would be stupid.

She stripped off her glove, wiggling her sweaty fingers in the air. A hangnail that she’d neglected to trim kept annoying her. She ripped it off and hissed when blood welled up around the cuticle. Clumsily, she sloshed a bright drop of it into the groove circumscribing the outside of the compass. The blood sizzled on con-

tact, then gathered itself into a perfectly round bead. It circled the rim of the compass once, twice …

Petra held her breath, as much in anticipation as not wanting to spill the blood. The bead of blood swung back and forth in an agitated fashion, then settled on north, pointing to the campsite right behind her.

“Great,” she muttered. That was pretty decisive. The compass would have just sucked up the blood if no magic was present.

This was weird land. The nearby town, Temperance, had been founded by Lascaris, an alchemist who’d conjured gold from dead rocks. Some of Lascaris’s old experiments still wandered the countryside.

She’d encountered a few of them in her short time here: the Hanged Men, the Alchemical Tree of Life, and the Locus itself—which she’d been told had been made by Lascaris’s own hands.

A shadow flickering through sunlight caught her eye, and she looked up. She half-anticipated it to be the woodpecker foraging for more insects, but froze when she spied a raven watching her, balanced on the edge of a branch. His eyes reflected no light, his shadow mingling among the flickers of needles and branches of the lodgepole pine.

She stared back at it. It might be an ordinary raven. Or it might be one of the raven familiars of the Hanged Men. She turned the compass toward the bird. The drop of blood spiraled halfway around the disk before the bird, alerted, took wing and vanished.

Things around here were rarely ordinary. **** Clear now.

The raven pumped his wings, pulling himself into the blue sky, as far as he could get from the smell of blood in the compass and the aura of poison clinging to the campsite. He caught an updraft from the sunwarmed land, skimming along the south edge of the mountains, over the dark ribbons of road and the dry grasses of autumn fields.

This draft required little effort from him. He stretched his wings and allowed his eyes to drift shut. The sun felt gloriously warm on his back, seeping through his feathers into his light body. In the sky, things were simple. There was no magic that could touch him here. No blood. No pain. There was just sun and air and sky.

He sailed along the current until it weakened. He twitched his feathers, gave in to the instinct to flap his wings, and opened his eyes to look down.

A vast field spread below him, gold and grassy and glinting with dew. A massive elm tree stood at its center, and below its shade stood a man in a white hat.

The raven made a slow spiral, relishing the last bit of air through his feathers. He skimmed around the tree in a lazy arc, approaching the motionless man on the ground.

The man opened his arms, as if inviting a lover back. His amber eyes glowed brighter than the dawn.

The bird slammed into his chest. Feathers melded with flesh, fluttering into a pulse and soaking into skin.

Gabriel let his hands fall. The bird twitched through his consciousness as he absorbed all it had seen.

Above him, leaves rustled. Some were living leaves, some dead. The tree stood, scarred and ancient, but its shadow had grown thin. He reached up to pluck a brown leaf from a branch of the Hangman’s Tree.

This wasn’t the only withered branch; the tree’s leaves had begun to curl at the center, as if autumn’s breath had come weeks earlier.

He turned the leaf over in his hands. The tree was dying. He’d felt it even before the leaves had begun to drop, as the magic in it faltered. Even the Lunaria, the Alchemical Tree of Life, couldn’t survive forever.

Not after what it had been put through, creating generations of undead to haunt the Rutherford Ranch.

Not after what he had been put through. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember bleeding into the roots of the Lunaria and the tree’s frantic efforts to put him back together. He’d been torn to pieces in the explosion of a collapsing house. Wood had pierced and rent his body to bits. It would have been best to leave him to dust.

But no … the other Hanged Men had brought him back here, out of sheer instinct. And the last raven had been brought back to him, the last fragment of himself. Through excruciating pain and light, he’d been revived.

Though not wholly. He was conscious of vast gaps in his memory, as if time had eaten away at an old tintype photograph. He’d forgotten his middle name. He couldn’t remember the exact year he’d come here, though he knew it had happened over a century ago. He recalled bits and pieces of alchemy, arcane bits of ephemera about dissolution and phoenixes. His right hand shook when he wasn’t concentrating on it, and he’d developed a somewhat mechanical twitch in his left eye. An irritating limp came and went, even if he parsed his feet away as ravens and brought them back again.

Revived. But at terrible cost. The light running through the veins of the tree grew more sluggish with each sunrise. He could feel it choked off, as if some force had girdled it beyond retrieval. The end of the tree would be the end of all the Hanged Men. He remembered that much.

Behind closed eyes, he thought about that possibility of oblivion. Nothingness was seductive. No more striving to see another day. Just dust. He’d had a taste of it, when he’d lain in pieces within the Lunaria’s embrace.

He crumpled the brittle leaf in his fist and opened his eyes. His gaze traveled to the south fence, where the rest of the Hanged Men toiled, herding the cattle to the north pasture. This wasn’t just about him; there were the others to think of. The others, who had no voice, who would simply cease to exist along with him if the tree died. He could choose to give up—but the decision was not his alone.

And yet … perhaps he had seen a solution. The part of his consciousness he’d sent out as a bird had detected something strange.

Something that might save the last thing he held dear.

The Top Ten Weird Things in the Wild West

By Laura Bickle The west is weird in MERCURY RETROGRADE. Long-buried alchemical experiments surface to oppose the local undead, while a biker gang chases mythical creatures in the small town of Temperance. It’s an odd place…as geologist Petra Dee is discovering. These are the top ten things this scientist can’t rationally explain away: 10. Poisoned campers. A family of camper s are found dead in Yellowstone National Par k, dissolved as if by acid. There are no witnesses, and the manner of death defies all logical explanation.

9. Raven familiars. Ravens are thick in the skies around Temper ance. They’re often seen in the company of the local undead, the Hanged Men. Many suspect that the ravens are the spies of the Hanged Men, but the truth is much more sinister, as they seem to watch events unfold with an almost-human intelligence. One of these ravens follows Petra, and she wonders if it belongs to a man she nearly allowed herself to fall for.

8. Creatures on film. A giant snake has been captured on video in the Yellowstone backcountry. Rumors surface that it’s a basilisk, a mystical serpent with immense power. Gawkers descend upon the park, creating a public safety nightmare.

7. The Sisters of Serpens. Among the hunter s descending on the par k are the Sister s of Serpens, a gang of murderous bikers led by the charismatic sorceress, Bel. Where others seek to capture the basilisk on film or in a cage, they seek to worship it as a goddess.

6. The Eye of the World. Stained a glor ious shade of turquoise by algae, this pool of water is said to be a window to the spirit world. Petra drinks from the pool – and falls headfirst into an encounter with the basilisk in the spirit world.

5. The Venificus Locus. The founder of Temperance was an alchemist back in the Gold Rush days. Remnants of his experiments are buried throughout the countryside. Petra possesses one such artifact, a compass with the ability to detect magic. She intends to use it to chase down the basilisk, but it only runs on fresh blood.

4. Coyote familiars. The only creature Petr a can tr ust is her coyote sidekick, Sig. He might be a coyote with an uncanny ability to navigate the spirit world, or he might be The Coyote with a capital “C.” Whichever, he has his paws full keeping track of the dangers circling Petra.

3. Ghosts of alchemists past. Petr a believes that the most recent Alchemist of Temper ance, Stroud, is dead. But his curse, living mercury, has infested one of his followers, a teenage boy named Cal. In trying to save Cal’s life, Petra inadvertently turns him over to the hands of the Sisters of Serpens, who know exactly how to use such power against all the guardians of Temperance.

2. The Hanged Men. The local undead, the Hanged Men, masquer ade as ranch hands.

Forever in the company of ravens, they must return to the Alchemical Tree of Life every night to decompose and be reborn. The magic of the tree isn’t perfect – many of the Hanged Men are little more than broken automatons, and that magic is failing. Even the power and memory of their once-indestructible leader, Gabriel, has diminished.

1. The Lunaria. The Alchemical Tree of Life is real, and it stands alone in a field owned by a ruthless cattle baron. Its roots twist deep into the earth, and its branches brush the sky. At the center of an underground warren of tunnels that reach into the very depths of the earth, the Lunaria guards the secret of the Hanged Men. But the Lunaria is dying, and the Hanged Men will do anything to save it – including chasing the basilisk to extract its magical blood and fighting anyone who stands in their way.

About the Author: Laura Bickle grew up in rural Ohio, reading entirely too many comic books out loud to her favorite Wonder Woman doll. After graduating with an MA in Sociology - Criminology from Ohio State University and an MLIS in Library Science from the University of WisconsinMilwaukee, she patrolled the stacks at the public library and worked with data systems in criminal justice. She now dreams up stories about the monsters under the stairs.

Her work has been included in the ALA’s Amelia Bloomer Project 2013 reading list and the State Library of Ohio’s Choose to Read Ohio reading list for 2015-2016.

More information about Laura’s work can be found at www.laurabickle.com https://twitter.com/Laura_Bickle https://www.facebook.com/Author.Laura.Bickle

Top Ten List of: The Devil Made Me Do It I really thought long and hard about what type of top ten lists I wanted to share with your readers. The typical, top ten scariest possession movies were an option, or the top ten cases of reported possession. And believe me, there is some pretty wacked out stuff to report on and share. The research behind the dark arts is vast and growing by the day. Theology and religion is actually a very interesting topic to discuss among your friends – if you’re brave enough and open minded enough not to push your own beliefs or disbeliefs off on other people; but, to sit back and just listen and learn…

You can’t write a book on Angels and demons without doing a bit of research. So, whether it’s on possession, the Angels themselves and their traits, the gifts that God bestowed upon them, or the fall of Satan and brethren, there is a plethora of information to learn. One topic of fascination is the legality of it and the plea of “the devil made me do it.” Once the candy is had for the taking, the body count is totaled, all arrests have been made and the evidence collected, it begs to question: can this claim hold up in court?

The Devil in Salem In 1638, the Massachusetts Bay Colony hanged Dorothy Talbye for murdering her three-year-old daughter, Difficult Talbye, at the Devil’s direction. In his journal, Puritan Governor, John Winthrop recorded the tale, which predates the Salem witch trials by fifty years.

A long member of the church of Salem, Talbye had been of good esteem for her godliness; but, falling at difference with her husband, through melancholy and spiritual delusions, she sometimes attempted to kill him, and her children, and herself, by refusing meat, and saying it was so revealed to her. After much patience…the church cast her out… Soon after that, she was so possessed with Satan, that he persuaded her (by his delusions, which she listened to as revelations from God) to break the neck of her own child, that she might free it from future misery.

At her trial, the court determined that although Mrs. Talbye thought she had been hearing the voice of God, she had actually killed her daughter while possessed by the Devil. As the law dictated, death was the only allowable punishment for the murder of Difficult Talbye.

When Demon Dogs Howl – The Son of Sam Killings After his capture in 1977, David Berkowitsz, a.k.a. the Son of Sam, New York police had six women dead and seven others wounded. When asked why he committed the murders, Berkowitz claimed that although he pulled the trigger he was acting under the orders of something else. That “something” was Harvey; a neighbor’s black Labrador that Berkowitz believed was possessed by an ancient evil which constantly cried out for “blood and death.”

For a year he taunted law enforcement and the media with claims that he was, among other things, Beelzebub, Mr. Monster, and the Son of Sam. After his capture, the New York police searched Berkowitz’ apartment, finding phrases like “In this hole lives the Wicked King,” and “Kill for my Master” scrawled on the walls. Perhaps even creepier were Berkowitz’s admissions concerning his attempts to kill the possessed dog. In order to break its hold over him, he threw a molotov cocktail at it and finally shot it. The dog survived all attempts on its life, helping Berkowitz to believe the animal was protected by supernatural forces.

Black Hands Gave Me the Gun -- The Amityville “House of Horror” On November 13, 1974, Ronald DeFeo Jr. shot and killed his mother, father, and four siblings while they slept in the family home. During his trial, DeFeo claimed that although he murdered his family, he wasn’t alone that night. As part of his insanity defense, he claimed that he’d heard voices telling him to kill. He also stated that a figure with black hands handed him a rifle and followed him throughout the house as he killed his family.

Although, DeFeo also claimed that he believed the voices he heard were messages from God, and alternatively that he was God. Despite his testimony, the jury did not believe that DeFeo was insane and instead found him guilty. Since his conviction, DeFeo has recanted much of his previous testimony, saying that he lied in an attempt to create a better insanity plea. He is currently serving six life sentences in a New York prison, one for each of his murdered family members.

Stranger Danger… (Still unsolved) Want some candy, little girl? On August 26, 1982, Rachael Runyan was playing with her 10-year-old brother in a school playground in Sunset, Utah. A black, mustached man between 25 and 35 was hanging around the park for about 15 minutes, talking to other children before he finally approached Rachael. He offered her gum and candy; she followed him to his car. Twenty-four days later her naked body was found in a stream.

Twice, when Rachael’s father has visited her grave, an unexplained black rose has been found upon the marker. Then, two and a half years after the murder, the following message appeared on a stall door in a 24-hour Laundromat: “I’m still at large . . . I killed the little Runyan girl! Remember Beware!!!!” Below it was an inverted cross with three number sixes, one at each arm and the head of the cross. Psychologists associated with the case said the real killer quite possibly wrote it.

What punishment this crime?

The devil’s in Texas Accused of bashing in the head of a teenage girl with top of a toilet tank as an offering to the devil, after he’d already stabbed her in the head with a screwdriver and gouged out her eyes while she was screamed and begged for her life; eighteen year-old Jose Reyes, stood trial in Texas.

Prosecutors claimed the fifteen year-old died as an offering to Satan. Reyes and another teen beat raped and hit her so hard there were pieces of porcelain embedded in her face. "Whether or not the devil was involved, what happened in that apartment was sadistic and inhumane," he told distressed jurors, some of whom cried.

Satan’s Sacristy On May 11, 2006, retired Roman Catholic Priest, Gerald Robinson was convicted of the murder of Sister Margaret Ann Pahl. He was convicted of strangling and stabbing Pahl in the sacristy of the chapel. At seventyone, the priest presided at her funeral Mass four days after her death. She had been stabbed 31 times, including nine times in the shape of an inverted cross. Prosecutors considered that this shape was deliberate and intended to humiliate the Sister in death. She had been found covered in an altar cloth, her clothes and body arranged to suggest she had been sexually assaulted, although it was not clear that she had been.

Although he was questioned, Robinson was not originally charged. From 1980 until 2003 the case remained unsolved. The Police received a letter from a woman who claimed that Robinson had sexually abused her when she was a child in a series of satanic rituals and abuse that also involved human sacrifice. "Survivor Doe", also filed a civil lawsuit seeking financial damages. The case was dismissed in 2011 due to having been filed too late.

The accusations however, were sent to the prosecutor's cold case unit. Using new forensic test and tech-

niques results indicated that a sword-shaped letter opener that had been found in Robinson's apartment and stored without detailed examination were consistent with the weapon that inflicted the wounds found on Sister Phal; in the words of the prosecutor's expert, it could "not be ruled out". Imprints on the altar cloth were found to closely match the letter opener. Prosecutors also found three witnesses who said they had seen the priest near the chapel around the time of the killing.

The case against Robinson went to trial on April 24, 2006. He was found guilty on all counts on May 11, 2006. This was the second conviction for homicide of a Catholic priest in the United States.

I Put a Spell on You In nineteen forty-five in Quinton, England, Charles Walton was found murdered in a ritualistic way, involving witchcraft. When his body was found on February 14, 19455, villagers were shocked at the scene of the brutal and ritualistic murder. Charles' had been found with a hook embedded in his throat, his body pinned to the ground by his pitch fork, and a large cross had been carved into his chest.

Previously documented case, such as this, include people murdering those they believe have put them under a spell. In these cases, the victim - believed to be the witch or warlock that hag cast the spell - was often given the sign of the cross by the person taking their revenge. Police think that someone thinking they had been hexed by Walton had murdered him to "break the spell".

Corn-fed Demons Sioux City, Iowa, 1981: Satanists Randolph S. Bugh, age, twenty-one and Jason B. Darah, age seventeen, received seventy-five years in prison, each for the Spring Equinox rape of a 15 year old runaway.

Fellow Satanist Jayme Moore, age twenty, received twenty-five years for his role. The trio had crashed a party, chatted the girl up. Later she went with them to an all night store to steal cigarettes. After that, they took her to a Catholic cemetery, beat her, raped her repeatedly, urinated on her, and hit her head against a tombstone.

During the episode, the three chanted "spells". All of them had been well known in the community to have been involved in black magic.

After the rape, they drove back to the store and ordered her to steal more cigarettes. When she got inside, the terrified girl told the store manager what happened, who notified police. At the booking, when asked his religion, one rapist replied, “Satanism! I just want to kill somebody!” Read more in Raising Hell: An Encyclopedia of Devil Worship and Satanic Crime by Michael Newton The Devil’s MC In nineteen eighty-four, Narcotics officers in Granbury, Texas got more than they bargained for when they seized eight jars along with two infant skeletons from Satanist Timothy Newsome. Newsome told police he stole the items from a cult of Satanist bikers in Lake County, Indiana. Indiana Police found the Biker's club house and questioned them. The bikers of course denied the items were theirs, and were not arrested.

No Sleep for the Wicked On the Virgin Islands of St. Thomas, St. Clair Daniel was arrested tried and convicted for two human sacrifices. In nineteen eighty-nine, Daniel hacked to death, Genevieve Lewis, age fifty-three, and Steve Cornish, twenty-nine, with a machete, on a beach, in broad daylight, in front of several horrified beach goers.

Family and friends told police Daniel had been a practioner of his own brand of island Voodoo and Satanism. At his trial in, Daniel tried to plead not guilty by reason of insanity, but prosecution pointed that by following the ancient voodoo superstition ritual of dismembering a victim so they could not return as a zombie, Daniel had been aware of what he was doing. He was sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.

So, that’s the list and I’m sticking to it. For now, at any rate. It’s always darkest before the dawn, they say.

How about you? Got something to believe in? Going to get a little Faith?

Faith Savage Demon Huntress Series 7 Novellas K.A. M’Lady Series Description: In the beginning God created the Heavens, the Earth…and Angels.

No one is certain when the war started – when the Angels went astray. All that is clear is that war erupted in Heaven and the Angels fell from Grace. Today that war continues.

My name is Faith Savage, and I hunt demons. Some say that God has a master plan for all of us – from an Angel’s first breath to mankind’s final death. Somewhere in between lays the battle for salvation.

Faith Savage: Book 1 Glow Longer than time, eternal angelic wars have been fought throughout the Heavens -- God's mighty warriors vying for supremacy over Lucifer and his brethren's fall from grace.

Today that war continues, spreading among God's chosen.

My name is Faith Savage, I hunt Demons. I have been to the edge of reason. Spoken with evil and walked the corridors of Hell's dark paths.

To survive the darkness, I made a deal with an angel. But my decision may cost me the one thing most precious to me...

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Faith Savage: Book 2 Fear No Evil

In the beginning, peace reigned in the Heavens. But when God created man in his image, the love, once held in the hearts of His beautiful angels, changed. Some of God's chosen grew jealous of man and envious of each other. Treachery and villainy spread like a plague. War erupted in the Heavens. Blood was spilled in the House of the Lord.

When the fallen were cast from God's Glory, they vowed to spread the taint of their darkness throughout mankind--spreading their evil and debauchery amongst the innocent like the flood of corruption and sin that it has become today. They swore never to rest until all men rotted in the fires of Hell. Vowed that in the end, rivers would run red, animals would rot in blackened pastures and the earth would become the very essence of the Valley of Death.

My name is Faith Savage, I hunt Demons. I've been to the edge of death--looked in the eyes of darkness. Seen what's on the other side.

Though I may walk through the Valley of Death--I Shall Fear No Evil.

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Faith Savage Book 3 Transgressions For the humans, the veil between Heaven and Hell, Light and Darkness, grows thinner with each night's passing. On earth the fallen have spread their dark army far into the city of man. In the shadows, the weary tremble and the weak are overtaken.

For the few who walk the dark mile on the trail of suffering's madness, they alone know the strength of a whispered prayer. Because sometimes, even darkness' wrath and hatred can learn to bow before a spirit's faith.

My name is Faith Savage, I hunt Demons. I know that even the strong and righteous suffer the weight from a world filled with sin. For in the end, it is the true believers who know that a loving God forgives you your transgressions.

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Faith Savage Book 4: When Angels Fall In the beginning peace reigned in the Heavens and a chorus of angels sang their praise to the Lord. But there was one who coveted God’s power, His beauty and His grace. With desire came rebellion. Violence ensued and corruption followed. For the first time in creation blood was spilled amongst God’s mighty.

Throughout time there are those who have said that in the darkness where cold truths and the ugliness of iniquity reign, evil rides the shadows of vanity’s wants and desire’s yearnings. That temptation began as a whispered kissed. That even God’s mighty Angels were not immune to the devil’s corruption.

Today some say it’s best to leave the shadows to themselves and let the night have its madness for in the end only the Light of the Spirit can see a soul’s true worth. But what happens when the Heaven’s bleed and an Angel’s will is broken? What happens when the truth is immersed in darkness and those, once pure of heart, have no one to call on and nothing left to defend?

My name is Faith Savage – I know what it is to be stalked by darkness. To look in the eye of madness and know you’ve no one to call as friend. It is here, on this dark path to inhumanity and the search for redemption, that I hunt demons. Because when Angels fall only the Light will show the way for the damned to meet their end.

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Faith Savage Book 5 The Ash Collector In the beginning, God created man in his image; from dust and ash, hope was cast.

Yet, as far as time remembers, in the scrolls of history’s past, it was written that woman brought temptation to the garden. Woman introduced death unto man. But have you forgotten about the trickster? Was mortal destruction not his master plan?

There are those who say death is a celebration. One soul’s defiant, heavy passing; another’s gentle ease into the Light. Commemorations for the departed. Forgiveness of old transgressions. A final rest for pity, the end to immortal strife. But is death just the beginning? And who comes to collect you when you pass?

What happens to the worthy if the Light turns against them? Do they stand their ground – Stay and fight? What about those who seek no forgiveness? Do the deceiver’s minions scurry from the darkness? Come and collect their next eternal victim? Is everlasting damnation the deceased’s future plight?

My name is Faith Savage. I know what it is to walk the dark shadows at the edge of destruction. To feel the presence of The Collector in the night. I know what it is to bleed the dust of life’s possibilities, to sift through the ash of mankind’s hopes and dreams. To seek the evil that makes souls rot. It is here in this impossible darkness that I hunt demons, searching for my own answers and retributions, in the battle for the Light.

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Faith Savage Book 6: Wicked's Kiss Some Hungers Burn Hotter Than Hell...

There are those who say that we are all God’s children. That the Blood of Christ released us from sins. But there are others that hold to the original sins. Temptations purchased for a copper, a penny, a fine golden coin.

Even the priests bought and sold lies with the silver kisses of thieves; might cost you a stoning – ten pence for a whore.

Some have written that from a garden God created the first cast-off demon; a viper feigned in the guise of a woman. Her kisses, once given, led to eternal damnation. And, from one sacred garden to our Christ’s last temptation, a kiss by the wicked brought about mankind’s salvation. Bought and paid for by greed, perhaps even envy – all impugnable transgressions.

But when is a kiss just a kiss in the game of redemption? What price does a man pay for the ultimate betrayal?

Is the cost greater than the price of his soul?

My name is Faith Savage. When dealing with matters of faith, God, religion and demons, I’ve found there are no easy answers. I’ve stumbled my way through Hell’s treacherous dark byways seeking God and the answers to these and many other questions. I’ve learned that nothing is as it seems when dealing with demons and Angels. And sometimes, love and faith creates just another way to burn.

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Faith Savage Book 7 Sinner It was written that each soul would have a Guardian. A Warrior of Light to watch over it. Protect it. Be its shield against the darkness, its sword against the fallen. But the days grew dark. Man’s souls darker still. Many turned away from the Light of God, cast aside His word and His love. And the Guardians rebelled.

Some say that this was his second transgression. What led to his ultimate betrayal. Others say that he too was but pawn in God’s glorious manipulation. A means to an end of man’s dark days. One thing is certain, only God knows the truth of his story. Only He knows a soul’s true worth and its fate.

My name is Faith Savage. In this game of good and evil I’ve met the Guardian that God sent me. His story I am just beginning to learn. His history, I am told, has marked him as damned. But, everyone knows Christ died for the sinners. The only question that remains is, could we forgive him if we controlled his fate?

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Book 8 – Messenger - Coming Soon There’s also a short story Faith Savage, Demon Huntress: Bonus Story - Faith's Temptation

About the Author: Author K.A. M’Lady lives a few stone throws from corn fields, chaos and congestion; all lying on the outskirts of the many burbs of Chicago.

KA M'lady spends her days calculating life expectancies, mortality and the certainty of death and taxes while in her free time the dead wander freely, buy shoes, homes, the occasional odd business or two and, if you even think of charging them too much in taxes…well, let’s just say the tax man may never come back. But if he does he might just shamble a bit.

An All Romance eBooks bestselling author, K.A. M'lady's work has been described as scary, descriptive, beautiful, dark, frightening, prosaic, addictive, sexy and believable. She loves to read paranormal romances, watch horror movies, westerns on Sundays with her husband, play fetch with her pocket beagle, Chevy and buy weird shoes. Her friends call her eccentric, her family refuses to comment. She’s been lost in the world of fiction since she was a small child, and frankly, never wants to be found—at least not any time soon.

“Myth and magic builds dreams and inspirations – and in an insane world, it is our dreams that spark the revolution of change. No matter which world is being conquered. Within our dreams – all things are possible.” http://www.kamlady.net/ http://kamladyotherworld.blogspot.com/ https://www.pinterest.com/KAMLadyauthor http://www.facebook.com/kamlady http://www.facebook.com/ FaithSavageDemonHuntress http://www.mojocastle.com

Creating a Setting for Your Characters Otherwise Known as Worldbuilding Ann Gimpel I’d love to say I use the same process for every book I write, but I don’t. Many of my books begin with an image, or series of images, that form the basis for the book. I occasionally begin with an empty world, and it tells me what kind of characters it needs. I’m more likely to begin with a character and form a world around them, though.

The Dragon Lore series began a big differently. I wrote To Love a Highland Dragon two years ago, and the first thing that came to me was the image in Chapter One of a dragon shifter wakening in his cave deep beneath Inverness after being ensorcelled for over three hundred years.

Elements I built specifically for that book were dragon shifters including how the bond worked and what magic it conferred. I had to figure out how to weave time travel in as well. I actually wrote the prequel after books one and two were complete. And I wrote Dragon’s Dare at the end—just where it should be since it’s the last book.

As the series progressed, I added dragon society to the mix. Interestingly, Dragon Maid, the book after To Love A Highland Dragon, began with another male dragon shifter and it just didn’t feel right. Enter Britta—and her dragon. Once I had the proper main character, the rest of the book flowed from there.

One of the things I love about urban fantasy, as opposed to high fantasy, is it’s set in the “real” world. No odd names for things. No triple moons transiting the sky. My favorite urban fantasies feel so real, they could actually happen. That hunk living next door could be a closet Celtic god, who’s really been alive for millennia. Or a mountain lion shifter jetting off to Europe to track a dangerous adversary. That being said, even urban fantasy needs magic systems that are consistent. Nothing annoys me more than characters who can do everything as an author lurches from one convenient plot twist to the next.

The Dragon Lore books actually combine high fantasy with urban fantasy. When I created a dragon society, they needed their own world. And they got it. A world of heat and volcanoes and lava flows just beyond the edge of time.

Let me tell you a secret. I’m wretchedly old-fashioned. We lost something when our lives got

very easy. There’s not much challenge left anymore, unless we create it. That’s why I’ve had a lifelong love affair with traveling the backcountry with a pack, where I have to rely on my wits.

I’ve been cold, lost, and out of food, but I feel ever so much more alive when I get back to civilization.

I give my characters similar challenges. They need wits, creativity, and courage to survive to the next chapter, let alone make it to the end of the book. That their worlds hold tests and trials ups the ante.

How about the rest of you authors out there. Do you create characters first, or worlds? Or do they come to you as a unit that refuses to be separated?

Highland Secrets A Dragon Lore Prequel Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 60K words

Release Date: 9/08/15 Genre: Paranormal romance Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, and Scottish dragon shifters Book Description: Furious and weary, Angus Shea wants out, but no matter how he feels, he can’t stop the magic powering his visions. The Celts kidnapped him when he wasn’t much more than a boy and forced him to do their bidding. He’s sick of them and their endless assignments, but they wiped his memories, and he has no idea where he came from.

Dragon shifters are disappearing from the Scottish Highlands, and the Celtic Council sends Angus to investigate. He meets up with Arianrhod, legendary virgin huntress from Celtic myth, in

Fire Mountain, the dragons’ home world.

Arianrhod prefers to work alone, mostly because she harbors a dirty little secret and guards her privacy for the best of reasons. She’s not exactly a virgin, and she’d be laughed out of the Pantheon if the truth surfaced. Despite the complications of leading a double life, she’s never found a lover who tempted her to walk away from her fellow Celtic gods.

Attraction ignites, hot and so urgent Arianrhod’s carefully balanced life teeters on the brink of discovery. Angus is everything she’s ever wanted, but he’s far too close to her Celtic kin to keep her secret safe. Angus wants her too, but she’s a Celt. He’s hated them forever, and she’s part of everything he’s lain awake nights plotting to escape from.

Can they risk everything?

Will they?

If they do, can they live with the consequences?

Excerpt: …Excitement thrummed through her, and she considered how to proceed once she arrived at Fire Mountain. Mayhap she could pretend she was interested in pairing with a dragon.

She narrowed her eyes and chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. Should she join with Angus and the dragon, Eletea? Or pretend she knew nothing about them. If she chose to masquerade as a wannabe dragon shifter, would the Ancient Ones believe her?

“Why would they?” she muttered. “I haven’t shown the slightest interest in anything dragon-related since the dawn of time.” Perhaps she could tell them she was bored, that her life lacked meaning, purpose. All true. Immortality held a big downside, particularly since somewhere along the line, she’d fashioned herself as the virgin huntress.

Arianrhod rolled her mental eyes. Why the hell had she thought that was a good idea when Danu suggested it? At the time, she’d hoped to escape Bran’s attentions, but she hadn’t planned on a millennia tossing and turning in an empty bed. The god of prophecy—Bran—was as big a pain in the ass as he’d always been, but at least he had a cock…

She winced. It had taken stealth and cunning to maintain her artfully crafted persona and still have a sex life. Nothing frequent enough to draw attention, but she’d lain with an amazing coal black dragon. He’d worried his kin would shun him if their affair were discovered, but it hadn’t made a dent in his hunger for her.

Nothing quite like the forbidden to fan those flames…

Truth smacked her between the eyes. Loneliness and lust were why she’d volunteered so readily to make the trek to Fire Mountain. And why she’d sidestepped Gwydion. The last thing she needed was a witness if she stumbled onto Keene—or another likely candidate. Dragons lived forever. Perhaps Keene might be interested in another fling—for old time’s sake if nothing else.

Usually she stopped herself from thinking about her past and what she wished she’d done differently, but she couldn’t shut off her thoughts. If she’d had children, real children, it

would’ve made such a difference.

The two sons she’d conceived magically were odd. But how could they have been aught else? She’d been forced to jump over a magical rod to prove she was a virgin, and twin sons were the result. Dylan sank into obscurity, retreating to the seas when the strain of day-to-day life without enough power to light a candle became too much to bear. Lleu would’ve left as well, but Gwydion subverted every single one of Lleu’s escape plans as he grew to manhood.

Lleu blamed her for Gwydion’s meddling, and she hadn’t laid eyes on him for a very long time.

She suspected Gwydion hadn’t, either.

Her empty life mocked her, but she was damned if she could figure out what to do to change it. It wasn’t as if she could march up to Ceridwen and the others, clear her throat, and say, “Sorry, but I’m sick of being a Celtic god. Think I’ll be a mortal for a while. And hey, if that doesn’t please you, I’ll take to my owl form and be done with the lot of you.”

“Oberon’s balls!” She crashed one fist into an open hand, taking care not to jostle the traveling portal. “I have to pull my head out of my ass. Ceridwen handed me a fascinating problem. I need to focus on it. No dragon fucking. No diversions. Go in. Put my head down. Get the job done.”

Nice lecture, but can I do it?

Arianrhod stroked the shiny bow draped over her shoulder. It was a work of art. She’d made it herself from yew wood, not cutting any corners, so it took months for the wood to shape and cure. She twisted her mouth into a wry smile. The huntress part of her title was fine. It fit, and she enjoyed the cunning, planning, and forethought it took to outsmart prey.

If she was sick of the pretend-to-be-a-virgin part, who could blame her?

The rhythm of her traveling tube shifted.

Arianrhod glanced at a node to check her location and understood her journey would be over soon. She rotated her shoulders to relax and ready herself, thought about her virgin huntress title once more, and laughed.

“The virgin part may grate, but I adore being a huntress. Fifty percent isn’t bad,” she told the gray-pink walls as they shuddered to a stop. “Most people don’t even get that.”…

To Love A Highland Dragon Dragon Lore Book One

Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 75K words Release Date: 9/22/15 Genre: Paranormal romance Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, and Scottish dragon shifters Book Description: A dragon shifter stirs and wakens in a cave beneath Inverness, deep in the Scottish Highlands.

The cave’s the same and his hoard intact, yet something’s badly amiss. Determined to set whatever’s gone wrong to rights, Lachlan Moncrieffe ventures above ground—and wishes he hadn’t. His castle’s gone, replaced by ungainly row houses. Men aren’t wearing plaids, and women scarcely wear anything at all, particularly the woman who accosts him with unseemly banter. What manner of wench is she to dress so provocatively?

In Inverness for a year on a psychiatry fellowship, Dr. Maggie Hibbins watches an oddly dressed man pick his way out of a heather and gorse thicket. Even though it runs counter to her better judgment, she teases him about his strange attire. He looks so lost—and so unbelievably, knock-out gorgeous —she takes a chance and stands him a meal. Lachlan’s shock when he picks up a local newspaper at a pub is so palpable, Maggie jumps in with both feet.

She knew something was off, but the hard-to-accept truth bashes gaping holes in her equilibrium. He looks odd, sounds odd, acts odd because he’s a refugee from another era. Her halfbaked seduction scheme takes a hike, but her carefully constructed life is still about to change forever. Born of powerful witches, Maggie runs headlong into the myth and magic that are her birthright.

Excerpt: … He detached the last thorn, finally clear of the thicket of sticker bushes. Where could he find a market with vendors? Did market day still exist in this strange environment?

“Holy crap! A kilt, and an old-fashioned one at that. Tad bit early in the day for a costume ball, isn’t it?” A rich female voice laced with amusement sounded behind him.

Lachlan spun, hands raised to call magic. He stopped dead once his gaze settled on a lass nearly as tall as himself, which meant she was close to six feet. She turned so she faced him squarely. Bare legs emerged from torn fabric that stopped just south of her female parts.

Full breasts strained against scraps of material attached to strings tied around her neck and back. Her feet were encased in a few straps of leather. Long, blonde hair eddied around her, the color of sheaves of summer wheat.

His cock jumped to attention. He itched to make a grab for her breasts or her ass. She

had an amazing ass: round and high and tight. What was expected of him? The lass was dressed in such a way as to invite him to simply tear what passed for breeks aside and enter her. Had times changed so drastically that women provoked men into public sex? He glanced about, half expecting to see couples having it off with one another willy-nilly.

“Well,” she urged. “Cat got your tongue?” She placed her hands on her hips. The motion stretched the tiny bits of flowered fabric that barely covered her nipples still further.

Lachlan bowed formally. He straightened and waited for her to hold out a hand for him to kiss. “I’m Lachlan Moncrieffe, my lady. ’Tis a pleasure to—” She erupted into laughter—and didn’t hold out her hand. “I’m Maggie,” she managed between gouts of mirth. “What are you? A throwback to medieval times? You can drop the Sir Galahad routine.” lady.”

Lachlan felt his face heat. “I fear I doona understand the cause of your merriment…my

Maggie rolled midnight blue eyes. “Oh, brother. Did you escape from a mental hospital?

Nah, you’d be in pajamas then, not those fancy duds.” She dropped her hands to her sides and started to walk past him.

“No. Wait. Please, wait.” Lachlan cringed at the whining tone in his voice. The dragon was correct that the Moncrieffe was a proud house. They bowed to no one.

She eyed him askance. “What?”

“I’m a stranger in this town.” He winced at the lie. Once upon a time, he’d been master of these lands. Apparently that time had long since passed. “I’m footsore and hungry. Where might I find victuals and ale?”

Her eyes widened. Finely arched blonde brows drew together over a straight nose dotted by a few freckles. “Victuals and ale,” she repeated disbelievingly.

“Aye. Food and drink, in the common vernacular.”

“Oh, I understood you well enough,” Maggie murmured. “Your words, anyway. Your accent’s a bit off.” His stomach growled again, embarrassingly loud. “Guess you weren’t kidding about being hungry.” She eyed him appraisingly. “Do you have any money?”

Money. Too late he thought of the piles of gold coins and priceless gems lying on the floor of Kheladin’s cave. In the world he’d left, his word was as good as his gold. He opened his mouth, but she waved him to silence. “I’ll stand you for a pint and some fish and chips. You can treat me next time.”

He heard her mutter, “Yeah right,” under her breath as she curled a hand around his arm and tugged. “Come on. I have a couple hours, and then I’ve got to go to work. I’m due in at three today.”

Lachlan trotted along next to her. She let go of him like he was a viper when he tried to close a hand over the one she’d laid so casually on his person. He cleared his throat and wondered what he could safely ask that wouldn’t give his secrets away. He could scarcely believe

this alien landscape was Scotland, but if he asked what country they were in, or what year it was, she’d think him mad.

Had the black wyvern had used some diabolical dark magic to transport Kheladin’s cave to another locale? Probably not. Even Rhukon wasn’t that powerful.

“In here.” She pointed to a door beneath a flashing sigil.

He gawked at it. One minute it was red, the next blue, the next green, illuminating the word Open. What manner of magic was this?

“Don’t tell me you have temporal lobe epilepsy.” She stared at him. “It’s only a neon sign. It doesn’t bite. Move through the door. There’s food on the other side,” she added slyly.

Feeling like a rube, Lachlan searched for a latch. When he didn’t find one, he pushed his shoulder against the door. It opened, and he held it with a hand so Maggie could enter first.

“After you, my lady,” he murmured.

“Stop that.” She spoke into his ear as she went past. “No more my ladies. Got it?”

“Aye. Got it.” He followed her into a low ceilinged room lined with wooden planks. It was the first thing that looked familiar. Parts of it, anyway. Men—kilt-less men—sat at the bar, hefting glasses and chatting. The tables were empty. bar.

“What’ll it be, Mags?” a man with a towel tied around his waist called from behind the

“Couple of pints and two of today’s special. Come to think of it…” She eyed Lachlan so intently it made him squirm. “Make that three of the special.”

“May I inquire just what the special is?” Lachlan asked, thinking he might want to order something different.

Maggie waved a hand at a black board suspended over the bar. “It’s right there. If you can’t read it—” “Of course, I can read.” He resented the inference he might be uneducated but swallowed back harsh words.

“Excellent. Then move.”

She shoved her body into his in a distressingly familiar way for such a communal location. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed the contact if they were alone, and he were free to take advantage of it… hear.”

“All the way to the back,” she hissed into his ear. “That way if you slip up, no one will

He bristled. Lachlan Moncrieffe did not sit in the back of any establishment. He was always given a choice table near the center of things. He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.

She scooped an armful of flattened scrolls off the bar before following him to the back of the room. Once there, she dumped them on the table between them. He wanted to ask what

they were but decided he should pretend to know. He turned the top sheaf of papers toward him and scanned the close-spaced print. Many of the words were unfamiliar, but what leapt off the page was The Inverness Courier and presumably the current date: June 10, 2012.

His heart thudded in his ears, deafening him with the roar of rushing blood, as he stared at the date.

It had been 1683 when Rhukon chivied him into the dragon’s cave. Three hundred twenty-nine years ago, give or take a month or two. At least he was still in Inverness—for all the good it did him.

“You look as if you just saw a ghost.” Maggie spoke quietly.

“Nay. I’m quite fine. Thank you for inquiring…my, er…” Lachlan shut up. Anything he said was bound to be wrong.

“Good.” She nodded approvingly. “You’re learning.” The bartender slapped two mugs of ale on the scarred wooden table.

“On your tab, Mags?” he asked.

She nodded. “Except you owe me so much, you’ll never catch up.”

Still shell-shocked by the realization hundreds of years had slipped past while he and Kheladin slept, Lachlan took a sip of what turned out to be weak ale. It wasn’t half bad but could’ve stood an infusion of bitters. Because it was easier than thinking about his problems, he puzzled over what Maggie meant about the barkeep owing her so much he’d never catch up.

Why would the barkeep owe her? His nostrils flared. She must work for the establishment— probably as a damsel of ill repute from the looks of her. Mayhap, she hadn’t been paid her share of whatever she earned in quite some time.

Protectiveness flared deep inside him. Maggie shouldn’t have to earn her way lying on her back. He’d see to it she had a more seemly position.

Aye, once I find my way around this bizarre new world.

Money wouldn’t be a problem, but changing three-hundred-year-old gold coins into today’s tender might prove challenging. Surely banks existed that could accomplish something like that.

One thing at a time.

“So.” She skewered him with her blue gaze—Norse eyes if he’d ever seen a set—and took a sip from her mug. “What did you see in the newspaper that upset you so much?”

“Nothing.” He tried for an offhand tone.

“Bullshit,” she said succinctly. “I’m a doctor. A psychiatrist. I read people’s faces quite well, and you look as if you’re perilously close to going into shock.”…

Dragon Maid Dragon Lore Book Two Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 64K words Release Date: 10/5/15 Genre: Paranormal romance Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, and Scottish dragon shifters

Book Description: When pressed, Jonathan Shea admits magic runs through his blood, but he’s always been ambivalent about it—until a dragon and her mage show up in the Scottish Highlands, and then all bets are off. Jonathan’s charmed and captivated by the dragon—a creature fresh out of myth and legend—but the woman bonded to it is so enticing, he tosses caution aside and catapults into the magical power he’s avoided for so long.

Britta and her dragon prepare for a battle to save Earth. Freshly transplanted from a much earlier time, she feels awkward, out of place. The first person she lays eyes on is Jonathan.

There’s something about him. She can’t quite pinpoint it, but he has way more magic than he lets on. Magic aside, it runs deeper than that. For the first time ever, she questions the wisdom of remaining a maid. If she doesn’t make up her mind damned fast, though, her choices will fritter away. Beset from every side, she’s never needed her magical ability more.

Surrounded by dragon shifters, Celtic gods, Selkies, time travel, and a heaping portion of magic, Jonathan comes into his own fast. Fell creatures target him, Britta, and her dragon. In the midst of chaos, he and Britta find scorching passion and love so heartbreakingly tender, it will change their lives forever.

Amazon Barnes and Noble iTunes Kobo Excerpt: …Jonathan tried not to stare, but it was a losing battle. The woman—no, the dragon shifter—was the most perfect, the most alluring, creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Tall, with high, rounded breasts, a slender waist, and curvy hips, she looked like a goddess. Who knew? Maybe she was. The Celts had many deities. He fumbled with his rucksack and pulled out a turkey sandwich on rye bread, which he handed to her.

She yanked the wrappings aside, dropping them onto the floor while she stuffed food into her mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly. “Ye said there were two of these meat and bread things.” Britta surveyed him, her golden eyes alight with interest.

“Yes, I did. If I give you both, I’ll be hungry.”

She shrugged. “Not my problem. Also, I requested mead.”

Jonathan’s lips twitched. He corralled the smile that wanted out. Britta was an imperious bitch, yet there was something so undeniably appealing about her straightforward nature, it was impossible to feel offended. “No mead. At least I don’t have any. We could ask the other witches, or if we found you some clothes, we could go into the city and buy a proper meal, and as much to drink as you wanted.”

She cocked her head to one side and popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. “I can go as I am. Shall we walk or use magic, witch?”

“Um, no, you can’t go as you are. You’d be arrested.”

She tilted her chin up. “Why? I can see where I might freeze to death, but who would give a jolly fuck whether I’m dressed or not?”

Before he could craft an explanation, Kheladin stalked over, trailed by three female witches stroking the scales on his lower body. “Lachlan kept a clothes chest against the far wall.” He pointed with a talon. “I’m certain some of his shirts and tights would work, though there’s little to be done by way of shoes.”

Britta’s gaze landed on a particularly large heap of gold jewelry and coins. “I could borrow a bit of money from your hoard, just a coin or two, and—” Kheladin’s eyes whirled faster, glittering dangerously. “I doona think so. Unless your First Born bondmate orders me.”

“No need to disturb Tarika.” Britta turned a brilliant smile on Jonathan and tapped his chest with her index finger. “He can buy me what I need.” Magic shimmered around her.

“Come close, witch. We’re leaving.”

Kheladin stumped to Britta’s side. The counter spell he summoned to dampen her power sparkled, and multi-hued strands wrapped around her. Her lips curled in fury, and she raised her

hands to call magic of her own.

“Not so fast,” Kheladin snapped. “First, ye’ve forgotten ye need clothes. Second, Tarika was in an all-fired hurry to find me. Such a big hurry, ye went without food or rest. Why?” Britta shook her head so hard, her hair danced about her body. She swept the heels of her hands down her cheeks, distorting her perfect features. “Och aye, whatever is wrong with me? Nay, I know the answer. The Morrigan is furious because Lachlan triumphed over the black and red wyverns, and their dragon shifter mages.”

“Good the old Battle Crow even noticed,” Kheladin growled and breathed a fiery gout of flames.

“She did more than notice. She cast a spell to disrupt our memories out of sheer meanness. If ye wouldna have reminded me… Hell, ’tis surprised I am we got here at all. The Celtic gods, Gwydion and Arawn, sent us to warn you and Lachlan. They told us their magic would trump the Morrigan’s, but not forever.” One corner of her mouth turned down. “’Twould appear I just ran up against forever. Or mayhap their magic got subverted by your wards.”

“What impact has the Morrigan’s mischief had on the rest of our kind?”

“Those in Fire Mountain are safe so long as they remain there. The memory-altering spell only snares them when they set foot on Earth.”

“We just saw Gwydion, Arawn, and Ceridwen, and they dinna tell us aught of any such casting. Did they try to neutralize it?”

She cast a look Kheladin’s way that said he should ask something worth her time answering.

Jonathan watched the exchange, chest tight with excitement, feeling he’d fallen into one of the old tales where heroes and heroines walked among humans.

“Let me try again.” Kheladin sounded exasperated. “Did the Morrigan wake the black wyvern’s mage, Rhukon?” “’Twas the first thing she did.”

“So all our effort was for naught.” The dragon clanked his jaws together. “I must alert Lachlan. Where’d the Celts find you? And how long ago?”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Not in Fire Mountain, though I admit Tarika and I retreated there after Rhukon, Connor, and their dragons teamed with the Morrigan, and things werena looking good. Nay, the Celts plucked us out of the sixteen hundreds. They told us enough about what the future holds to alarm us and sent us on our way.”

“Aye, and how long ago was that,” Kheladin prodded.”

“Mayhap a week. Tarika had things to attend to afore we could come. Why is that important?”

“Because Lachlan and I just sought them out, and they reminded us they doona censure their own, meaning they have no plans to clip the Battle Crow’s wings.”

“I believe I understand.” Tarika forced her voice through Britta’s vocal chords. “They rousted us out to excuse themselves from action. Craven bastards, the lot of them.” Fire rolled from Britta’s mouth.

“For the love of the goddess,” she sputtered from around flames. “Stop that.”

Kheladin inclined his head. “Though the circumstances leave much to be desired, thank you for coming.”

A warm smile lit Britta’s face. It softened her features and made her look barely more than a girl. Jonathan’s cock stiffened where it pressed against his jeans. Breath caught in his throat, and he fought against touching her, running his hands down her golden skin. He drew magic around himself to mask his lust, make it unobtrusive, but she noticed anyway.

Britta turned an appraising glance his way. “Aye, ye’d do well to hide your rut from me.”

Embarrassed at being caught out but curious too, he asked, “Why?” She tossed her head at Kheladin. “Tell him, dragon. Mayhap he’ll believe it if he hears it from another, ahem, male.” Her last word dripped sarcasm…

Dragon’s Dare Dragon Lore Book Three Ann Gimpel Dream Shadow Press 85K words Release Date: 10/19/15 Genre: Paranormal romance Tumble off reality’s edge into myth, magic, and Scottish dragon shifters Book Description:

Bloated on chaos, the Morrigan leaves the Scottish Highlands to gather power. A trip through Hell yields quite the assortment of allies tagging along behind her. Fell creatures straight out of myth and nightmare that haven’t darkened Earth’s boundaries for centuries heed her call.

Heartily sick of the Morrigan’s maneuvering, the dragons are close to shutting their world off from everywhere, Earth included. If they do, every dragon shifter bond will be broken. Horrified, Lachlan and Britta launch a desperate campaign to hang onto their dragons.

Magic may bite back, but if the dragons take their magic ball and go home, Earth will fade, along with all other worlds. That suits the Morrigan fine. War and anarchy are her favorite companions, and she collects misery like children gather beloved toys.

Arianrhod’s fellow Celts found out about her fall from grace and her half-Druid son, Jonathan.

With nothing further to hide, she goes back in time hunting Angus, Jonathan’s father. Forty years apart was a steep price to pay. The world needs Angus’s magic. And Jonathan needs all the help he can get. Late to accept the power thrumming through him, he holds a key role in keeping the world from spinning off its axis. Reluctant at first, Jonathan finally gets it.

Absolute focus.

Absolute commitment.

Anything less and everyone he loves will pay an unthinkable price.

Amazon Barnes and Noble iTunes Kobo

Excerpt: …Jonathan Shea cradled Britta in his arms. She was asleep, the rhythm and cadence of her breathing revealed her exhaustion. He still couldn’t believe he’d found a mate, and a woman linked to a dragon at that. Britta KilKerran was actually the Countess of Cumbria, or she had been a few hundred years back. He wasn’t certain such a title still existed.

It didn’t matter. He’d offer up his life to protect the woman slumbering against his chest.

He loved her dragon too, but Tarika scarcely needed his protection. When he thought of the scarlet-scaled dragon, one of the First Born, the place on his neck where she’d marked him with a mating bite tingled. It was her contribution to his bond with Britta.

She stirred in his arms. He stroked strands of long, red-gold hair away from her face and spun a small spell to keep her asleep. They’d just come from a major battle to free Tarika and Kheladin, another dragon, from the Morrigan’s clutches. Both of them needed rest, but his heart and mind were too full to let go quite yet.

After years of never believing the rumor about his mother being a Celtic deity, he’d finally met her. He brought it on himself by calling for her when they desperately needed help, but he never believed she’d actually show up. Regardless, he couldn’t deny her existence anymore—no matter how much he might want to. Arianrhod had abandoned him when he was so

young he had no memories of her, and when he cut to the bone of things, he resented the crap out of her neglect.

Jonathan shut his eyes for a moment and summoned an image of his father. Tall and rangy with shaggy, rich brown hair and amber eyes, Angus had been a dreamer. He did his best for Jonathan, but often as not, he’d been caught up in some trance state or another. Though Angus hadn’t said so, Jonathan understood his father was relieved when he grew old enough to be on his own. Once Jonathan left Ireland, Angus vanished. Their modest cabin near Inishowen remained, but Jonathan knew better than to waste time hunting for a man who didn’t wish to be found.

Had Arianrhod seen Angus all these years he’d been missing? Jonathan could ask her, but she might just stare him down with those inscrutable eyes—one gold, the other silver—and not bother to answer.

He tightened his hold on Britta, and she nestled closer. She was more comfortable about Arianrhod being his mother than he was, but then she was far more comfortable with magic in general. He blew out a breath, recognizing his life would never be the same.

Not that he wanted it to be, but he would’ve preferred finding the love of his life without having to deal with a long-lost parent. Particularly one who stirred up a welter of prickly feelings. Now if Angus were to show back up, it would be a different story…

Britta wriggled against him, and her golden eyes flickered open. She regarded him sleepily through thick red lashes. “Ye canna rest, my love?”

Jonathan shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “Lots to think about.”

She cupped the side of his face in one hand. “Do ye wish to talk about anything?”

He shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable. What was there to say, really? He was a little old to be struggling with parent issues. Besides he’d long since come to terms with his father’s magic being too pervasive for him to spend much time around normal humans. Jonathan dealt with some level of that as well, but his job as a software engineer who designed games let him keep to himself.

Britta brushed her hand across his lips. “Whenever ye wish, I’ll be here. Tarika too. She’s verra old and much wiser than either of us. If ye canna get the information elsewhere, mayhap we can figure out what sort of hold the Celtic gods had on your da.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.” Jonathan reached around her and snagged a bottle of Irish whiskey off the nightstand. “Would you like some? I can get us glasses.”

“Och, and I can drink from the bottle. No need to get fancy.”

She smiled, and it transformed her into something so striking he couldn’t look away. A high forehead gave way to sculpted cheekbones and a defined chin. One of his old T-shirts covered her from chest to knees, but the outline of her breasts was clearly visible through the wellaged beige fabric.

His cock stirred, and he rolled his eyes. “We made love twice after we got here. I don’t understand why I can’t get enough of you.”

“Are ye complaining?” She quirked an arched red brow.

He shook his head and drew both of them to a half sitting position against the carved oak headboard. He uncorked the bottle and handed it to her. She drank deep before handing it back.

Britta narrowed her eyes and watched him drink. “We’re far from home free,” she blurted without preamble.

“Which problem are you referring to?” He placed the bottle on a side table not bothering to cork it. He wasn’t done yet, and likely neither was Britta.

She moved away and sat cross-legged facing him, her lovely face creased with concern.

“We may have permanently removed Connor and Rhukon and their dragons from the action, but there have to be other corrupt dragon shifters. We must seek them out and destroy them too.”

Jonathan shook his head. “It won’t matter unless we get to the heart of things.”

“Aye, ye’re correct. We must find a way to corral the Morrigan, or she’ll just entice more mages and dragons with promises of limitless power.” Britta caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Tarika plans to warn the dragons. She believes the dark mages want to drain their dragon bondmates’ power.”

Jonathan straightened and recaptured the whiskey bottle, taking another swallow. “I thought mages became dragon shifters because they loved dragons and wished to share their lives with them.”

“Aye and that would be true—for most of us. Power lures dark mages, though. Far more power than can be had through the normal dragon shifter bond.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw it in Connor and Rhukon’s minds afore we thrashed them.”

“You didn’t say anything.” He handed her the bottle. Maybe they should eat something, if they were going to drink much more.

“I would have. Eventually. Tarika and I needed to determine just what it meant. And if ’tis really true, or just conjecture on our part.”

He kissed her forehead before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m going to cut up a bit of cheese for us and get some crackers.” He pulled on a pair of black sweat pants, securing the waist string to keep them from falling down, and got to his feet.

“Excellent.” She grinned. “Plotting revenge is hungry business, but ye dinna have to cover that amazing cock.”

He bit back a laugh, enjoying the compliment, and made his way to the kitchen. His apartment was small enough to keep talking. “Did you discuss this with Lachlan?” he asked as he chopped cheese off a block and opened a box of biscuits.

“Nay, but Tarika and Kheladin figured out what was going on while they were held pris-

oner.”

Jonathan returned to the bedroom and plopped the snacks on the bed next to Britta. “How does this bondmate thing work? Would Lachlan be privy to the dark mage problem, if it’s in his dragon’s mind?”…

About the Author: Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients, now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over 30 books to date, with several more planned for 2015 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.

Find Ann At:

www.anngimpel.com http://anngimpel.blogspot.com http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author @AnnGimpel (for Twitter)

Arrrr: 5 Reasons Why We Love Pirates by Suzanne Johnson When I started my Sentinels of New Orleans series several years ago, I wanted to bring some famous New Orleanians into my urban fantasy tale. And no one is more famous in New Orleans than the early 19th-century French-born pirate named Jean Lafitte.

Originally, Lafitte was going to be kind of a morally shady character who’d be in one scene. Then he came back for a second scene…and a third…and a fourth. Now, as the standalone novella and story collection PIRATESHIP DOWN comes out, it might as well be his series. Fact is, the more I researched the real Jean Lafitte, the more fascinating he became.

Luckily for me, readers also fell in love with the wily (and oh-so-sexy) scoundrel, which made me think about another famous pirate—the fictional Captain Jack Sparrow—and why women find pirates sexy.

Because we do. Right? Tell me it isn’t just me!

So here are my 5 Reasons We Love Pirates: 1) They’re alpha bad boys. This cannot be stressed enough: Women love Alpha Bad Boys. Less so in real life, where they often end up being abusers or jail material, but a sexy bad boy with an air of danger that we can tame? Oh yeah. (Of course we don’t want to tame him TOO much.) I mean, my undead Jean Lafitte might profess his desire for heroine DJ, a wizard, but she knows as well as he does that he never leaves home without a few hidden daggers and a mean-looking pistol. And the cutlass. And sometimes a sword.

2) They are exotic. I mean, they live for months at sea. They mete out their own kind of justice. Oh sure, they’re thieves, but they’re thieves in the middle of the bounding main and all that stuff. No office jobs or farm work for these guys. The exotic nature of their work and lifestyle adds to their wildness, their bad boyness. See No. 1. Jean might brush elbows with the social elite of the preternatural world, but at the end of the day he goes home to his mansion on the beach furnished with lavish furnishings stolen from Spanish galleons. Not to mention the cannons in all the second-floor windows. You know, in case the gendarmes show up.

3) They dress like, well, pirates. They wear tight pants and tall boots, and those open, flowing tunics always show tantalizing glimpses of six-pack abs. I mean you have to be strong to engage in swordplay and hoist sails in the same day, right? Well, okay, I don’t know that Jean Lafitte actually wore this outfit, but my undead Lafitte does, and he looks damn fine in it.

4) They’re morally ambiguous. In real life, no sane woman wants a mor ally ambiguous man, but in our book boyfriends, well, they’re incredibly unpredictable. When Jean drags DJ and their merman friend Rene into his scheme to steal a sunken ship in the novella PIRATESHIP DOWN, we know he’s going to get in trouble. He’s probably going to get arrested. Will he go along quietly in handcuffs or will he kill someone to go free? And if he does allow himself to be arrested, it simply means he’s plotting more mayhem for later. Is he a good guy or a bad guy? Yes and yes. Such moral ambiguity makes for an exciting relationship. As long as it stays in the land of fiction, anyway.

5) They’re socially unattached. Rules don’t apply to them. They are vagabonds of the sea. They’re free in a way many of us wish we had the guts to be, able to follow the whims of the wind, visiting foreign ports. They do everything at a hundred percent—from drinking to fighting to women. We love pirates for the same reason we love cowboys. Well, okay, larcenous and sometimes murderous cowboys. Well, okay, let’s forget the cowboy analogy.

So there you have it—the reason that I, at least, love pirates. Or at least one particular French pirate who captured my heart and imagination and doesn’t seem to be in danger of releasing them.

Pirateship Down: Stories from the World of the Sentinels of New Orleans Suzanne Johnson Genre: Urban Fantasy Publisher: Suzanne Johnson Date of Publication: November 2, 2015

ISBN: 978-0996822008 ASIN: B0169K0YW8 Number of pages: 278 Word Count: 55,000 Cover Artist: Robin Ludwig Designs

Book Description: French pirate Jean Lafitte is tall, cobalt-eyed, broad-shouldered, and immortal. What’s not to love? But New Orleans’ most esteemed member of the historical undead is headed for trouble.

He’s determined to reclaim Le Diligent, his gold-laden schooner lost at sea in 1814 and recently found at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico near Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana.

The U.S. Coast Guard and the Terrebonne Parish Sheriff’s Office might beg to differ.

New Orleans wizard sentinel DJ Jaco and her merman friend Rene Delachaise can either lock up their friend Lafitte or join him on a road trip to Cajun country in order to save him from himself. Terrebonne Parish—not to mention its jail—might never be the same after the events of the all-new novella Pirateship Down, presented here along with a collection of urban fantasy stories and essays.

Wizards and Cajun merfolk, sexy shapeshifters and undead French pirates. Welcome to the world of the Sentinels of New Orleans in this collection, along with a little Louisiana lagniappe. No previous knowledge of the series required!

Available at Amazon Excerpt: About five minutes passed before I heard Jean Lafitte in the hallway of the prison, having a spirited, if one-sided, argument about Spanish fruit. I definitely heard the words orange and Spaniard.

And the pirate never had anything nice to say about Spaniards since he’d spent most of his human life plundering their ships.

The door opened, and he strode into the room, sending my empathic senses into overload with the force of his outrage. I closed my eyes and tried to squelch the urge to bray like a donkey, because the source of his anger was obvious.

They’d taken away the cord he used to tie back his shoulder-length, wavy black hair, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was his fluorescent orange jumpsuit with Terrebonne Parish Prison stamped on the back. The suit was tight across his shoulders and baggy across his hips, obviously not tailored for the pirate’s athletic build, and the pants were three inches too short and flashing bare calf.

He wore short white athletic socks someone had scrounged up for him. Obviously, his pirate boots had been confiscated. It wasn’t an outfit designed to please a man as arrogant and aware of his good looks as my undead pirate.

Jean shifted his commentary from his guard to me. “Drusilla, a grievance must be made against these ruffians and thieves. They have stolen my clothing and given me only this…this….” He ran out of words.

“Ugly-ass orange jumpsuit?” I offered, always ready to help Jean with his command of modern English.

“Oui, exactement. I demand that you obtain my release, tout de suite. And you must know, a woman who allows her husband to remain in such conditions for an entire evening must face reprimand.”

I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. “And you must know that, in this day and age, should a man reprimand his wife too much, said wife might leave her husband to enjoy a longer time in his prison cell wearing his ugly-ass orange jumpsuit.”

The guard who’d accompanied Jean into the room listened to this exchange with no expression.

Now that Jean and I were both in silent mode, he leaned over to fasten the handcuffs to a ring on the

center of the table, which forced the irate pirate to sit down.

“You got half an hour,” the guard said. “I’ll be right outside. If I hear or see anything through that door that I should not hear or see, visitation will be ended. That includes shouting, moving of furniture, excessive use of profanity, or sexual activity. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “Not a problem.” I had a confusion potion with Jean’s name on it in my shoe, and I wasn’t afraid to use it.

About the Author: Suzanne Johnson is the author of the award-winning Sentinels of New Orleans urban fantasy series for Tor Books, including the 2014 Gayle Wilson Award-winning Elysian Fields. Writing as Susannah Sandlin, she is author of the Penton Legacy paranormal romance series, including the 2013 Holt Medallion winner for paranormal romance Absolution, as well as The Collectors romantic suspense series, including Lovely, Dark, and Deep, 2015 Holt Medallion winner and 2015 Booksellers Best Award winner for romantic suspense. A displaced New Orleanian, she currently lives in Auburn, Alabama, and loves SEC football, fried gator on a stick, uptown New Orleans, all things Cajun (including a certain Cajun merman named Rene), and redneck reality TV. website: http://www.suzannejohnsonauthor.com blog: http://www.suzannejohnsonauthor.com/blog facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorsuzannejohnson twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Suzanne_Johnson goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/Suzanne_Johnson pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/sj3523

A while ago, I had a lovely blogger review that praised many aspects of Feast of Fates. On that list—and what stuck with me the most—were the reader’s commendations toward some of the darker material in my book. Life is composed of many shades and colors: passionate reds, golden acts of kindness, and the blackest evils. I believe that stories of the scope I wish to tell should encompass that spectrum. Therefore, while I write some beautiful scenes, I also feel the need to balance the scales, to flesh out a realistic environment by adding the unsavory. Neglect, depravity, racism, murder, physical and sexual assault.

None of these topics are comfortable to discuss. None of these topics should be handled with anything but care. I deal with each of them in my work. I choose to depict them in the raw, ugly fashion in which they are experienced by their survivors (not victims—there is a notable distinction). As a survivor of assault myself, I see no other way in which these events should be portrayed. As horrific as one imagines—or writes—these scenarios, I assure you the reality is worse. More crippling, more haunting, and usually more violent.

I don’t write dark things because I am a lover of the macabre or a sadist. In fact, often writing these scenes makes me feel as repulsed as when my readers read such material. Good.

If whenever Brutus comes onto the page, your skin crawls and you are terrified of what deplorable act he will do, then I’ve done my job. Evil should not have a soft-touch (unless it’s the insidious kind). Evil should make you shiver. How soon we forget in our comfortable North American lives that we live in the same world where Malala was shot for going to school. Where the Montreal Massacre of women seeking to better themselves happened.

Where we have genocides and child soldiers. I wish that the events that I write were less dark than those occurring outside Geadhain. Though, they’re not. I feel it is necessary for evil to be accurately described in order to illustrate the journey one (character) takes toward healing.

A Feast of Fates case study, if you will. Please stop reading if you’re spoiler averse and haven’t read the first book yet. (And hurry up! The second book is out now!) In Feast of Fates, we meet any number of characters who have endured trauma. Mouse, who is sold into sexual slavery. She breaks this fate at the cost of her humanity—which she later regains and then some. Macha, who is a displaced indigenous girl that also suffers a reprehensible separation from her family. Kanatuk, another indigenous person who endures a lifetime of horrific abuse—he, too, eventually finds his humanity and strength. Vortigern, who loses his family, his memory, and lives in a state of living-death and forgetfulness. The list goes on. I do not discriminate between male and female, between who should be

“fairly” suffering and who shouldn’t. That’s the nasty part about life: it doesn’t give two shits who suffers or why. I’m a sensitive person, and it hurts to write these horrible fates for my characters. However, like the reader and like those of us in the real world, I hold to the hope that these people will learn from their lessons of pain. I believe in them. I believe that they have the power to heal themselves, and to remember the good of humanity. Most of the time, my characters do not disappoint me.

In what is a less easily perceived emotional struggle, we have Lila. She is Queen of Eod and living a glorious and seemingly immortal life with the Everfair King. Long ago, Magnus saved her from a misogynistic, caste-driven society (and marriage). And for a thousand years thereafter she and Magnus were happy together, blissfully happy. That happiness lasts until a horrific—and again, this incident has to be ghastly to sunder a bond of one thousand years—assault by her husband while he is under the possession of an entropic force. A number of complex issues and questions stem from this event. How responsible is Magnus? Can Lila forgive him for this one grotesque incident in their thousand year marriage? He certainly feels guilty. Lila, at the time, puts on a brave face and forgives him. After all, she is the stoic queen of a nation of hundreds of thousands, and her country must come before her needs. She has that mothering sense, of sacrificing her emotions and comfort for others, even though she has not borne children from Magnus (the Immortal king is sterile—at least with her physiology). So she buries her trauma (as people do), and says that she forgives him for the pressing sake of dealing with what evil took over her husband. Sadly, Lila’s story is not unique. Most first time incidents of domestic abuse are forgiven or simply unreported. That’s a statistical reality.

As time and progression through the novel shows us, however, Lila neither forgives nor forgets. The scars are too deep, and those wounds cannot possibly heal in weeks or months—not to a woman that knows eternity. In many ways, Lila is brought back to the very situation and oppression from which she believed herself to have escaped. She questions everything about the brother-kings, their connection to each other and to her, and her sense of individuality and pride. She questions who she really is, for she has become a stranger to herself. The growth and arc of her character is quite broad, spanning all four novels. I have to say though, she is one of my favorite and certainly one of the most inspiring characters once she finds herself. Lila’s journey is one to which many women can relate—regardless of whether Lila is real or not. Being confused. Being lost in the darkness.

Forging ahead, even when all she knows is a sickening fear and agony that she can tell no one about. Lila is a composite of all that I’ve learned and seen of women pushing past their station, pushing to define themselves after trauma, and discovering new limits on who and what they thought they could be.

The ripple effect of the Lila’s assault carries through to all those in Magnus and Lila’s inner circle. It begins a world war between the brother-kings. It destroys the relationship between Magnus and his foster-son, Erik—and drives that man down his own dark path of revenge, repentance and conflict. Indeed, this event fractures countless loyalties and trusts. It is a single action that tears a hundred seams in the fabric of Geadhain. And back to where we started with this blog, all this ensuing strife would not have had the same believability, the same impact, or overall the same impetus for character growth if I had put on my fluffy, cuddly writer mitts. Sure, I could have said: “some dark and terrible things happened to Lila that night. Come the dawn her bloodmate left for war.” First, that’s lazy writing. Second, screw that. The reader deserves to see how Lila suffered. To see from

where her hate and madness has festered. Then they can cheer with Lila as she conquers those demons and becomes a kick-ass, self-possessed and liberated character.

Darkness only blinds us if we refuse to move through the fear and into the light.

Feast of Dreams Four Feasts Till Darkness Book Two Christian A. Brown Genre: Fantasy Romance

Book Description: As King Brutus licks his wounds and gathers new strength, two rival queens vow to destroy each other’s nations.

Lila of Eod, sliding into madness, risks everything in the search for a powerful relic, while Queen Gloriatrix threatens Eod with military might—including three monstrous technomagikal warships.

Far from this clash of queens, Morigan and the Wolf scour Alabion, hunting for the mad king’s hidden weakness. Their quest brings them face to face with their own pasts, their dark futures…and the Sisters Three themselves.

Unbeknownst to all, a third thread in Geadhain’s tapestry begins to move in the wastes of Mor’Khul. There, a father and son scavenge to survive as they travel south toward a new chapter in Geadhain history.

Available at Amazon Kindle and Paperback Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/rURqUni_lco Excerpt: “My queen, it grows late.”

Queen Lila was about to address the enormous man casting his silver-hued shadow over her as Rowena. But no. Her sword was gone and neck-deep in espionage with the master of the East Watch, and a hammer named Erik was her guardian these days. What sad eyes the man had, more black than blue—as morose as those of an owl perched over a graveyard. She could see them glinting from beneath his darkened visor. Rarely did she spot the hard, hidden handsomeness of the man—his black hair, broken but appealing face, and stubble crisscrossed in scars. Come to think of it, aside from the moment his naked, scorched self had abruptly mani-

fested in a cindery puff within the Chamber of Echoes some weeks ago, she hadn’t seen him without his helm.

He was hiding then from the absence of his king or another private torment. She had been staring at him rather unabashedly for quite a spell. The sparkle of fiery colors off the immaculate polish of his pristine armor hypnotized her. His voice snapped her out of her trance. How quickly evening’s shroud had fallen.

“Time has escaped us,” commented the queen.

Erik gently led her from the bedside she attended. As they passed the hospice’s cots and floor pallets, the hands and voices of the wounded reached for her. Erik watched the queen’s remorseful looks and the aching way she touched the feet of certain sufferers or the backs of weeping kin. These days she was cold and ruthless

in her judgments within the palace. She had become a steel queen to stand metal for mettle against the Iron Queen rising in the East. In these particular confines, however, where the faltering breath of the ailing made the air humid, and it was thick with the stench of eucalyptus poultices and incense to mask the rot magik would not heal, the queen’s mask cracked or was simply cast off. Genuine pity replaced it. She had come here each day for the past fortnight since the storm of frostfire had struck Eod. “The day of ruin,” the people called it—when first the skies were bare and then suddenly forked with red lightning, spitting shards of ice and arrows of flame to the earth. None of sound mind could have prepared for that wailing apocalypse. Thousands were killed in-

stantly. They were boiled inside tarry craters the earthspeakers were still working to fill or entombed in buildings that could not hold against the storm’s wrath. The injuries were uncountable, and they were still being reported. Those with only singed or frostbitten flesh dismissed the pettiness of their wounds and carried on with tourniquets and grimaces. Others had to be scraped from streets or, if mauled but living, extracted from rubble and taken to a growing encampment of emergency sites erected near the palace. Here was where the queen always found herself once the details of war, supply lines, allies, enemies, and stratagems had worn her patience to a snappy disinterest. Somehow in these miserable hospices, the queen seemed peaceful, albeit sad.

Time and again Erik made one-sided conversation as he guarded his new charge—he never managed to say these words. You blame yourself for this or for my kingfather’s fate. You see these sins as your own. You feel the weight and needs of this entire nation upon yourself, and what a terrible weight that must be to bear.

You are not alone, though, my queen. As adrift as you might be, I am here. I shall be the rock you need. I have made a promise to the great man who speaks to us no more.

The night he had appeared so rudely at her side, she held him and told him she could not sense the king anymore. The icy flame of Magnus’s soul had gone as cold as a forgotten hearth.

“What does it mean? What does it all mean?” she’d sobbed.

She was without her lover and partner in eternity, and he was without his father. They were agonizingly alone. Only on that night did she cry for the king and never since—as far as Erik had witnessed. He and the queen did not speak of their grief again or further pursue the reality that the Immortal King—missing and utterly quiet in his queen’s mind since the battle with his mad brother in Zioch—was quite possibly dead.

At the hospice exit, Queen Lila stopped so suddenly that Erik almost elbowed his liege. With what Erik perceived as a speck of wariness, she half glanced over her shoulder, and her gaze swelled wide with fear. She was staring at something behind them. Erik looked as well and reached a hand to his weapon. However, he saw nothing aside from the rows of squirming sufferers moving on their bloody, sweat-soaked cots like mansize maggots. What horrible times these were.

“Have you forgotten something?” he asked.

Queen Lila wished she could explain the hairs that prickled on her neck or the chill of Mother Winter’s mouth that blew the humidity from the chamber, but no one else seemed to feel it. Most of all, she wanted to find a less hysterical explanation for the shadow—tall as a mountain, black, and somehow bright—that hovered in the corner of her eye. She would not turn around and look at it. She could not. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would involuntarily scream. What do you want, shadow? Why do you haunt me?

Why do you come to me in dreams?

“My queen?”

“No. I need nothing more,” she answered curtly and moved ahead, trembling.

Feast of Fates Four Feasts Till Darkness Book One Christian A. Brown Genre: Fantasy Romance Date of Publication: September 9, 2014 ISBN: 978-1495907586 Number of pages: 540 Word Count: 212K Book Description:

"Love is what binds us in brotherhood, blinds us from hate, and makes us soar with desire.”

Morigan lives a quiet life as the handmaiden to a fatherly old sorcerer named Thackery.

But when she crosses paths with Caenith, a not wholly mortal man, her world changes forever. Their meeting sparks long buried magical powers deep within Morigan. As she attempts to understand her newfound abilities, unbidden visions begin to plague her-visions that show a devastating madness descending on one of the Immortal Kings who rules the land.

With Morigan growing more powerful each day, the leaders of the realm soon realize that this young woman could hold the key to their destruction. Suddenly, Morigan finds herself beset by enemies, and she must master her mysterious gifts if she is to survive.

Excerpt

Available at Amazon and Createspace

Menos was darker than usual: its clouds as black as the shadow of fear that haunted Mouse. The city felt more menacing to her. She saw shadows in every corner, noticed the glint of every ruffian’s blade or slave’s chain as though they were all intended for her. The warning of Alastair played inside her skull on a loop of nightmare theater.

A hand over her mouth startles her awake, and she twists for the dagger in her pillowcase until she recognizes the shadowy apparition atop her, who hisses at her to calm.

“Alastair?” she gasps.

The hand unclenches and the willowy shadow retreats to more of its own; she can only see the scruff of his red beard in the dark.

“Get up, Mouse. Get dressed.”

Her mentor sounds annoyed or confused; she is each, but finds her garments quickly enough anyway.

“I don’t like good-byes, so let’s not call this that,” Alastair says with a sigh. “But it will be a parting, nonetheless. You need to go low. Lower than you’ve ever been before. A new name won’t be enough. You’ll need a new face. I don’t know how or who, but the sacred contract of our order has been broken. Your safety has been bought.”

Mouse knows the who and how, and as she glances up from her boot-lacing to explain to her mentor her predicament, she sees that he is gone. Just empty shadows, echoing words, and the sound of her heartbeat drowning out all the rest.

She expected the dead man and his icy master to emerge from the dim nooks and doorways of the buildings she passed at any instant. With a hand on her knives and a fury to her step, she swept down the sidewalk; no carriages for her today, as they were essentially cages on wheels—too easy to trap oneself in. With its sooty storefronts and their wrought-iron windows, its black streetlamps that rose about her like the bars of a prison, Menos was constricting itself around her, and she had to get out.

You’ve survived worse than the nekromancer, she coached herself, though she wasn’t certain that was true. She hurried through the grimness of Menos, dodging pale faces and quickening her step with every sand.

By the time she arrived at the fleshcrafter’s studio, she was sweating and stuck to her cloak. She looked down the desolate sidewalk and up the long sad face of the tall tower with its many broken or boarded-over windows.

When she was sure she wasn’t being pursued by the phantoms that her paranoia had conjured, she pulled back a rusted door that did not cry out as it should have, given its appearance, but slid along well-formed grooves through the dust. She raced through the door and hauled it closed.

It was dark and flickering with half-dead lights in the garbage-strewn hallway in which she stood.

Mouse picked through the trash with her feet, tensing as she passed every dark alcove in the abandoned complex. Hives, these places were called, and used to house enormous numbers of lowborn folk under a single roof.

In Menos, even the shabbiest roof was a desirable commodity, so the building’s ghostly vacancy meant that it likely was condemned by disease at one point. Soon the stairwell she sought appeared, and she tiptoed down it, careful not to slip on the stairs, which were slick with organic grunge.

Couldn’t have picked a nicer studio, she cursed. I’ll be lucky if this fleshcrafter leaves me with half a lip to drink with. Lamentably, speed and discretion were her two goals in choosing where to have her face remodeled. Such stipulations cut the more promising fleshcrafters off the list and left her with the dregs. She hadn’t put much thought into what she would have done, or even if she would end up hideously disfigured.

Monstrous disfigurement could even work in her favor, as she bore an uncanny resemblance to that croweviscerated woman whom she suspected was the object of the nekromancer’s dark desire. I’ll take ugly over dead. Over whatever he has in mind for me.

About the Author: Bestselling author of the critically acclaimed Feast of Fates, Christian A. Brown received a Kirkus star in 2014 for the first novel in his genre-changing Four Feasts Till Darkness series.

He has appeared on Newstalk 1010, AM640, Daytime Rogers, and Get Bold Today with LeGrande Green. He actively writes a blog about his mother’s journey with cancer and on gender issues in the media. A lover of the weird and wonderful, Brown considers himself an eccentric with a talent for cat-whispering. http://christianadrianbrown.com https://twitter.com/AuthorChrisAB https://www.facebook.com/ChristianAdrianBrown https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8422242.Christian_A_Brown https://plus.google.com/u/0/105782095673393074893/about

Top Ten Best Hollywood Witches Hollywood has put their own spin on magical people for decades. Some characters have been beautiful and smart characters who use their powers for good. Others have helped reinforce the stereotypical evil witch image in not so attractive ways.

The enchantresses in my new series, The Enchanted Journey, are smart, beautiful, and powerful.

Some focus on good, others evil, but all have their own sense of style and class.

Here are my top ten favorite Hollywood witches. Do you remember these memorable ladies?

10. Agnes Moorehead as Endora on Bewitched

9. Angelina Jolie as Maleficent

8. Cher as Alexandra in The Witches of Eastwick

7. Lana Parilla as Regina, the Evil Queen in Once Upon a Time

6. Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha Stephens in Bewitched

5. Meryl Streep as The Witch in Into the Woods

4. Emma Watson as Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter series

3. Sandra Bullock as Sally Owens in Practical Magic

2. Bette Midler as Winifred Sanderson in Hocus Pocus

1. Margaret Hamilton as The Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz

Who are your favorite Hollywood witches? Who do you suggest for the roles of Tremble, Jasmine or Belladonna from my series?

I hope you enjoy meeting all of my magical characters in the three books of The Enchanted Journey.

Tremble The Enchanted Journey Book One Rosa Lee Jude Genre: Fantasy -magical

Publisher: Ink On My Fingers Publishing

Date of Publication: September 18, 2015 ISBN: 978-1942994008 ASIN: B015L5VMEG Number of pages: 262 Word Count: 67,916 Cover Artist: Pink Ink Designs, Cassy Roop

Book Description:

There’s magic in the air.

Tremble Dawson thinks her biggest worry is completing her college internship at a mega successful advertising agency. That is, until she discovers her seemingly normal upbringing has all been an illusion.

Her life is turned upside down when a handsome stranger pays a visit and offers to be a special kind of bodyguard to protect her from an evil force bent on making her fulfill a twisted prophecy.

Perhaps, she should have paid more attention to her unusual bosses or the sparks that uncontrollably fly out of her fingertips. Despite the clues along the way, Tremble is not prepared to learn that her existence is full of secrets—secrets from another world. As she discovers her true identity and the mystery that surrounds her heritage, Tremble realizes there’s a bounty on her future and she is the one who must pay the price.

Join Tremble on a bewitching adventure as she begins her journey to another world full of enchanting surprises.

TREMBLE is Book One in The Enchanted Journey trilogy. Book Two, JASMINE, and Book Three, NEVERWRONG, are also available.

Excerpt:

Available at Amazon

The normal view from the front window of Tremble’s house was of a large brick Colonial home across the street where the Garland family used to live. Their oldest daughter, Tabitha, had been Tremble’s babysitter.

But, as Laken pulled back the drapes, Tremble did not see the edge of a Japanese maple on the left hand side of the window or the evening sun setting on the right. Instead, she saw the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

The sound of her mother gasping seemed far away as Tremble took in the view.

The colors were so vibrant. They glistened like fresh paint on a canvas. Only nothing seemed to be the color that Tremble expected. The grass was purple and the sky was yellow. The bark of a tree was red and the leaves were black with silver. The flowers did not have stems. Instead, they seemed to be floating on air and were constantly moving. One such flower kept floating closer and closer. Its center was a deep green and its petals were chocolate brown. She wanted to taste it. She wanted to touch it.

“Go ahead. Reach out, Neverwrong is not just to be viewed, it must be felt.”

Laken walked up behind her. Tremble momentarily let her gaze leave the window as she felt Laken’s hand gently touch the small of her back. She wondered what color sparks were emitting from his hand, as she could feel them on her back. He nodded as he met her eyes.

“Go ahead.”

Tremble reached out her hand.

“Tremble, I don’t know if you should.” Her mother’s voice instinctively made her stop.

“Don’t worry. I would never allow anything to harm her.” Laken removed his hand from Tremble’s back and extended it to Dana. “You can touch it, too.”

“How will I possibly be able to have the same experience as Tremble?” Dana walked up behind her daughter.

“You will not. You will have one that is uniquely your own. Tremble’s experience will be natural. You shall experience the magic of Neverwrong a different way.”

“How will that be?”

“You are able to see Neverwrong now because I have cast a spell allowing it. The same shall be true of this portion of the experience.”

As Laken finished answering Dana, Tremble took hold of her mother’s hand, pulling it up toward the window. As Tremble’s right hand and Dana’s left touched the glass, something extraordinary began happening to Tremble, she started to be absorbed into what she had been seeing. She looked down and the purple grass was under her feet. Multicolored flowers were falling all around her. Bubbles floated by with little insects inside. A hundred fragrances came at her at once; it was overpowering. It seemed to Tremble as if she could smell every living thing around her separately and all together at the same time. Her eyes were becoming one with the color. She felt as though her body was absorbing the experience. She was feeling it from the outside in and from the inside out at the same time. The spell was broken when she realized she was no longer holding her mother’s hand.

About the Author: Rosa Lee Jude began creating her own imaginary worlds at an early age. While her career path has included stints in journalism, marketing, hospitality & tourism and local government, she is most at home at a keyboard spinning yarns of fiction and creative non-fiction. She lives in the beautiful mountains of Southwest Virginia with her patient husband and very spoiled rescue dog.

The Enchanted Journey is Rosa Lee’s second series. She is also the co-author of the award-winning time-travel series, the Legends of Graham Mansion.

Learn more about her writing life at www.RosaLeeJude.com http://www.twitter.com/rosaleejude http://www.facebook.com/rosaleejudeauthor https://www.goodreads.com/author/ show/4041806.Rosa_Lee_Jude

Halloween 2015 may be over, but we’re not ready to let it go.

Here are ten fun facts about Halloween.

An estimated $6.9 Billion is what Americans spent on Halloween in 2015.

Yes there is a phobia about Halloween. Samhainophobia is the fear of Halloween.

Halloween or Hallowe’en is short for Hallows’ Eve or Hallows’ Evening, which originated as the evening before All Hallows’ Day or Hallowmas on November 1. In an effort to convert pagans, the Christian church decided that Hallowmas or All Saints’ Day (November 1) and All Souls’ Day (November 2) should assimilate sacred pagan holidays that fell on or around October 31.

The owl is a popular Halloween image. In Medieval Europe, owls were thought to be witches.

An owl's call was a portent of death, some believed to hear an owl cry meant you were going to die.

Black and orange are official Halloween colors. Orange is a symbol of strength and endurance and signifies the harvest and autumn. Black is a symbol of death and darkness. It is a reminder that Halloween was once a festival of the dead.

Jack-o-lanterns are an Irish tradition. In Ireland, oversized rutabagas, turnips and potatoes were once hollowed-out, carved into frightening faces and illuminated with candles to be used as lanterns.

The pumpkin originated in Mexico about 9,000 years ago. It is one of America's oldest known vegetables. A pumpkin’s average weight is between 15-to-30 pounds, although some may weigh as much as 200 pounds. Most pumpkins are orange, but they also can be white or yellow. Pumpkin carving is an American tradition.

The Guinness Book of World Records lists the heaviest pumpkin in history to have weighed 2,323 pounds and was grown by Beni Meier of Switzerland.

Candy corn has been made with the same recipe by the Jelly Belly Candy Company since approximately 1900.

The word witch comes from the Old Saxon word wica, meaning wise one or wise woman. Early witches were respected healers.

3 Haunting Inspirations The dark-haired man waited stoically in the chair. Army uniform pressed, shoes shined, back straight.

He sat silent even when the girl in the pajamas ran past him. Her scream echoed down the stairs.

Ever since my fourteen-year-old daughter saw the ghost of her grandfather sitting in a chair outside her bedroom in the next room, I’ve been inspired to write about the dead. Now 21, she still hates walking through that room alone, especially at night. Can you blame her?

I, on the other hand, want to share the histories and stories of the dead, whether urban myths or true tales. Here are my top three creepy inspirations, all of which I hope to include in a novel sometime soon.

The White Lady of Easton In the Union Cemetery of Easton, Connecticut, the ghost of the White Lady roams through the graves. Many unsuspecting people walking through the cemetery, attending church or riding along Route 59 have seen her. She wears a white gown, has long black hair, and sometimes appears in the middle of the road so that a car will “hit” her. If a brave driver stops after and attempts find her, there is never anything living or dead around. Could the White Lady of Easton be related to the Weeping Woman, La Llorona?

The Melon Heads The X Files episode called “Home” in season four always makes me think of the Melon Heads. That episode still scares me today and I hope to tell a tale about the Melon Heads that will leave readers horrified years later. The Melon Heads appear all over the country, from Michigan, to Ohio, to Connecticut. The story goes that children, usually orphans, were mistreated or experimented on in an asylum. Some say their large heads were genetic or disease related, while other stories suggest that experimentation caused the malady. The poor, deranged children escaped the asylum, and once free lived feral in the woods.

They continue to survive and terrorize unsuspecting people who invade their space.

The Old Leather Man My new book, No Trouble at A ll, centers on the history of this real-life creepy character who died in 1889.

The Old Leather Man wandered through New York state and Connecticut for more than 30 years, rarely saying more than a few words of French. More astonishing, he lived in the woods, sleeping in caves along the way. The Old Leather Man followed the same 365 mile path month after month and year after year, ending up in the same towns every 34 days. Some say he left France due to lost love while others believe he had a Native American background and likely made his way from Canada. His lack of a known history, makes his fictional tale oh so interesting.

No Trouble at All Lisa Acerbo Genre: Romance/Thriller Publisher: Destiny Whispers Publishing Date of Publication: October 31, 2015 ISBN-10: 1943504016 ISBN-13: 978-1-943504-01-5 Word Count: 74,810

Book Description:

Trouble from the Past can Kill your Future.

no one can escape.

It's a bad day for Sophie Carter when she stumbles across a dead body in the woods. But when the suspected murderer turns out to be a leather-clad vagabond who died in 1889, her carefully controlled quiet life explodes. Not only is Sophie in the wrong place at the wrong time, but as a local history buff who loves old legends, she knows too much about the past to remain uninvolved. Trouble is a killer and

Detective Jackson Lynch asks Sophie to help him decipher the legend of the Old Leather Man and unravel the mystery of the murdered woman. Going against her best judgment, Sophie joins forces with the distractingly sexy detective on the police investigation and in pursuit of a killer.

Jackson is hot to solve the case as they follow the clues through Connecticut and New York State, uncovering both legend and fact.

As they move closer to solving the murder, a series of missteps shove Sophie into Jackson’s arms and straight into the media. Trouble is everywhere. Jackson’s career begins to crumble and Sophie becomes a suspect in the heinous crime. The case unravels. The past and present collide.

Sophie is swept into more danger than she could ever imagine when the Old Leather Man comes looking for her hide to tan.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/S-OlifkUsZM

Amazon BN DestinyAuthor Excerpt: Sophie loved to hike and run, continuously finding new trails to explore in the vicinity. She enjoyed the convenience of living forty-five minutes outside New York City, just over the New York border in Glenville, Connecticut. The town was far enough away that she could still immerse herself in nature, but close enough to the city that she could attend concerts, events, and culture when she needed a change. She explored the abundant state parks and open green spaces that abounded close by, enjoying the diversity found in the change of seasons.

Today was a little different. Sophie had departed for her run from her home in southern Connecticut much later than anticipated. A fender bender at the local Starbucks in Greenwich delayed her further.

In her defense, she had just tapped the back of the other car when she backed out of her parking space.

There had been minimal damage. The white haired older couple, Fran and Frank Bunkowsky, while a tad grouchy about what the dent might mean for their insurance, were overall relatively pleasant.

They even invited Sophie for tea the next day.

Then Sophie had driven the thirty odd miles to the Pound Ridge Reservation, looking forward to an energizing run.

But her morning continued to be troubled.

As she locked her car and began to stretch, sweat streamed from her brow in large droplets. The autumn day in the forests of the outer suburbs of New York City had turned muggy. At the entrance of the trail where she planned to begin her run, the day turned angrier and even more unseasonably hot for September. The threat of thunderstorms darkened the skies. To top it off, she had forgotten both bug spray and bottled water, making the jaunt through the woods not nearly as relaxing or therapeutic as expected.

The sky was troubled; her day was troubled.

She could not shake the premonition that things were about to get worse.

This wasn’t the first time she had felt that way. Probably would not be the last. Nature, at least, offered solace and peace.

She began to run the trail.

For the last few years since she had quit her job at the hospital because she just couldn’t handle watching people die anymore, Sophie regularly came here to watch the maple, beech, and birch trees turn shades of leafy avocado green in Springtime and then morph to bright yellows, reds, and oranges in the Fall.

This was one of the prettiest areas to visit year round. She loved the changes that came month by month making each trip unique. While a few tree leaves had swapped green for yellow, it was still too early in September for a dramatic seasonal display.

Gnats, on the other hand, were in full force, swarming around her curly brown ponytail like tiny fighter jets while leaving every other hiker she passed on the trail alone. They must like her shampoo. The ecstatic bugs were drawn to her chestnut curls like it was irresistible gnat candy.

Sophie ran faster. The crazy bugs kept up.

She swatted at them, vowing to change her hair products as soon as she returned home. She tightened her ponytail in the elastic that had come loose, without slowing her steps. A few long curls she missed drooped down her back.

She needed this run. The exercise opened her lungs and stretched lean athletic legs until the energy flowed through her toned body like liquid fire. It was invigorating. In a crazy troubled world, it kept her sane.

She picked up the pace and ran and ran, not stopping.

Being in good shape had its advantages. While other hikers huffed and puffed after a while, turning around before coming this far into the forest, Sophie could run for miles without stopping.

As a nurse always battling injury, disease, and death it was important to remember you were healthy and

alive.

Finally, Sophie saw the cave.

The reason she had decided to visit Ward Pound Ridge.

She had first heard of a crazy old man called the Old Leather Man at the Greenwich Audubon Society a while back, when she attended a presentation and hike. His presence in these woods in the mid 1800’s was an unsolved mystery and being a naturally curious woman who loved history, she wanted to learn more.

By today’s standards, he would be considered a homeless vagabond, but the Leather Man had a home.

His home had once been the numerous wild spaces of Connecticut and New York. Still, he would have accurately depicted the description of a vagabond or wild man. He made his clothes out of thick leather scraps, carefully hand stitched together to form a durable outfit that helped him survive the elements.

The heavy suit was how he got the name.

No one knew his real one, not for sure. He lived for many years in caves. One happened to be at the Greenwich Audubon property and another right here.

After the lecture at the Audubon, Sophie had read all about the Old Leather Man, fascinated that a man could live alone in the woods without the normal creature comforts most needed to survive.

Today she was revisiting another of his caves.

Moving closer, she again wiped the sweat from her brow and then ran her damp hands along the material of her athletic shorts.

The gnats still wanted to be friends.

Slowing to hike the last uphill area, she swatted them away again.

Of course, they were too fascinated with her curly ponytail to actually leave. They liked her too much.

A few more steps climbing up the dirt and twig laden path, she found herself at the entrance of the cave. Her heart pounded with excitement. The cliff directly behind her was a high point on the trail, but she wasn’t going to scale it. As she looked around, she noticed many outcrops and smaller shelter-like formations.

Directly ahead, large chunks of rock, which at one point in time had broken away from the cliff, now hung above her head at jagged angles, creating an inscrutable pyramid-shaped entrance. Sophie found it easy to envision the Old Leather Man coming to one of these caves just before dark, starting a small fire with precisely placed kindling waiting in the fire pit, and then preparing a meal and resting.

As she entered, the interior was tighter than remembered, fostering claustrophobia. She was a tall slender woman and had to duck down to make her way inside where large slabs of schist and gneiss formed ceilings and walls. Crouching slightly, she moved forward only to be engulfed in the cool, murky shade. The interior fell back into a rich mosaic of darkness.

While most of the cave remained dark, the space directly in front of her was lit by the sun. Smaller than she remembered, it was not a gaping cavern but more like a cozy protected nook. It was a safe place to sleep for the night, large enough to stay out of the weather and be warm from the fire.

“What the hell?” she murmured as a horrid stench stung her nose.

It reeked as if something had died. It had.

As her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior, Sophie looked around, ready to see a decaying carcass of a raccoon or squirrel. Instead, she saw a bloated body propped sitting in the far corner, half hidden by a jutted rock outcrop.

About the Author: Lisa Acerbo is a high school teacher and adjunct instructor at the college level, holding an EdD in Educational Leadership. No Trouble at All is her third novel. Her first novel about zombies, vampires and romance, Apocalipstick, was published in 2013 followed by a young adult science fiction novel title Remote in 2014. In addition, she has contributed to local newspapers, news and travel blogs including The Patch and Hollywood Scriptwriter. She lives in Connecticut with her husband, two daughters, three cats, and horse. www.DestinyNovels.com www.DestinyAuthor.us – Meet the characters, Sophie and Jackson, read teasers from future books, and learn more about author, Lisa Acerbo Blog: www.apocalipstickthebook.wordpress.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/lisa.acerbo.5 Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/6191261.Lisa_Acerbo Twitter: @Apocalipstick_ Website: https://www.facebook.com/lisa.acerbo.5

Breaking All the Rules D.A.R.K. Cover, Inc. Book 1 Aliyah Burke Genre: Interracial Romance, Contemporary, Action/Adventure Publisher: ARe Books Date of Publication: November 1, 2015

Word Count: 20,800 Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill

Book Description: Can one night of passion between a woman and her boss lead to happily ever after?

When Kristopher “Wild” Wilder takes a few days of R&R in Belize after his last mission with D.A.R.K. Cover, Inc., he meets a woman who sets his blood on fire. The night they share is explosive, but little does he know, she’s been hired as D.A.R.K. Cover’s newest pilot. Wild looks forward to continuing their connection; problem is, she’s not on board with that idea.

Alyse Lamar is a damn good pilot. She’s taken this new job for a few reasons, but when she realizes she’s slept with one of her new bosses she isn’t sure she should stay. She can’t seem to keep her hands off him, and vice versa. Her strict rule about never mixing business with pleasure is taking one heck of a beating.

Wild is many things, a quitter isn’t one of them. He wants this feisty woman and knows she wants him just as much. He vows to find a way past her walls and make her understand that what began as one night in Belize is worth breaking all the rules and can lead to forever.

Excerpt:

DANGRIGA, BELIZE “We’ll see you in a week then, Ms. Lamar.”

“Yessir. And thank you again, Mr. Wilder.”

He chuckled. “We’ll be working closely together, please, call me Adam.”

“How about I think about it and let you know?”

“I’ll take it. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.” The call disconnected.

Alyse Lamar had every intention of doing so. She pocketed her phone with a soft yet emphatic, “Yes!” She had gone in for this job three months ago. After meeting with a company man named Rhodi, being interviewed, and making it through their vetting process, she’d made the short list. Which led to more of the same. As they were making final decision she’d let them know—again—she would be out of the country for two weeks.

Honestly, she’d been under the belief that would have taken her out of the running for the position. Her shock at Adam’s—one she’d yet to meet in person—call, she knew went through when she spoke to him. None mattered for the job was hers.

A fist pump and another, “Yes!” Spinning back to the bar, she drummed her hands along the shiny, smooth top. “Bartender.”

The hot man made his way down to her. “Yes, beautiful?”

She smiled at him. “Another beer please.”

“Of course. Same kind as before?”

“Yes, please.”

He grabbed the bottle, popped the top, and placed it before her. “Good news?”

She took a swig and nodded. “Got the job I’ve been hoping for.”

He winked and pocketed the money slid over to him. Alyse toasted him with her beer and turned back to get off the stool. She walked down to the edge of the water.

The silken sand beneath her feet combined with the warm liquid lapping at her toes had her sighing in pleasure. Once she finished her beer, she pivoted and made her way back to the bar where she handed the bottle over.

She stuck her hands in her pockets and made her way down the beach. Not far away, a group of mixed aged people were dancing along the water. The guys there beckoned her and she went willingly. Time passed as she danced and sweated to the pounding music.

Arms up, she shook her hips, lower lip caught in her teeth. Through the crowd of spectators, her gaze landed on a man who watched her hungrily. His dark blond hair shone golden in the sun’s rays. He stood braced shoulder-width apart, muscular arms crossed and a drink in one hand.

From here, she couldn’t identify eye color but all she could see was nice. Oh, so nice. He gave her a brief nod and wriggled his fingers in her direction. Her grin turned saucy and she crooked a finger at him.

He tipped back his drink, placed the bottle in the sand, and strode toward her. The sun gleamed off his bare tanned skin as he prowled closer. Mediterranean blue eyes honed in on her face as he reached out and snagged her around the waist with one arm.

Electricity sparked out from his touch and spread throughout her. Pelvises rubbing against one another, her core temperature skyrocketed. His touch, the catalyst to the burning embers created from the output of energy from her dancing. Alyse rested her arms over his shoulders as they continued to keep the beat and grind with the music.

That very thing segued to a slow romantic song. Her mysterious dance partner moved a few sweaty tendrils to rest behind her ear. She laced her fingers behind his neck.

“Hi,” he murmured. He placed his hands on her ass, ensuring to keep them pressed together.

His thick length was unavoidable. But then, if he were willing she’d not be avoiding it at all.

“Hi.”

About the Author Aliyah Burke is an avid reader and is never far from pen and paper (or the computer). She loves to hear from her readers and can be found on Facebook or Twitter at @AliyahBurke96.

She is married to a career military man. They are owned by four Borzoi, and a DSH cat. She spends her days sharing time between work, writing, and dog training.

For more information on other books by Aliyah, visit her website: www.aliyah-burke.com https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/263660.Aliyah_Burke https://twitter.com/AliyahBurke96 https://www.facebook.com/Aliyah-Burke-283998078320168/timeline/

Brewing Rainbow Brew Book One Julia Talbot and B.A. Tortuga Genre: M/M, Magical Realism/ Contemporary Fantasy Publisher: ARe Books Date of Publication: November 1, 2015 Word Count: 18,000 Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill Book Description: Harris must learn to believe in magic before it’s too late.

Harris, a buttoned-up Santa Fe architect, is having a crappy day until he ducks into the Rainbow Brew coffee shop to get out of the rain. He meets a quirky artist named Jayden and embarks on a four-day binge of sensual adventures, leaving the real world behind.

Jayden knows he can't live in the world Harris inhabits, but for this wonderful man he'll try, even if it ruins him.

Jayden is like no one Harris has ever met, but can Harris let go of the real world to love him?

Excerpt: There was a…tall bird of a man behind the counter, head bobbing and hair tied up in a gigantic tall ponytail like some sort of samurai warrior. The guy caught sight of Harris and waved. “Come in out of the rain! It will stop soon.”

“Yeah, as soon as I’m not in it.” He tried for a smile, but Harris knew it was sour.

“Well, you’re welcome here, and we’ve got all the things to make a bad day better.”

“Promise me something amazing in the way of pastry. Nothing plastic.” He did grin then, looking at the coffee menu.

“I have a chocolate croissant that’s made in-house. It’s like sex in pastry form.”

Sex? Harris wasn’t sure he remembered that anymore.

“Yeah? I’ll take it.” He was so tired of bad doughnuts and shitty pseudo-Danishes from big box stores.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Mexican chocolate latte?” Harris asked. A little spice might warm him.

“Absolutely. I’m on it. Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Harris sat at the counter, taking the pressure off his sore ankle. The chrome and vinyl was more diner than coffee shop. He really liked the vibe.

A wild man pushed through the door, dark hair interspersed with tiny strands of pure silver. He wore a tshirt and a pair of jeans that appeared three sizes too big and patched with at least two dozen colorful pieces of fabric. “Jack! Jack, I need coffee! Stat!”

The barista chuckled, the sound fond and warm. “Jayden. Sit.”

“Seriously. Inspiration has struck. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak!” The guy flopped on a stool next to Harris.

“Poor flesh.” Jack winked at Harris, handed him the most luscious-looking pastry in known history and a coffee that smelled like heaven. “Drip coffee, honey?”

“A triple espresso with a float of hazelnut, please.”

“You’re on a mission, Jayden.”

“Uh-huh.” The man pulled out a sketchbook, opened it up and started drawing everything. The coffee maker appeared, then the pastry case. It was like magic.

Harris knew he was being rude with the staring, but he couldn’t help it. He’d always wanted to be artistic but he’d ended up imminently practical.

The cup landed in front of Jayden, the hazelnut syrup floating on the top almost glittering. Kind of mesmerizing the way it swirled.

“Hello, beautiful,” Jayden said, grabbing the cup.

Harris took a sip of his drink, closing his eyes at the flavor.

“It’s like magic, huh?” Jayden nudged him with one elbow just as if they were old buddies.

“Yeah. I mean, wow, that’s good.” Harris was amazed.

“No shit.” One paint stained hand was offered over. “Jayden.”

“Harris. Nice to meet you.” Harris didn’t talk to people in coffee shops. He usually brought his laptop and buried his head in plans and schematics.

“Harris. That’s a cool name. Sort of tough, totally masculine.”

“Thanks. My dad is a Leslie, so he wanted me to have something chest beating, manly good.”

Jayden nodded. “Leslie is a softer name. My father is a Daniel. Biblical.” huh?”

“God is my judge,” Harris said, pulling that arcane knowledge right out of his ass. “You’re an artist,

“Yeppers. I’m a painter. You?” Those eyes were almost black, like obsidian. Stunning combination with Jayden’s pale skin. And the man’s face was unlined, but he had silver in his hair.

“I do restoration architecture. Structural stuff mostly.” Sounded so boring.

“Oh, cool. Architects are hot. They understand lines and curves.”

Harris blinked, then took another sip of coffee. “Want to share my sweet?”

About the Authors: Once upon a time, Julia Talbot and B.A. Tortuga fell in love and got married. Texan B.A. and mountain girl Julia live in the high desert of New Mexico with their two basset hounds, a crazy house full of rainbows and collections, and a lot of yard art. Together they’ve published more than 400 stories.

For more information on other books by B.A. and Julia, visit their websites: www.batortuga.com and www.juliatalbot.com https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/283274.Julia_Talbot https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/538830.B_A_Tortuga

https://twitter.com/juliatalbot

https://twitter.com/batortuga https://www.facebook.com/BATortugaBooks https://www.facebook.com/juliatalbotauthor Forty Candles

Virginia Nelson Genre: Contemporary Romance Publisher: ARe Books Date of Publication: November 1, 2015 Word Count: 28,500 Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill Book Description:

Will she get her wish when she blows out Forty Candles?

Chloe Walker did everything right. She went to college, got a good job, dated the right men— everything. Peering at forty from a bit too close, she realizes she can be miserable that she didn’t end up happily married to the handsome prince… or she can count her lucky stars. She tries to go with stars, but the universe seems to have other plans.

Jack Leonard has loved Chloe since they were kids. He’s stood by her through all life’s little messes, been her shoulder to cry on, and figured one day they’d wind up together. He figures he’s just waiting her out. When her life goes swirly, he’s got to convince her that some men are worth risking it all for.

Can Jack make Chloe rethink her birthday wish or will she get just what she asked for when she blows out Forty Candles?

About the Author Virginia Nelson, USA Today bestselling author, likes knights in rusted and dinged up armor, heroes that snarl instead of croon, and heroines who can't remember to say the right thing even with an author writing their dialogue. Her books are full of snark, sex, and random acts of ineptitude—not always in that order.

For more information on other books by Virginia, visit her website: www.virg-nelson.com https://www.facebook.com/virg.nelson http://www.twitter.com/virg_nelson http://virginianelson.blogspot.com/

Nighttime Promises Make a Wish Book 2 M.A. Church Genre: M/M, Sci-Fi Publisher: ARe Books

Date of Publication: November 1, 2015

Word Count: 54,000 Cover Artist: Erin Dameron-Hill Book Description: When you wish upon a star… it comes true in ways you never expected.

Things have gone downhill since Sheriff Bryan Coltrane got involved in the FBI’s investigation of a recent UFO crash. Not only is a homophobic agent pushing his buttons, but he’s made contact with one of the aliens… who wants him for a mate!

Daroshi, a warrior with tentacles from the planet Maz’Rar, monitored the rescue of his captain, Ziang. Impressed by the courageous and brawny human male, he wants Bryan for his own despite knowing little about the race.

Neither man is prepared for the problems arising from Daroshi’s desires, or the passion exploding between them.

What’s an alien to do when his mate harps on his civil rights and makes demands? He makes the wishes come true.

Excerpt:

Bryan came awake with a snap. One second there was nothing, then the next he was awake, his body jacked up with adrenaline. His heart went from zero to sixty in two seconds flat, and his muscles tightened.

His brain yelled at him through the sludge in his mind. Danger! Confused, he lay quietly, not moving.

Something teased the edge of his brain, a warning that something was wrong—dreadfully, Earth-shatteringly wrong. He fought to control his breathing as he tried to figure out the hazy feeling of impending danger that haunted him. Earth-shattering wrong… Earth…

“Fuck!” Bryan yelled as memories exploded over him.

He reared up on the table, his head bobbing back and forth, eyes wide. The room he was in reminded him of a creepy alien movie set with its dim lighting, odd symbols, strange equipment, and funky-colored walls that looked… alive.

Fear snaked through his chest as he recalled those two tall-ass fuckers chasing him through his house.

The knowledge that he was screwed—totally and completely screwed—scared him witless. He was more than likely going to die here.

“Fuck!” he yelled again, his hands frantically pawing at his naked chest as another memory hit him.

He’d been shot. One of them raised its arm, fired a beam of light at him, and shot him—then darkness.

He took the hit in the chest. So where was the pain, the mess of being shot, the blood? There was nothing: no hole, no burn from whatever they shot him with, no blood. Just nothing.

A boot scraped across the floor, and he looked up. Both aliens he’d fought with were moving toward him. Neither had their faceguards on this time. Bryan sat stunned. They looked amazingly human in the face.

On each side of their necks was a thick cord of muscle that thinned as it reached their ears. The shape of their noses was human, but flared. There was a ridge running down the middle too. They had high foreheads

and scales around the eyes. Their eyes were human-shaped, but the sclera was red instead of white with vertically split pupils.

In place of eyebrows, there was a line of scales, and under the eyes were marks that looked like small symbols. The shape of their lips was also human. Instinct kicked in. He pulled his leg up and grabbed the knife out of his ankle sheath. If he was going to die then, by God, he was going to go down fighting. He gripped the knife as the smaller of the two aliens approached.

“Bryan, don’t!” Daroshi held one hand out while he waved frantically at Ziang to stay back. “Put that down. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Startled, the knife wavered in Bryan’s grasp. He could understand them perfectly. “How the hell can I understand you?”

“I implanted a device that helps translate language. We all have one. I did it while you were unconscious. No one’s going to harm you, so put the knife down.”

Horrified, Bryan stared at the smaller alien. They messed around in his head? What else had they done to him? Did they not understand consent and boundaries? “Yeah, right, that’s not happening.”

“Bryan, you’re on my spaceship orbiting Earth. There’s no way off this ship,” Ziang said. “I know you’re frightened, but I give my word you’re safe. Put the weapon down.”

“Your word—that’s supposed to mean something to me?” Bryan clutched the weapon tighter. “If you plan to kill me, I will—” “Kill you?” Daroshi gasped at the direction Bryan’s thoughts had run. “Gods, no! Why would you think that? The last thing I want is you dead. We’re not going to harm you.”

“Not going to harm me? Are you kidding me? Last I checked knocking me out, hauling my ass here, and messing with my brain—shit, you put something in my damn head—falls in the category of harming me.”

Bryan shot a glance at Ziang, who stood frozen. “Why the fuck am I here? What do you want with me? I didn’t tell anyone about you. I went out of my way to cover for you. So what the hell?”

Daroshi took a deep breath and moved closer. “I’ll explain everything to you, but I need you to put the weapon down.”

“I don’t fucking think so.”

Daroshi took a step closer. “Bryan—” “Stop! Don’t get any closer. I will use this.”

“Would you believe Shawn?” Ziang suddenly asked. Something had to be done before the situation escalated more out of control. “Would seeing my mate help you understand we aren’t going to hurt you? Do you understand I’m willing to put him in harm’s way to prove we won’t hurt you?”

“But, Sir—” Daroshi jerked his head to look at Ziang, shocked. Would he really do that to help Bryan and him?

“Yeah.”

Daroshi’s head snapped back around to Bryan. At this rate, he was going to have whiplash.

“Just stay calm, and I’ll have Shawn here momentarily.” Ziang tapped on his wrist device.

Ziang opened the com so Bryan could hear the conversation. “Blayno, I have an emergency in Medical. I need you to contact Shawn and transport here. Now. Tell him Bryan is here and awake.”

“Yes, Sir.” Blayno responded, then the com when silent.

“Shawn will be here shortly. But I will warn you, Bryan, you attempt to harm my mate, and I will stun you.”

Daroshi growled, the very thought of Ziang stunning Bryan triggered his protection instinct. “Ziang, if you do—” Bryan kept his eyes on both aliens. What was going on? Both aliens looked ready to square off. “Hey, I have no intention of harming Shawn—” “Oh, only us?” Daroshi snapped as he turned to look at Bryan.

Zing sliced his hand through the air, trying to stop what was fast building into another useless conversation. “Regardless—” Bryan gripped the knife. “He didn’t fucking ambush my ass after I went to all the trouble of covering for you guys—” “We couldn’t very well have walked in the front door.” Daroshi hissed. “In case you didn’t notice, we don’t look human.”

“—nor did he stun me.”

“Dear gods, come on, Shawn,” Ziang muttered.

Daroshi glared. “You stunned my commander first—”

“I had two big-ass aliens after me, of course I tased him. What did you expect after the way you busted through the window? You think I was going to offer you a beer? And fuck, my house is probably gonna burn down since I left the damn stove on!” Bryan yelled. “Son of a bitch, I left the damn stove on.”

The door to Medical opened and Shawn walked inside, with Blayno guarding him. He’d heard most of the conversation from outside.

“Huh, I did tell you he wouldn’t come without a fight.” Smirking, Shawn took in the flushed faces of Daroshi and Bryan. “Think I also warned you to disarm him.”

Daroshi threw his hands up in the air. “Are all humans like this?”

“Only the ones half scared out of their minds.” Shawn turned to Bryan. “How’s it hanging, dude?”

“Shawn?” Bryan whispered, relieved to see another actual human. “Is that really you? They didn’t, like, turn you into a pod person or something, did they? It’s really you?”

Shawn choked back a laugh. “It’s me.”

He walked closer to Bryan, and Ziang growled loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Shawn, do not move any closer to him, he has a—” “Chill out, E.T. I’m not the one he’s threatening.” Shaking his head, he jumped on the medibed and sat down next to Bryan. “Bryan, they aren’t going to hurt you, I promise. But the knife has to go, dude.”

Shawn held out his hand.

A nasty brew of emotions flooded Bryan’s throat. Fear, confusion, shock, embarrassment—and relief— spiked, and the overwhelming need to cry flooded him. No longer quite so afraid, he handed the knife to Shawn, who quickly threw it on the floor at Daroshi’s feet. Shawn held out his arms, and the bigger man fell into them.

“What do they want with me, Shawn?” Bryan’s voice was quiet.

“That would be better left to Daroshi to explain.” Shawn’s voice was just as low. “By the way, the shorter one is Daroshi. Just listen to him and keep an open mind—a very open mind—and I promise you won’t regret it. A whole new world is opening up.”

About the Author: M.A. Church is a true Southern belle who spent many years in the elementary education sector.

Now she spends her days lost in fantasy worlds, arguing with hardheaded aliens on far-off planets, herding her numerous shifters, or trying to tempt her country boys away from their fishing poles. It’s a full time job, but hey, someone’s gotta do it!

When not writing, she’s exploring the latest M/M novel to hit the market, watching her beloved Steelers, or sitting glued to HGTV. That’s if she’s not on the back porch tending to the demanding wildlife around the pond in the backyard. The ducks are very outspoken. She’s married to her high school sweetheart, and they have two children. She was a finalist in the Rainbow awards for 2013.

For more information on other books by M.A., visit her official website: www.machurch00.blogspot.com https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5141393.M_A_Church