Uncaged Book Reviews

NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

Welcome to July/August 2024 issue of Uncaged Book Reviews! Do you believe, that July will mark Uncaged Book Review’s 8th anniversary?!? Wow, time flies.

It’s been 8 years this issue, since Uncaged Book Reviews was launched. It’s been a great 8 years, with a lot of growth and a lot of changes. For the first time in 8 years, I’ll be raising prices on advertising in the magazine. Everything has increased in price for the magazine, from Issuu, to Adobe CC, the software, the website and stock resources. I’ve absorbed the costs during this time, but to keep bringing a quality magazine with room to grow even more, I will increase the rates on advertising in 2025. You can see what those prices will be on the advertising page on the website. Thank you for all the support!

The Raven Awards Facebook Party will be on July 14th.The party starts at 12:00pm CST, and there are 18 authors joining in with their own giveaways in between Uncaged awarding the Raven Awards. This will be a great time for both authors and readers, so make sure to set aside some time for a fun day! There will be a Grand Prize from Uncaged that will include some signed paperbacks and swag, and a new Kindle. Authors will have fun giving away their own prizes during the party during their time slots.

https://www.facebook.com/events/1651929872277728

This month we are featuring a horror longer-short story by Don Anelli. So a little holiday horror in July? It’s a fun read.

We will be continuing with the “Buy 2, Get 1” promotion we’ve been running for the forseeable future. The promotion will only be for Full Page Ads, so if you buy 2, you will get one free. No other advertising will be eligible. With the issues selling out advertising more frequently, this gives more opportunities for all in advertising in the magazine. It really does help from a marketing standpoint, to have an advertisment run three issues in a row to repeat in the readers mind. You don’t just see a commercial on TV one time and remember it, right? So we will continue to try and provide the best bang for your buck and get the most eyes we can on your work.

Enjoy the July/August issue of Uncaged Book Reviews and get ready to enjoy The Raven Awards!

S. Atzeni romantic comedy

Issue 78 | July/August 2024

upcomingconventions

Uncaged will watch for any cancelations or modifications for the 2024 season. Please watch their websites for information as the dates get closer.

RSJ Virtual Romance Book Con

July 11 – Saturday, July 13 - VIRTUAL

https://rsjconvention.com/

Literary Love Savannah

July 17 - 22; Savannah, GA

https://www.facebook.com/literarylovesavannah/

Writers On The River

July 20, 2024; East Peoria, IL

https://writersontheriver.com/

Sexy and Sassy Signing

July 19 -21; Norfolk, VA

https://www.facebook.com/events/554438293136766

Steamy Lit Con

August 2 & 3; Anaheim, CA

https://www.steamylitcon.com/

Meet Me In Milwaukee

August 17, 2024; Milwaukee, WI

https://www.facebook.com/groups/488482524557559

feature

authors historical romance

Virginia Barlow

Leslie

Vollard

Melissa Kendall

Leslie vollard

Leslie Vollard has a longstanding passion for the Middle Ages. Her obsession with all things medieval dates back to college when she dug through archives at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris to study the 12th century troubadour, Arnaut Daniel. In her work, she brings courtly love, chivalry, and the troubadour tradition to life. Romance reigns supreme in her steamy novels about how love conquers all.

Leslie lives in Long Island with her delightfully nerdy husband and two cats. She loves gardening, baking, and reading love poems in dead languages.

Uncaged welcomes Leslie Vollard

Welcome to Uncaged! Your newest release on July 27th, is the second book in The De Veres series called The Sword and the Damsel. Can you tell readers more about this book and the series? Can they be read as standalones?

Thank you so much for this opportunity! I am delighted to talk with you about my upcoming release, The Sword and the Damsel. It’s a steamy bodyguard romance in which a flirtatious wild child, Lady Alais de Vere, falls for the scarred warrior sworn to keep her out of trouble, Sir Victor Arden.

As the second child of the baron of Winchelsea, Alais struggles to find her place in a family of outsized personalities. She gets into trouble at the start of the book for kissing a troubadour, and her family decides to organize a tournament to find her a husband. In the meantime, a stranger she doesn’t trust is assigned to keep her in line. She chafes at her new restrictions but finds herself intrigued by the taciturn knight who turns out not to be as gruff as he seems.

Victor comes to Winchelsea for a fresh start after failing to find peace in his hometown upon his from war overseas. Scarred and wary, the last thing he wants is to play nursemaid to a young woman who tries his patience. But he can hardly say no to his new liege lord. As he spends time with Alais, he learns that there is more to her than meets the eye, and his initial spark of attraction turns into something deeper despite his best efforts to quell it.

While this book is the second in a series, it can be read as a standalone. The series follows the stories of the de Vere family siblings, so familiar faces appear in each book. It will enhance the reader’s experience of the story to read book one first, but the love story is self-contained.

How do you use social media as an author?

I use social media to connect with readers, as well as other authors. I value the interactive nature of social media, as well as the ability to make new connections to people who share my interests. We hear so much that is negative about the influence of social media, but I find the bookish community to be

incredibly supportive and inspiring. I owe a lot to the #5amwritersclub on Threads. It’s great to connect with other morning scribblers and know I am not alone in this solitary pursuit.

I also love the ability to connect with readers that want exactly what I offer. Whether it’s Facebook readers groups or Bookstagram, there are so many ways to engage with people looking for their next historical romance read. I maintain an active presence on Facebook, Instagram, and Threads, always under the name LeslieVollard. I’m always excited to connect with new people who share my love of historical romance!

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

In my house, I’m the one who bought all the power tools. I’m addicted to home improvement, and I’ve become a self-taught handywoman over the years. The biggest project I’ve taken on is redoing my kitchen. I refinished all the cabinets, replaced the laminate countertops with butcher block, put up a beadboard backsplash, and installed a new kitchen sink. I love my kitchen. I don’t think we can ever move, because I can’t leave my handywork behind.

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

The historical romance author community is incredibly warm, welcoming, and accessible. Most authors are happy to engage with fellow authors (as well as readers) through social media, at events, and through writers organizations. I had the opportunity to meet Kathryn LeVeque, owner of Dragonblade Publishing and a giant in the medieval romance market, at last year’s Historical Romance Retreat. It was such a privilege! She was incredibly gracious, and her advice on where to focus my energy as a new writer was invaluable.

I’m also very lucky to be in Long Island Romance Writers with some wonderful best-selling authors, such as Meara Platt, Jeannie Moon, and Pamela Burford to name a few. I’ve learned so much from

them. I would never have gotten as far as I have without their guidance and support.

If I don’t have to be constrained to living people, though, I suppose I’d like to meet Hildegard of Bingen. As a 12th century nun, she wrote poetry, music, medical treatises, and philosophical works. The breadth of her study and the depth of her talent are truly astonishing. I’d love to meet a woman who accomplished so much at a time when women in general were constrained to domestic roles. She’s an inspiration who transcends time.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

Since I’ve started writing historical romances, I’ve also started sewing historical costumes. I’m currently work-

ing on the gown Alais wears to the tournament about a third of the way through The Sword and the Damsel. It’s blue velvet with a square neck and a gold brocade panel in the front. The whole thing is very decadent. I wish I could wear it all the time. Imagine how much more fun work meetings would be in costume!

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

I need quiet. I write in the early hours of the morning before anyone else is up. The only sounds are occasional birds chirping out my window. It’s heaven. I can get so much done when I have uninterrupted silence.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

I am an introvert, a hopeless romantic, a history nerd, and a chronic overachiever.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

Dear readers, thank you for taking a chance on a new author! You are what makes this crazy, solitary scribbling all worth it. I hope you enjoy The Sword and the Damsel. I’d love to hear your thoughts upon reading it. Feel free to connect any time through Facebook, Instagram, or Threads. I am LeslieVollard across all platforms.

Stay Connected

Enjoy an excerpt from The Sword and the Damsel

The Sword and the Damsel

Leslie Vollard

Viking Historical Romance Releases July 27

Not every problem can be solved with a sword.

When Alais de Vere is caught kissing troubadours one too many times, her family decides to organize a tournament to find her a husband. In the meantime, they assign an intriguing, taciturn stranger with a scarred face to fend off any men who might try to take liberties with her. As she warms to her guard, she learns

the dangers of falling for a pretty face and finds the grand romance she seeks in an unexpected place.

Victor Arden is not pleased when his aunt, the Countess of Hastings, sends him off to Winchelsea as a peace offering. He is especially unhappy when he finds himself assigned to guard the obnoxiously lovely Alais, who insulted his scar upon their first meeting. But when suitors come to town to win her hand, his sword puts them all to shame at a grand tournament. He wins a kiss, but can he win her heart?

Excerpt

Chapter 1 Winchelsea, 1176 AD

Alais had promised she wouldn’t sneak out to meet a man again, but no one would be the wiser if she didn’t get caught. And why would she?

As a second daughter, Alais was strictly ornamental. She might as well have been a tapestry on the wall for all the attention they paid her. No one listened when she tried to speak up on topics of substance. No one cared what she thought about the running of the town or political intrigue with the local nobles. Her only purpose was to look pretty and attract men. Was it her fault if she was a little too successful for her family’s liking?

Gilbert was waiting when she arrived in the forest clearing a mile outside of Winchelsea where they agreed to meet. She took a moment to appreciate the lazy ease of his form as he strummed his lute and hummed. His half-blue, half-green cotte draped sinuously around him, and fitted, brown hose clung to his shapely legs. He had perfected the sensitive poet look with his lithe body, only delicately muscled, and the mop of chestnut curls that hung rakishly in his face. There was a dimple in his cheek that made her melt, and long, thick lashes dripped

over those sinful blue eyes filled with ardor.

“Alais, I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said, putting down his lute and helping her down from her horse.

“I almost didn’t.” She glanced around cautiously. “If we’re caught—”

He put a long, tapered finger on her lips. “Shh. We won’t be caught.” He let his finger trail down and trace the neckline of her low-cut, blue dress. She could hardly breathe as warmth curled all through her. Her whole body must have been blushing.

Pulling her into his arms, he touched his lips to hers. It was like being carried away with the tide, a blissful oblivion. Alais lost track of what was around her. His kiss was overpowering, delicious. This was so much more decadent than the furtive kisses she’d stolen with previous admirers.

Was it love? Was this the grand romance she dreamed of? Her parents would consider him completely unsuitable, not that it mattered to her. She would happily sacrifice everything for the right man. But the right man would be willing to do the same for her, and somehow she suspected Gilbert wasn’t the selfsacrificing sort.

Oh well. He was good for a few stolen kisses, and then she would let him go.

They collapsed together onto the soft grass. He continued to kiss her, tantalizing her neck, then tasting the bare skin above her neckline. New sensations flooded her senses as she offered herself up, drawn in by his caresses. Gilbert loosened the ties of her dress and slid her shoulder free so that he could taste it too. Things were going too far. She knew she should stop, but she couldn’t resist the heat coursing through her. A twig cracked nearby. She froze.

“Is something wrong, my love?” Gilbert nuzzled her neck.

Drowning once again in the bliss of his caress, she shook it off. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably some animal.”

Kissing her again, he reached down to start pulling up the skirt of her dress. He was going too far. She was about to stop him when…

“Alais?”

Oh no.

“Carenza?” Alais said, her voice oddly squeaky as she rolled away from Gilbert and tugged her dress back into decency.

Her sister, Carenza Rossignol, Countess of Winchelsea, towered above her on a majestic black horse, looking every inch a noble huntress in her leathers and blood-red gown. Carenza’s hooded peregrine falcon dug its talons into her thick leather glove, and a brace of bloody hares hung from her saddlebag. Her eyes bored into Alais.

“I didn’t know you were hunting,” Alais said faintly as she finished making herself presentable.

Gilbert started edging away, the coward. As she suspected, he wasn’t willing to fight for her when it mattered.

Carenza pinned him to the spot with an imperious glare. “You,” she said, pointing her finger at him as if it was a sword. “Don’t move.” He hunched and shrank away, as if attempting to make himself small. “Alais, get on Snow now,” she ordered without sparing her sister a glance.

Alais obeyed, mounting her beloved Snow, and looking nervously at her lover.

“Uc,” Carenza called out, never taking her eyes off Gilbert. The castle falconer appeared through the trees and rode toward them with a fearsome goshawk on his arm. “We’re going back to the castle,” she told him.

“See that this man accompanies us. We have business to attend to.”

“Yes, my lady,” Uc said, bowing his head, then fixing Gilbert with a steely, hostile look.

Alais knew Uc was a soft touch. She’d had him wrapped around her finger from her earliest days, but Gilbert looked like he might pass out as the grizzled falconer narrowed his eyes and beckoned him to approach. It was disappointing, really, that he didn’t have a bit more spine. But then he was just a troubadour. What did she expect?

“Come,” Carenza ordered in a sharp voice. Alais obeyed, tearing her eyes away from Gilbert.

She hardly dared raise her head, let alone speak as they made their way back inside the city walls, past the raucous docks, and onto the worn cobblestones of Castle Street.

“Are you going to tell Mother?” Alais ventured to ask as they rode up the street past inns, taverns, and merchant stalls. The All Saints’ Day mass must have just been let out. The streets were teeming with ostentatiously humble pilgrims, some of them sporting seashells from Santiago de Compostela as if they were fine jewels.

“I should, you know.”

“But you won’t?”

Carenza took a deep breath and let it out. “It depends.”

“On what?”

I’ll grovel. I’ll spend a week in silent contemplation in the chapel. I’ll bribe you with honey cakes. “On him,” Carenza said, looking ahead.

Jesus’ fishes on toast. I am in so much trouble. ***

An hour later, Alais sat on her bed, knees tucked to her chest, staring at the tapestry on her wall. It depicted young ladies on their palfreys, prancing across a flowering field. They seemed to be mocking her with their carefree smiles. She knew she was in for it this time.

The door opened, and she scrambled to sit up straight. Carenza came in, sat beside her, and took her hand.

“He’s gone. He won’t be coming back. I’m sorry it had to be this way.” Carenza gave Alais’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Thank God! Carenza is feeling sympathetic.

“It’s not fair, you know. You got to marry your troubadour. Why couldn’t you let me have a little fun with mine?”

“Daniel turned out to be an earl. I’m afraid Gilbert was only a clever man with a silver tongue and no name or fortune to speak of. You are lucky I was the one who caught you.”

“I know,” Alais admitted, defeated, “but I still wish you hadn’t.”

“Of course,” Carenza said with a weary sigh. “One thing this makes clear to me is that we need to find you a husband. We can’t put it off anymore. I’ll speak to Mother about it.”

“A husband? Now?” Alais sat bolt upright and stared at Carenza. “I want to marry. You know I do, but not until I find the right man.”

“Then you’ll have to find the right man quickly. We can’t risk this happening again.”

“It won’t! I swear to you I’ll be good!”

Carenza narrowed her eyes. “No, you won’t. I know you, Alais. You’ll be kissing someone new by the end of the week, and I might not arrive in time to stop you from ruin next time. You’re eight-

een years old, and it’s high time you were married.”

“Oh, don’t act so high and mighty. I remember how you ran away when you were told to wed. Besides, you’re only three years older than me. I don’t know what gives you the right to decide my future.” It really was ridiculous how condescending Carenza acted, as if having a child entitled her to mother Alais.

“You’ve been caught kissing three times in the last six months, and each time it was a different man. And today, it looked like you were planning to go a lot further than kissing.”

Only three times that you know of, sister. I’m sneakier than you give me credit for.

“Lord Peter was not my fault. He cornered me, and I couldn’t escape.” He was handsy as they come, and a sloppy kisser too.

“It certainly didn’t look like you were trying very hard.”

“I was about to stop Gilbert,” Alais said, ignoring Carenza’s snide little comment. “I wouldn’t have let him—”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.” Carenza gave her a hard look. “You’re getting married. We can’t keep doing this.”

Alais closed her eyes. This was what she’d been dreading all along—a forced choice between men who would almost certainly treat her just like her family did. She would become some boring lord’s ornament, relegated to making babies and sewing tapestries, all dreams of a grand romance crushed and all hope of having her intelligence acknowledged lost. Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she took a deep breath to stifle them.

“Take some time,” Carenza said, not unkindly. “Rest and compose yourself, and I’ll see you at dinner. The ward Helisende, Countess of Hastings, is sending to

us should arrive today. You should be there with the rest of us to greet him.”

Alais groaned. “I don’t particularly want to meet anyone the countess might send. I still haven’t forgiven her for holding Mother, Iselda, and me prisoner last year. And I bet she’s still angling to get me to marry that nasty nephew she kept mentioning as a match.” The countess had been a relatively gracious captor, but Alais had never been happier to see someone than when her brother-in-law arrived to secure their release.

“I know how you feel,” Carenza said. “I’m not looking forward to this either. But we must do our best not to hold the sins of the countess against the poor child who will probably be terrified. I’m told his name is Victor. Do your best to be welcoming, will you?”

Alais sighed. “I will. You know I’d never be mean to a child.”

“I know. And thank you.”

Carenza gave Alais’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and left her alone with her thoughts. Upon her sister’s departure, Alais indulged in a good, long wallow. She’d never asked to be born a noblewoman. If she weren’t a baron’s daughter, no one would be nearly so concerned with her virtue.

This was all Gilbert’s fault. He’d definitely had no business reaching beneath her skirts. And she truly had been about to stop him, not that anyone believed her. They all believed the worst just because she liked kissing. Her own mother had called her “wanton” the last time she was caught. Not that her mother paid attention to her except when she misbehaved.

Carenza was probably right. She should marry. She strongly suspected that the pleasures of the marriage bed would do much to calm her body’s voracious appetites. But she hadn’t met anyone she liked nearly enough to marry, and she was terrified they’d force her into a match she didn’t want. The men she’d met so far were fine for kissing, at least some of them, but she had yet to meet one who truly piqued her interest.

LESLIE VOLLARD

They were all so dull and shallow. None of them bothered to get to know the real her. Gilbert was the best of the lot and look what a disappointment he’d turned out to be.

She got into bed and pulled the covers over her head, giving in to the urge to cry now that she was alone. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to find a love match. Her parents promised after Carenza’s disastrous engagement to Raymond de Broase, Earl of Hawkhurst, the previous year. Wasn’t her family supposed to stand by her instead of throwing her to the wolves? Or, more likely, to a sheep? Which would be boring and above all, disappointing. A wolf would at least be interesting. Please, dear Lord, don’t make me marry a sheep.

Don’t miss thIS title:

Virginia BARLOW

Virginia Barlow has been a dreamer her whole life. She loves reading, traveling, and roses. She will dive headfirst into any romance she can get her hands on in any genre. Although her first love is Regency Romance and always will be. Something about the era calls to her soul like a siren’s song rising from the depths.

She loves to write steamy romances whether fantasy, historical, or contemporary, all are liberally spiced with adventure and sensual, seductive heroes. Her heroines are just as compelling with equal parts intelligence, sass, and backbone. They give as good as they get whether saving their man’s life or responding to his heated kisses, they’re all in.

The most important thing in Virginia’s life is her family, and spending time with them. When she is not bouncing a grandbaby in her arms or handing out popsicles, she is writing and dreaming up her next love story. Virginia has published fourteen romance novels with another two on the way and has half a dozen more circling around inside her head eager to make their debut.

Welcome to Uncaged! Catching Rose, your latest book, released in February and is part of a series called Calhan Brides, and the third book, A Lilli By Any Other Name will release in August. Can you tell us more about the books and the series? How many books are planned?

The Calhan Brides is a series of romance stories involving the Calhan family. There are four brothers, Connor Reese, Max, and Chase. And a sister, Madelaine. All of the brothers are law men except for Connor, who lives in New York and takes care of the family business. The first in the Calhan Brides Series is A Fallacious Seduction.

When the train US Marshal Reese Calhan is riding on

explodes, he is one of two survivors. Trouble is, the other survivor is the woman who betrayed him years ago. A woman he thought was dead. This time he will not fall prey to her wiles. He’ll see the vixen jailed for her crimes if it kills him.

Recovering from a recent jilting and now a train explosion, Shanna Johnston has no idea why the handsome stranger insists he knows her and calls her by another woman’s name. His heated looks and knowing kisses spark a fire in her she cannot ignore-even as her own mysterious past is closing in. The second book, Catching Rose, was released in February of 2024 and is about the youngest brother, Chase.

Rose Tanner dreamed of a fairytale wedding her whole life. But when her prince leaves her at the

Uncaged welcomes Virginia Barlow

altar, she wants to know why. Traveling to Texas for answers she finds more than she bargained for. Captured by a human trafficking ring, she fights for freedom. Risking her life to help the other women with her, she discovers there’s more to happy ever after than she thought. Texas Ranger Chase Calhan wants one thing, to capture El Diablo’s men so he can marry Rose. When they get to her first, he races against time to catch Rose before it’s too late. The third book, A Lilli By Any Other Name will be released August 21, 2024. This romance is about the second brother, Max of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Disguised as a boy to escape her uncle and his assassins, Rebecca Lillian Van Rassner runs a trapline with her father in the Canadian northwest. Yearning for her old life in New York, love, and a husband, she gives up all hope, until a handsome mounted police officer stumbles upon their cabin. And captures her heart with his mesmerizing blue eyes and heated kisses. Officer Max Calhan patrols the extreme north to bring villains to justice and discovers a wispy boy who transforms into a beautiful woman filled with surprises, secrets, and dangerous relatives. Determined to find the truth, Max discovers there’s more to Lilli than just a name.

I am planning two more, Mercy’s Peril, which is Connor’s love story, and the last one will be for their sister Madelaine.

What are you working on now that you can tell us about?

I am about half-way through Mercy’s Peril. Connor Calhan’s story. The story is set in New York and brings up old family drama, lies, secrets, and incidents from the Civil War. Neither Connor nor his family will be the same once Mercy Jackson has her way. I do not want to give away too much of the story, but I will say I am satisfied with the way it is shaping up,

How do you use social media as an author?

I use social media to get word out about my books. I also like to share trailers, and post cartoons on my Facebook page. It is a great way to connect with my audience.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

Wow. There is so much I could say. I used to write songs as a child and would sing them when I went outside to play until Mom made me quit. I think I drove her nuts. I loved my doll named JoAnn who I played with all the time. She had quite a naughty streak that my siblings loved and used to ask me to come play dolls so they could be entertained. I used to sew clothes for my Barbie Dolls with a needle and thread. My Grandmother on my mother’s side worked at a knitting factory in Germany before World War II and taught me to knit when I was six years old. I love all kinds of needle work. You name it, and I can do it. And I would so much rather be sewing than cooking and baking. LOL I

consider them necessary evils to be avoided at all costs.

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

I would like to spend time with Jane Austen and learn how she comes up with her plots and characters. She is one of the few female authors listed as the greatest of all times. A conversation with her would be well worth the time. And very educational, I am sure. There are a few questions I would like to ask like slang words they used, what characteristics in men were attractive at the time she lived, etc.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I love to sit on the beach and watch the waves. They calm my soul and bring me a sense of balance. A perfect day would be spent in a beach cabana with a tropical breeze to keep me cool and a hot waiter bringing me

icy drinks.

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

I prefer the solitude of silence. I get my mind into my story, and I don’t like being reminded that I live in any world other than the one I am creating. I enjoy being in my head and thinking things through.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

I am a woman with a headful of stories, a heart full of family, plenty of battle scars, and a host of dreams I am making a reality.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

I am thrilled and grateful for each reader and reviewer who picks up my book and allows me to carry them away into my stories. You are the world, and your comments make my day. You can find me on Facebook, on my website, on Instagram, on Twitter or X, on TikTok, and on YouTube.

Enjoy

an excerpt

from Catching Rose

Catching Rose Virginia Barlow Western Historical Romance

Rose Tanner dreamed of a fairytale wedding her whole life. But when her prince leaves her at the altar, she wants to know why. Traveling to Texas for answers she finds more than she bargained for. Captured by a human trafficking ring, she fights for freedom. Risking her life to help the other women with her, she discovers there’s more to happy ever after than she thought. Texas Ranger Chase Calhan wants one thing, to capture El Diablo’s men so he can marry Rose. When they get to her first, he races against time to catch Rose before it’s too late.

Excerpt

He caught her to him, pinned her against the wall, and kissed the hell out of her. His hands roamed her body and dropped to her hips, pulling her into his. “Rose.” He moaned against her lips and drank deep, turning her head to the side for maximum effect. His hot lips plundered her mouth with hungry, tantalizing nips while his tongue mated with hers. “God, I missed you.”

Her blood heated, and her stomach did summersaults. Still angry, she leaned back, but he wouldn’t have it and tightened his grip. She couldn’t think past the taste of his desire and the urgency in his kiss.

“I’ve thought of you every moment of every hour we’ve been apart. I want to take you in my arms

and love you every way a man loves his woman.” His drawl sent shivers down her spine and weakened her knees like smooth Tennessee whisky. The heat of his body drugged her senses, and she groaned in response. God, she had to get her wayward body under control before she gave in and didn’t get the answers she deserved.

“We would be on our honeymoon right now if you’d come to the wedding.” The pain of his defection still hurt. “I waited for hours in my lace gown, and you never came.”

He shook his head and tilted her chin up. “Didn’t you get the second telegram? I sent it from the station before I came here and asked you to postpone the ceremony until I settled this thing.” A shadow crossed his face, and sincerity shone from his amber eyes. “No. Just the one saying you’d see me in church. So, I waited. For hours.” Her voice trembled, and she swallowed hard.

One of the men at the table laughed, and Rose stiffened. “What thing?”

Chase glanced back at the poker game and shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t have the time to explain right now. But you shouldn’t be here. You could get hurt or killed, and I cannot lose you.” His whiskeycolored eyes bored into hers. “You mean everything to me, Rose. You have to know that. You are my life, and I would never recover if something happened to you.” He gathered her closer. “I hoped to avoid this very situation. God, I’m sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen.” Holding her tight against his heart, he sighed. “There are things you don’t understand. I killed El Diablo and planned to be in Chicago. I thought my war had ended, but before I could board the train, another situation developed.” He kissed her hair. “What I’m engaged in now is why I missed our wedding and came to San Antonio. God, I can see you sitting there in your white gown, waiting for me, and the thought breaks my heart. I would never hurt you like that, Rose. Never. Please believe me. You are everything to me, and I ache to show you how much I

love you.”

His kiss devoured her with deep, sweeping strokes of his tongue as he held her close against him. She sighed with satisfaction. He said the three words she longed to hear more than anything, and she melted in his arms. Her heart picked up speed, and heat seeped through her as he caressed her back and arms. This is the man she traveled to Texas to find. Desire spread through her with delicious anticipation.

Someone coughed beside them. “There’s time for kissing and talking later. Delgato could walk through the door any second, and we’ll lose this opportunity.” The man’s deep voice brought her to her senses.

Chase lifted his head and stared deep into her eyes. “He’s right.” He glanced around. “I need to hide you somewhere safe until this is over.”

“I’ll watch out for her. You better get back in there before this whole thing goes bad.” The deep voice spoke to their right. “I’d trade you places if I could. But we both know if Delgato sees me, he’ll know it’s a trap and run.”

Chase lifted her chin up, and his whisky-colored eyes burned with seriousness. “When this is over, I’ll tell you everything. In the meantime, promise me you’ll stay here with Sam and don’t come out no matter what you hear. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice trembled with emotion. For the first time since her wedding day, she wondered if she got it all wrong. “I’ll stay.”

Whatever he read in her expression satisfied him, for he gave her another peck on the lips and strolled back to the poker table. “I’ll take two cards.” He resumed his seat at the table as if they were never interrupted and took a sip of his tequila.

“You must be Rose.” The tall man with dark hair and green eyes beside her held out a hand. “I’m Sam Walker, Calhan’s partner.” Drawing her back into the shadows, he shook his head at her. “I never seen my

partner so worked up about anyone before as he is you. He hears your name and goes all crazy. Now I’ve met you, I can see why. Welcome to Texas, Miss Rose.” He took position to the left of the door and gazed into the cantina. “I just hope like hell we didn’t scare Calhan’s target away.”

A thought crossed her mind. “Who is the woman who left a few minutes ago? Is she Grace?” “No. Her name is Rozita Sanchez. She works for a Mexican warlord and is responsible for helping Calhan catch and kill Juan Castillo, a general in Mexico’s army known as El Diablo. Now, his first in command, a man named Delgato, is in San Antonio to hire guerilla soldiers and get revenge. El Diablo’s woman, Maria Garcia, died when we made our move on the general, and we have information Delgato plans to kill Chase, and anyone connected to him. Maria is also Delgato’s sister, and he’s the reason Ranger Calhan missed his wedding.” He frowned. “This whole situation in the cantina is a set up to capture the man. If they figure out who you are, they’ll kill you.”

“I think they know. The woman Rozita called me Rosa.” She swallowed when he narrowed his gaze on her face.

“Is that a fact? Chase hoped to keep you out of all this. He trusts the woman, but I don’t. She may have spilled the beans to Delgato, and your being here complicates things.” Moving her farther away from the door, he peered into her eyes. “How did you know we were in San Antonio?”

Her chin lifted a notch. “I know how to find people too. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”

He nodded and said nothing while he studied her face.

Her conscience pricked her, and she figured he knew by the way he waited for her to continue. Gazing at him, she confessed her sins. “I read a

telegram meant for Chase’s brother and rode the train to Houston. Chief Tafford told me he came here.”

“And the cantina? San Antonio’s a big place.” The ranger’s green eyes bored into hers. She told him about Aries.

He ran a hand through his hair and gazed around as if looking for a one-way train to Chicago to stuff her into. “We need to get you the hell out of here.” Sam shook his head when he gazed into the cantina and checked his pistol. “Rozita set this whole thing up and gave Chase the information so he could arrest Delgato. My partner won’t like hearing she knows about you. This could be a set up for us, as well.” He glanced at her face. “Do you have somewhere to go until this is over?”

Rose frowned. She gave Chase her word, she’d stay put. “I have a room at the Menger up the road.” She glanced at Sam. “How long has Rozita known Chase?”

“Several years, if I understand it correctly.” Rolling a cigarette, he tucked the end in his mouth. “She gives him information, and he pays her. If I believed anything different, I’d be the first one to break his neck for missing his own wedding.” Lighting a match, he held the end against his cigarette and took a puff. His words eased some of the sting.

“I wish someone would have told me the situation before I left Chicago. I didn’t get his second telegram. I’m not unreasonable, and I would have listened.” Rose put a trembling hand to her forehead. She didn’t feel well, and Sam swirled before her eyes. “I’ve been worried out of my mind about him. And when he didn’t come for the wedding. I wanted to know why.”

Her companion frowned. “He told the truth. He sent you two telegrams. The one you have there, and the one explaining he wouldn’t make the wed-

ding. I stood beside him in Houston when he sent it. Ranger Kaplan gave it to the operator. Calhan is crazy about you.”

Rose frowned as a suspicious thought crossed her mind. “What if Ranger Kaplan didn’t give it to the operator?”

A long silence filled the space between them while Sam puffed on his cigarette. “Now, there’s a thought worth checking up on. The more I think on the situation, the more I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have come, especially not alone. If anything happens to you, my partner will lose his mind. Why don’t you sneak out the back door here, catch a hackney at the corner, and go back to the hotel where it’s safe. I’ll send Calhan as soon as this is over, and you two can work this thing out between you.”

She never got the chance. Men burst in the front door of the cantina, and a short, meaty man with a handlebar mustache strolled in, followed by six men with guns on each hip. “God dammit. There he is.”

As soon as the men stepped inside, Sam pushed her into a corner and tipped a table in front of her. “Stay put!” He disappeared.

Rose leaned back into the shadows as bullets flew. More men raced in through the back door and past her hiding place without slowing down. Rapid gunfire filled the air. When a bullet hit the wall behind her, she dropped to her belly and crossed her arms over her head. Squeezing her eyes shut as lead hit the walls around her, she gritted her teeth when a couple hit the floor out front. Curling up in a ball, traumatized by the sounds of the battle, she held her breath and waited. Men shouted and bodies fell. She didn’t dare breathe or think about who might be getting shot. “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.”

Placing her hands over her ears, she rocked and whispered the words of an old song to keep her mind from conjuring up images of the war going on around her. Had Chase been shot? Or Sam? She knew the man for five minutes and trusted him with her life. He couldn’t

die, and neither could Chase. Not until she found out everything and where the hell Grace went. His telegram said he came to rescue her. So, where did she go, and what did these men have to do with her?

The heat, and the worry, combined with her lack of food and sleep caught up to her as a bullet hit the wall with a thud. Something fell from above her, and everything went black. When she regained consciousness, Chase had her in his arms. His blond head hovered above hers, and concern shone from his warm brown eyes. “Are you okay?”

His sexy drawl rolled over her like a shot of aged scotch, and Rose’s stomach tightened. So close, she could see the gold specks in his eyes. She sucked in a shaky breath as his large, warm hands ran over her body, searching for injuries. His scent enveloped her like a fantasy lover, and she trembled with emotion. The familiar smell used to mean excitement, euphoria, and dizzy anticipation. Until her recent experiences.

“Talk to me, darlin’.” Chase’s warm breath brushed her cheeks while his mouth hovered above her lips. “My heart dang near burst from my chest when I found you unconscious. I thought I lost you, that you’d been shot.” His hand shook as he brushed a strand of hair from her face and caressed her cheek. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. My life flashed before me, and all I could think about was how empty I would be without you. I couldn’t bear to live if you left me.”

Rose blinked. “I’m okay.” This Chase she loved and traveled for days to find, not the other one who played poker and left her alone on their wedding day. “We’re supposed to be on our honeymoon.” She swallowed. “Not in the bowels of Texas. And I want to know why.”

Don’t miss these

Melissa kendall

Melissa lives in Regina, Saskatchewan; the capital city that feels like a small town. A passionate public speaker, board game enthusiast and lover of all things Halloween, she spends her free time writing and spoiling her two cats.

Uncaged welcomes Melissa Kendall

Welcome to Uncaged! You newest book, Companion to the Count will release on August 16 and is part of a new series, The Seductive Sleuths. Can you tell readers more about this book and series?

In Companion to the Count, Saffron Summersby becomes determined to save her family from financial ruin when she sees her presumed dead brother’s face in the newest painting by a famous anonymous artist.

Her search leads her into the office of reclusive art collector Leopold “Leo” Mayweather, who offers a trade. If she helps him track down the thieves replacing his paintings with with forgeries, he’ll introduce her to the artist she seeks.

Seductive Sleuths is a Victorian historical romance series where each couple must solve a mystery central to the plot.

You’ve also written in other genres, what pulled you in to write in the historical category?

My first book, Marked for Harvest, was a paranormal romance. I wrote the first draft of that book in 2018 because I wanted to write a historical romance, but I didn’t

feel ready to commit to doing so much research. After I finished Marked for Harvest, I actually wrote three more books in different genres before I dove into research for Companion to the Count.

How do you use social media as an author?

I decided when I first started writing that I had to choose an approach to social media that prioritized my mental health. I decided to only share things that I genuinely enjoyed, which turned out to be designing and sewing historical outfits. Conveniently, my spouse is an avid photographer, so we spend at least a few hours every weekend doing photoshoots with my various dresses. I usually also bring my phone and film scenes where I take on different personas, such as a stern governess or a wild debutante trying to find a husband. My followers seem to like when I respond to their comments in-character.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

My first published work was a horror short story called Feast. Horror is my second favorite genre. I find that writing horror and romance feel very similar. It’s just a matter of which emotions you want to evoke in your readers.

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

I would love to talk to Mercedes Lackey. Her rich fantasy worlds inspired me to become an author. I particularly love her Elemental Masters series because it blends all the things I love: a historical setting, paranormal elements, romance, and mystery solving.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

My day job is particularly stressful and over-stimulating, so I unwind by watching videos on YouTube. As weird as it sounds, I spend on average 3 hours a day lying on the floor with my phone off listening to fantasy ASMR content, such as a booking into a magic hotel.

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

It depends on what I am writing. For romance, I listen to classical music, which helps me with immersion. For horror, I listen to white noise. I’ve tried true crime podcasts, but I find people talking distracting.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

Even more unhinged than you’re probably thinking.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

I love engaging with book lovers on social media, especially jokes about historical romance tropes. Readers can find me on any social media as MAKendallAuthor.

Stay Connected

Enjoy an excerpt from Companion to the Count

Companion to the Count

Melissa Kendall Historical Mystery Romance Releases August 16

The only thing more dangerous than a secret is the man who holds it.

Saffron Summersby lost everything after her brother’s suspicious death: her dresses, her dowry, her place in society as a baronet’s sister. So when she sees her brother’s face in the latest painting from famous anonymous artist Ravenmore and realizes he might still be alive, she comes up with a plan: learn the identity of the painter, find her brother, and save her sister from marrying a brute in order to avoid financial ruin. She doesn’t expect her investigation to lead her into the den of a notorious rake.

After the death of his sister, Leopold “Leo” Mayweather, Viscount Briarwood, gave up his wild ways and devoted his life to art, particularly the distribution of paintings by the reclusive Ravenmore. So when he discovers someone is stealing the paintings and replacing them with forgeries, he decides to host an art auction to draw out the

thief. He doesn’t expect a beautiful woman to storm into his life, determined to unmask Ravenmore.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

England, 1860

Saffron Summersby’s breath formed a cloud of mist as she searched the murky night for a spray of peacock feathers or a flash of pale yellow.

A perfectly manicured lawn stretched out in front of her, bisected by a white, stone path. To her right, twin onyx lions guarded the entrance to a hedge maze. To her left, the path wound around a circular structure with a domed top.

A cool wind brushed across the terrace, bringing with it the mixed perfume of flowering plants. She rubbed her gloved hands over the exposed skin of her upper arms. Had she known she would be chasing her foolish younger sister around in near-freezing temperatures, she would have worn a shawl over her brown, wool gown.

The last time she had seen Angelica, the Duke of Canterbury had collected her for the dance he’d claimed, a quadrille. The thought of her sister wrapped in the elderly duke’s arms made her insides squirm, but they were running out of options. She pried her chilled fingers from the balustrade and returned to the cloying warmth of the ballroom, where couples twirled and stomped to the tune of a simple country dance, illuminated by candles set in low-hanging chandeliers. Paintings covered the walls, from brash depictions of horses stampeding to war to gentle landscapes in hues of green and brown.

Each lady wore a unique color, their hair decorated with bobbing feathers or sparkling gems. All the colors blurred together in Saffron’s vision, like she was spinning in circles, and it made her nauseated.

Sweat dripped down her back, but she forced herself to keep moving.

She managed three steps into the refreshment room, the last notes of the orchestra still hanging in the air, before the Dowager Duchess of St. Clair caught her. “Oh, Miss Summersby,” the woman said. She fluttered her fan, causing locks of silver hair to float away from her face. “I did not know you would be in attendance. How kind of Lord and Lady Jarvis to invite your family, despite your… unfortunate circumstances.”

Saffron forced a pretty smile. She could not respond to the taunt without giving the society matrons another reason to shun her. She dipped into a curtsey. “Your Grace.”

The dowager clicked her tongue. “Come, let me look at you. I have not seen you for ages. We’re discussing the newest production of The Brides of Garryowen at the Adelphi.”

Against her wishes, she joined the entourage surrounding the duchess. To do otherwise would have been rude. She would have to hope the woman would tire of her company quickly. “I have not seen it, Your Grace.” “Why, you must. It is a splendid time.” The dowager helped herself to a fruit tart from her serving plate. She had crammed her ample bosom into a crimson gown of jacquard-woven silk, the neckline pulled so low that half the gentlemen surrounding her had trouble keeping their gaze on her face.

Saffron envied the duchess and her independence. As a titled woman of wealth and power, she was above reproach. She could ride a white stallion around the park in a Grecian toga and still receive invitations for every major event of the Season.

“I might lend you my private box,” the dowager added, brushing crumbs from her bosom. “You could watch it with your aunt, and that darling sister of yours.”

Her sister would love that. Angelica hid her disappointment well, but the sadness in her eyes every time

they had to sell another piece of their mother’s precious jewelry made Saffron feel like a monster. Soon they would have nothing of their mother but a handful of faded portraits and the one item Saffron refused to part with, her mother’s diamond broach.

At least they hadn’t yet sold the books. When that day came, they would both cry.

“It would be an honor.” She bowed her head.

“Where is your sister, my dear?” Rouged lips curved into a devious smile. “I have not seen her since dinner.”

A cold needle of fear pierced her heart and she used the first lie that came to her mind. “She is suffering a megrim. She has not been feeling quite herself lately.” The dowager made a humming sound. “Yes, the two of you are quite the pair. One strange, the other flighty. I pity your aunt.”

Saffron’s cheeks burned. As the eldest, it was her responsibility to guide her sister through the shark-infested waters of society. Unfortunately, keeping Angelica out of trouble was like trying to cage the wind.

This would never have happened if Basil were still alive.

Everything had changed after her brother’s death. With no male heirs, the Crown had awarded the baronet title to a distant cousin, who cared not one whit for his estranged family. The funds that had once seemed endless had rapidly dried up. They had scrimped and saved every penny, but the small pension her widowed aunt, Rosemary, had received from her first husband couldn’t support them. Then the newly widowed Duke of Canterbury had arrived in town like a white knight and immediately set his sights on Angelica. His wealth meant a lack of dowry was of no consequence, but he had insisted upon an old-fashioned, lengthy courtship. That would not have been a problem, except that they had missed the last payment on their townhouse, and the two prior

payments had been short. It would not be long before the bank ran out of patience.

We will make it, Saffron thought. If I must become a governess, we’ll make it.

But first she had to prevent her sister from ruining herself.

She clenched her jaw and, with a prayer for luck, took a half-step back as a young man laden with drinks passed behind her. The sound of tearing cloth split the air, sending her sprawling. Two glasses of lemonade shattered against the marble floor. Servants descended upon the broken glass, ushering them away.

The young man stared at Saffron in horror. “Dreadfully sorry.” His ears turned a bright red, the same shade as his curly hair. He dabbed at a wet spot on his brown wool jacket. “I did not see you.”

“Enough of that.” The dowager waved her empty plate in the air. “The deed is done. Off with you. Accompany Miss Summersby to the retiring room.” With that dismissal, Saffron took the boy’s arm. He stammered apologies as they cut their way around the carnage. Fans snapped open as they passed, but not quick enough to obscure grinning faces. The whispers and tittering laughter made her fingers curl.

Society loved drama. Especially when it was at her expense. It felt as if the whispers and giggles were only ever directed at her, even when Angelica and Rosemary were present.

When they were out of sight of the dowager, she patted her chaperone’s arm and murmured her thanks, then gathered her bulky skirts and dashed through a gap in the crowd and into a hallway. Her slippers caught on a bunch in the thin carpeting and sent her sprawling to her knees. After struggling to her feet, she discovered that the delicate French lace on her collar had torn.

A small bit of damage that she could fix in an hour sitting by the fire with her sewing kit, but it was enough to send her spiraling. She pressed her fists over her eyes. She could not have a fit. Not yet. When she was safe in her bed, then despair could overtake her. But not yet.

She adjusted her collar to hide the damage and continued down the hallway, pausing at each closed door to listen before peeking inside. The first two she checked were silent and empty, but when she stopped at the third, she heard a faint crackle of fire.

Preparing for the worst, she pushed open the door to see Angelica curled up on a horsehair sofa near the fireplace, a book resting open on her chest, her eyes closed in slumber. Her golden curls shone in the firelight and her yellow-and-cream gown spilled over the chair and onto the floor. She had inherited their mother’s beauty. Saffron’s dark hair and stubborn chin were gifts from their father.

Saffron gripped the doorframe and took a deep, calming breath, letting the familiar smells of the library envelop her. Varnished wood, old books, and the sweet, ashy undertone of cigar smoke. Then she charged forward and swiped the book from her sister’s arms. When she turned it over, she huffed.

Wuthering Heights.

Angelica’s eyes fluttered open, and her lips curved in a sleepy smile. “Is it time to go home?”

“It’s time to return to the ballroom.” She waggled the book. “You won’t find your Heathcliff hiding in here, sister.”

Angelica straightened her dress and stood. “I apologize. My toes could not take another pounding.” The reprimand on Saffron’s tongue flitted away when she saw the tears glittering in her sister’s eyes.

“Was it something the duke said?” she asked softly. If the man had insulted Angelica or done anything else even slightly inappropriate, she would confront him and demand he leave Angelica alone. All she needed was an excuse.

“No.” Angelica grabbed the book and crushed it to her chest.

Saffron sighed. So much for her opportunity. “Then what is the matter?”

Angelica’s lower lip trembled. “I’ve read every book in our library three times. Lady Jarvis won’t notice one book missing, would she? The dust on the shelves is an inch thick.”

Greif clotted in Saffron’s throat. Her sister had resorted to theft.

“I-I’ll buy you a new one,” she lied. She would have said anything to wipe the desperation off her sister’s face.

Angelica opened her mouth, then frowned and tilted her head. “Do you hear that?”

It was the sound of approaching footsteps, followed by bubbly laughter. Saffron grabbed her sister’s arm and dragged her behind a bookshelf. The copy of Wuthering Heights thumped to the ground in front of the fireplace.

“Who is it?” Angelica whispered.

She shushed her sister and peered through the cracks in the books. The door creaked open, and Lady Jarvis stumbled inside, her arms wrapped around the neck of a man who was not her husband. The sounds coming from the pair made her want to slap her hands over Angelica’s ears. They had to get away before their gossiping host caught them spying on the amorous encounter. She searched the room for alternative exits and caught the outline of a door halfway hidden behind a drape. She tugged her sister’s fingers to get her attention, then

whispered, “Follow me.”

They carefully maneuvered between the bookshelves, serenaded by Lady Jarvis’s increasingly loud moans, then slipped through the door. “Hello,” a male voice said, making Saffron jump.

A man sat in a chair in the corner of the antechamber, holding a cigar in one hand. He wore dark, form-fitting trousers and a frock coat of the same color, unbuttoned, and parted on either side to reveal a black, satin shirt beneath. His wavy, blond hair was unfashionably long and untied, so it rested on his shoulders like the mane of a great lion.

Heat flushed through her body when she realized the man wasn’t alone. A woman in a blood-red evening gown crouched before him, the inky-black fall of her hair obscuring her face. As Saffron stared, frozen in shock and horror, the woman rose to her feet and pulled her hair back to reveal bright-green eyes and full, pouty lips. She had the kind of painful beauty one imagined when reading Homer’s description of Helen of Troy.

“Thank you for the entertaining interlude, darling,” the woman said. She pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek, eliciting a squeak from Angelica, then stepped back into the darkness and vanished. There was a creak of a door opening and then thudding shut.

“Who was that?” Angelica whispered.

The words broke the spell that had frozen Saffron in place, and she jerked her head in the direction the woman had gone. “I don’t know, but we should follow her.”

Then the man laughed, startling them both.

“The Misses Summersby, isn’t it?” The man took a long draw of his cigar, tilted his head back, then blew a trail of smoke. “Leopold Mayweather, at your service.”

She clenched her teeth on a gasp. She’d heard his name before, whispered by ill-natured women who congregated near the wallflowers to whisper stories about dangerous men. Viscount Briarwood, Leopold “Leo” Mayweather, was one of the worst, a confirmed rake and despoiler of innocents. Rumors held he had ruined a dozen debutantes and survived twice that many duels with angry fathers and brothers.

“Sister, who is that man?” Angelica whispered. “He looks like a devil.”

Saffron hoped he hadn’t heard that.

He chuckled. “A devil, is it? And you have stumbled into my lair.” He gestured to an oil painting on the wall depicting a group of naked women feasting on the slaughtered remains of a goat, their hands and faces covered in blood.

Fear pulsed through Saffron like a living thing. With every second they remained alone with the man, the risk of ruin increased. She knew she should follow the woman out whatever exit she had taken, but her legs refused to move.

Lord Briarwood was dangerous, but he didn’t elicit in her the scattered, nervy sensations she was used to feeling around strange men. He looked like a lion and had the reputation of a scoundrel, but something in his posture spoke of a tenderness beneath the surface. He didn’t lounge in the chair so much as he curled his body into it, like a housecat perched on top of a pillow.

“What are you doing here, Lord Briarwood?” she asked.

Angelica uttered a quiet gasp at his name.

“I’m searching for something.” He unfolded his long legs and stalked from the shadows. The flickering firelight cast an orange hue over the sharp planes of his cheekbones, wide lips, and slightly

crooked nose, making him appear even more devilish. She stood her ground, her hands buried in her skirts, heart thundering in her chest. She tilted her head up and met his gaze.

“Searching for what, my lord?”

“Something that doesn’t belong.” His lips twitched. “Rather like you, Miss Summersby. You do not belong here, dressed like…” He trailed off, running his gaze down her body.

Her stomach churned and for a fleeting moment, she wished she’d chosen something other than the plain but serviceable gown of brown wool unadorned with lavish ribbons or ruching. Combined with her coal-black hair and pale complexion, she probably looked more like a scullery maid than a lady.

Angelica glided around her and dipped into a curtsey, a picture of grace and beauty. “It is lovely to make your acquaintance, Lord Devil.”

Briarwood’s eyes crinkled at the edges. Then Angelica rose from her curtsey and smacked him in the chin with the crown of her head. Saffron tensed, expecting an outburst, but as the viscount staggered back, rubbing his chin, he laughed. “What is in that head of yours, my dear? Rocks?”

The tension that had seized Saffron’s lungs drained away. She turned to her sister to examine her escaped curls and clucked her displeasure. “You must have more care. If you lose another curl, I will not forgive you.” She dug her fingers into the tangle of her own hair and pulled out a pin. A lock of black hair tumbled free. Before she could tuck it behind her ear, cool fingers brushed her temple. “I have it,” Lord Briarwood said, his voice soft. “Don’t worry.”

The feather-light touch on her scalp sent pleasurable tingles down her back and a wild part of her wondered what it would feel like to have his fin-

gers on other parts of her body. She imagined his long fingers trailing up her inner thigh and untying the ribbon holding her stockings in place. She thrust those wayward thoughts aside and grasped her sister’s head in both hands, twisting the curls that had come free around the length of the pin and tucking them away. That done, she released her sister and inspected her work. It would not pass muster in daylight, but in the dim light of the ballroom, it would suffice.

“Now that we have been introduced, albeit in a highly unusual manner,” Briarwood said, “please allow me to accompany you back to the ballroom. Perhaps we will find what I have been searching for along the way.” She hesitated. What was worse—walking in on Lady Jarvis in flagrante delicto, or entering a ballroom on the arm of a rake?

The viscount’s lips twitched. “Propriety. Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Marie? If you will.”

A short, gray-haired woman wearing the uniform of a servant separated from the shadows and curtsied. “I will accompany you, my lord.”

“Marie is one of Lady Jarvis’s servants,” Leo explained. “Our generous host assigned her to attend to me tonight. I required a servant’s perspective.”

The tightness in Saffron’s shoulders eased, and she held out her hand. Warm fingers enveloped her own and drew her closer. The intensity in his face should have sent her scurrying away. She knew what men like him wanted, had felt their lecherous gazes lingering on her in every ballroom she’d graced since her brother’s death. It was as if they could sense her imminent fall from grace and were waiting to claim her as their mistress. Those looks always made her long for a bath. Not Lord Briarwood’s. His gentle gaze caressed her skin like the finest silk and made her long to slip into his arms and bury her nose in his neck.

She had never felt such wild impulses with any other man. She felt like a character in one of the romance novels she’d read.

His wicked smile would haunt her dreams for months.

“Let us return before anyone raises a fuss,” Briarwood said. He pushed back a heavy drape from the wall and revealed another door. They passed through the doorway and into a wide hallway, Angelica and Marie following behind.

He squeezed her hand. “I thought you might flee rather than take my arm. I sometimes forget how imposing I must seem.” He waved his free arm up and down his body.

She kept her lips shut and her gaze focused on the swirling shapes at the end of the hall. Her traitorous mind, which recalled facts and figures with ease but forced her to write down her daily tasks no matter how many times she repeated them, had already memorized every line of his body.

“Why do you wear the black?” Angelica asked. “Did someone you know die?”

“My sister.” His tone had a brittle edge.

“We lost our brother, too,” Angelica said. “He left us to go traveling and they found his body washed up on the shore. Aunt Rosemary says it is his fault that we must marry for money and not for love.”

Hearing her sister speak of their bleak future in such a fashion twisted Saffron’s heart. She pulled away from the viscount to place a hand on her sister’s arm. “I don’t think the viscount wishes to hear about our troubles.”

As the man smothered a laugh, Saffron noticed a painting behind her sister’s head. Something about it called out to her and she stepped closer, taking in the scene of a ship. The hull was primarily black, with a line of white near the top and a hint of red beneath the waves. A bearded figure graced the front of the ship, holding a round shield in one arm and a sword in the other, facing forward as if charging into battle.

It can’t be.

A man stood on the deck, wearing brown, cotton overalls. One hand was on his hip, and the other buried in his mass of chestnut curls.

“Sister, no!” Angelica cried.

She jerked her hand back. Without realizing it, she’d touched her fingers to the canvas. “Look at this,” she said. “Do you see it?”

Her sister crowded in beside her, but Saffron kept her gaze on the man on the deck of the ship, afraid if she looked away, he would disappear, as he had vanished from their lives nearly three years prior. She hadn’t believed he was dead until a body was found wearing her brother’s clothes.

“Ravenmore,” Briarwood said, uttering the word like a curse.

The back of Saffron’s neck prickled. She’d been so focused on the painting, she hadn’t noticed him moving to stand behind her. If she took a step back, she would bump into his chest. Would he be as warm and solid as he looked? She ached to find out but didn’t dare move.

Angelica peered at a metal plaque mounted on the wall beneath the painting. “He’s right. It says, ‘Ravenmore.’ What does it mean?”

Saffron didn’t respond, having noticed the slanted, silver print near the corner of the canvas.

It’s only a few days old.

The world slanted on its axis as several years’ worth of grief churned inside her chest.

One thought rang clear in her mind.

She had to find the artist and ask how he had painted a picture of a ghost.

we choose each other

Guest column

by Jenna Greene

Guest Column

We Choose Each Other

By Jenna Greene

For every classroom I visit, or book event I attend, a few routine questions make the rounds. I don’t mind, of course. If someone wants to talk writing, I will gladly oblige for hours, or possibly even days. One of the questions frequently asked is “Why did you write this story?” The question seems standard enough, and it is – but it also silently alludes to another question: Does the author choose the story, or does the story choose the author?

An interesting thought, and likely one that has mystified people for generations. And honestly, at different times it can be answered in different ways, because each story goes through its own journey. Some are written quickly, with words sprinting onto the page. Others plod along, taking their own sweet time in developing. Some are chosen deliberately, while others manifest along the way. There are writers of all methods and styles, who craft their stories in a multitude of ways. There is no right way or wrong way to write, nor does each story have to go through the same process each time. (Mine never have).

Where ideas come from is a complex notion as well. Some are inspired by history, others by society. My story ideas, for example, have been inspired by dreams, events, conversations, images, and jokes. So, have these stories chosen me? I’d say, partly. But I have the final choice in writing these stories – or not. I get to decide whether this is a story I will tell and, if so, how I will tell it. I can create poetry or prose, a novel or novella. I can develop the characters how I want, and I can determine point of view. Sometimes I decide that there is a story to tell,

but I’m not the right one to tell it. More frequently, I conclude that I’m not ready to take a character’s journey. There are several stories settled in the back of my brain, waiting for my skills to develop or my life to settle, so that when I finally do craft the tale, I can do it justice. After all, how I wrote at age twenty is a lot different than how I write now. How I write now will be nothing to what will reach the page in another thirty years. My talent remains the same, but not my perspective, knowledge, or awareness of the world. I wasn’t a mother ten years ago. I wasn’t a wife before that. I doesn’t mean I can’t write about a grandmother just because I’m not one, but I might decide that I can’t access that character yet – or that I believe I can and I’m ready to do so.

Writing is full of choices, so many that it can be overwhelming. It’s easier to not give in to the urge to write, and simply daydream about the possibility of crafting a tale.

So.. . why do authors persevere? Why do they take a nugget of an idea that has reached them in a random way, and form it into a story? How do they answer the question of “Why did you write this story?”

It’s still a complex question, but chances are, it might boil down to two answers: The author found a hook they have a desire to explore, or they have a story they think needs to be told.

And maybe it’s both answers at once.

Authors want to write. (Editing, on the other hand…) And they want to create a good story. They want to share their insights and words with the world, whether that be through a fantastical realm with other-worldly heroes, or a tale of mystery and adventure. A story is a story, whether it takes place in a small town and centres around humble prob-

lems, or it’s a tale about a society gone wrong that a hero must tackle. Authors want to create. They need to create, and they hope they create something good.

For each story I write, for each time I’m asked, “Why did you write this story?” I answer: because I wanted to. Because I felt there was something I had to say. Because I wanted to go on the adventure. I am the story, and the story is me. We choose each other.

An Owl Without a Name

Jenna Greene Children

The charming story of a young owl’s strange and disorienting journey to discover who he is and where he belongs.

©Copyright 2024 Jenna Greene for Uncaged Book Reviews www.uncagedbooks.com Published with Permission

Jenna Greene is a teacher, writer, clumsy dancer, dragonboat coach and paddler, and semi-professional napper. She loves every part of her life and starts each day with a cup of tea.

When a young Great Horned Owl wakes up to find himself on the ground with a broken wing, he can’t figure out where he is, how he got there, or how to get back to the tree where he lives with his parents and older sister. Is this a test, to see if he is ready to leave the nest? Is he being punished for something? Before he knows what is happening, he is whisked away to a rescue centre, where he meets other owls who are also recovering from injuries before being released back into the wild. Lonely, confused, and very self-conscious of the fact that he doesn’t have a name, the young owl slowly adapts to his new surroundings. He makes friends, finds his courage, heals from his injury, and realizes that identity is about more than a name that is given to you. It’s about the character that you develop, especially when you face hard times. Heartwarming, whimsical, and inspirational, An Owl without a Name is an uplifting tale for young readers

short story

Scream for the Holidays

by Don Anelli

Scream for the Holidays by

Don Anelli

Joy to the World, the Lord is Here! Let Earth receive her King! I can’t help it, I love this song! Singing along is the perfect way to get into the holiday spirit, and with something as joyous and uplifting as “Joy to the World” is, that becomes even better to start the Christmas season!

To be fair, Randy and I have an extra reason to be joyful this Christmas since it’s our first Christmas as homeowners. After being together for four years, this is the first time for the holidays that we can have a home for ourselves. Before, we had usually stayed with one of our parents, and as much as I love them having ten people crammed into a house designed for a smaller family of four to six people did mean we were often crammed with each other. We can invite Matthew, Christian, Marie, and Jean to our house for Christmas. I guess Larry and Bo are welcome as well, but most important are the grandparents.

“Hey, babe, where’s all the indoor wall stuff?” Randy calls out from the other room.

“Everything is there, sweetie, just look for them.”

“I’ve been looking through them for like, ten minutes now, and they’re not here.”

Damn, if ever there was something to kill my holiday buzz, my husband playing stupid is probably high on the list. He’s usually smarter than this, to play dumb and get out of having to help put up decorations, so if I find those decorations in those boxes he’s had it!

“All right, where did you look?”

“These right here. These two over here are the mantelpieces we got, that one there next to it is the kitchen figures for the top of the refrigerator, and then those three by the window are the tree stuff for when everyone arrives. These are the only ones left, but the wall pieces are not here.”

Rifling through the plastic storage containers stacked up together, I can’t believe Randy is right, but the decorations I’m looking for aren’t here. I see nothing but the outdoor lights and stickers we place on the windows.

“Do you see anything? It’s the outdoor lights and decorations, not the wall-mounted stuff we usually put up. No paintings, no proper lights, none of that stuff.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right, sweetie. I think Dad might’ve left those boxes at home by mistake, nothing’s here.”

“Is it too late to call him and see if they can bring everything along when they visit?”

“Probably, they should be on the road by now. Plus, we’d probably need to be there to grab the proper box of supplies to avoid something like this happening again. I don’t remember what we packed them in, to be honest, if it’s not in any of these.”

“What about putting this up? Get the outside lights put up at the least.”

“Homeowner’s Association, can’t put anything up outside.”

“So what do we do then? We can put the kitchen stuff up but that’s about it.”

“No, let’s just leave it until they arrive. You want to turn on a movie before they arrive?”

“Sure, I can throw something on. What do you want? I’m sure my mom’s going to demand the Hallmark Channel when she arrives, but I’m still game.”

“Great, I’m up for anything but no ‘Die Hard.’”

“But it’s a Christmas movie. You can never go wrong with ‘Die Hard.’”

“And it’s also two-and-a-half hours when we don’t have that kind of time before your parents arrive. I’m not interested in turning it off before it gets to the good stuff to placate your mom and her Hallmark obsession.”

“Oh, so it’s a timing thing then. Fine, we’ll go for a shorter one. How about ‘Elf?’”

Ugh, I hate ‘Elf.’ Sorry, but Will Ferrell works in small doses for me, like an SNL skit. Feature-length fare, he wears out his welcome quickly. Thank god Randy reads my expression, and we don’t have to talk more about it.

“Okay, no problem. What about ‘Bad Santa?’”

“Maybe, not a favorite, but we’ll try to get it in before the holiday for sure.”

“All right, old-school then. What about ‘Gremlins?’”

“No, Christmas Horror is for July only.”

“‘A Christmas Story?’”

“We’re going to watch it plenty of times on the 24th, I’m not up for watching it before then”

“Oh, right. Good point, so then how about ‘Santa Clause?’”

“Okay, yeah, that could work. Throw that on.”

With that, I think he’s satisfied, so I leave him to get the movie ready while I can snuggle up on the couch before his parents get here. I’m not up for popcorn but maybe he can grab something during the movie getting set up for us. Luckily, on his own, Randy brings over some candy from one of the nearby tables that I had left for his parents to eat for us so we have some food for the movie. With the movie over and still having a few minutes before Christian and Jean arrive, we get up and stretch so as not to give away the fact that we just spent valuable decorating time watching a movie. Starting to tidy up further, there’s enough time to hide everything and make the house suitable for everyone by the time Christian’s car shows up and both he and Jean come inside.

“Hey, you guys, it’s so good to see you!” Jean greets us as she comes inside. “How are you two doing?”

“Doing great now that you’re both here, Mom,” Randy says as he comes over and hugs her. “Does Dad need help with the bags?”

“I’m sure he could use an extra hand, which would give us a chance to catch up, dear.”

Randy follows suit and goes to help his dad while Marie and I hug each other for the first time in several months. I can tell it’s in part the time we’ve been apart but also about her sense of pride in us finally being on our own and starting our lives together, but it’s something she’ll never admit.

“And how about you, dear? How’s the house coming?”

“It’s been great. Most of the rooms are settled, we have plenty of space for our future, and outside of some inexperience dealing with things on our own, we’ve been doing good. How about you guys come inside out of the cold?” It’s perfect timing, as Randy and Christian have collected the bags and are bringing them inside so Marie and I lead them inside. Dumping everything in the living room, Christian and I greet each other with a big hug, which echoes the same feeling I got from Marie earlier. It does have the sense of them being proud of us as if I were their daughter.

“So, I hate to be that guy, but I need to know where the bathroom is first and foremost.”

“Sure, that hallway, first door on the right,” I tell him properly pointing it out for him.

“Great, be back in a second. It’s great to see you guys, truly.”

“Okay, well, I’m glad you got here safely. Did you guys get here alright?”

“Absolutely, nothing major happened but we had a hell of a time finding this place. We couldn’t see any lights at all as no one had anything set up even though we’re only three days away from the holiday.”

“Yeah, the Homeowner’s Association says no. Not the greatest selling point, but I think we have managed so far.”

“Your Homeowner’s Association says no decorations!? On Christmas!?”

“Yeah, mom. Something to do with the original creation of the community where the guy who set it up didn’t want to offend people from other communities who didn’t respect the different holidays and wanted to clear that out from others. I don’t remember for sure but that was the main point of it from the book they gave us.”

“Well, that’s odd. They don’t let anyone celebrate for fear of offending anyone? Can’t you guys at least put something up inside the house?”

“Well, Marie, we were secretly planning on doing that when you guys arrived and we’d get the house set up when you guys arrived but there’s a bit of a problem there.”

“Yeah, apparently, you and Dad gave us the outside lights, not the inside ones. We have most of the regular decorations but it seems we have the wrong lights.”

Marie seems shocked at this like she’s been told something completely against her personal belief. She heads out of the room to the living room and starts to look through the boxes of decorations Randy and I left there. Christian emerges from the bathroom confused as well.

“What’s going on?”

“You and Mom gave me and Bren the wrong set of decorations

when we moved into the house. We don’t have the proper wall decorations for the living room, it’s the outside lights instead. We got the boxes mixed up I think.”

“Are you sure? That can’t be right.”

He walks over and joins Marie by the leftover boxes trying to find the missing lights, but the more they rifle through the boxes their lack of finding them the more dejected they look. I believe it was a genuine accident by their reaction and that this was a genuine case of not knowing they gave us the wrong one. My heart breaks for them when they’ve gotten through the boxes set up and can’t find anything, their dejected faces and confused expressions do eat at me.

“Well, that’s got me stumped. I could’ve sworn we gave you kids everything when we packed up,”

Christian tells us, almost on the verge of tears.

“Hey, you guys, don’t worry. It’s not a big deal, it’s not like the stuff is lost as it’s probably back at the house. We’ll just go back and grab it someday.”

That seems to offer some comfort, especially in the way Marie’s smile seems to perk her up and give her that glow I admire in her. Christian, as well, offers up a half-hearted smile at the suggestion which is true, the decorations we need are back at the house due to the mix-up. However, the idea being verbally offered seems to be welcomed and appreciated.

“Oh, that’s so sweet, dear. If there’s anything we can do, just let us know.”

“I mean, we still have the tree to put up and some of the other decorations to put up even if we got the wrong light set,” Randy offers, breaking into the conversation. “We might as well get started on some of that stuff if you guys aren’t worn out from the drive.”

“Yeah, we were saving some stuff to do together but now it looks like most of the stuff left over is all we can do.”

The suggestion works and they seem to enjoy the idea of getting started with the decorations. Turning to the tree, the four of us dive straight in and get a chance to put up everything on the tree together with the lights, tinsel, ornaments, and the tree-topper angel getting added in due course of action while a background selection of joyous carols plays in the background. By the time we finish, we’re all pretty tired but proud of the fact that it’s now completed and decorated.

“Wow, it looks great,” Christian remarks, collapsing on the couch nearby. “I still think those clusters of balls look a little cramped but it’s beautiful.”

“Oh, thanks, Dad, yeah, it looks great. I like it.”

“And just in time, it seems. Hallmark has ‘Snowy Christmas Valley’ starting in two minutes or so,” Marie exclaims excitedly, hinting at her purpose for finishing early just like I expected her to. It’s not a surprise at all she’s reminded us about it, so let’s dive into it.

“Great, then I’ll order the pizza while you get that started.”

SHORT STORY

“Oh, you don’t have to do that for us,” Christian chimes in, “We’ll be fine with anything, you don’t have to order out.”

“It’s all right, we got it, just get the movie started and I’ll be right back with the order.”

I leave the room, partly because it allows Randy a bit to talk with Christian and Marie in private but also because the restaurant’s number isn’t coming to me. 555-what, was it 1048 or 8401, I can’t remember. One’s our address, the other is the pizza number, and going to the front door to find out which one is a little weird. Easier just to do this and kill two birds with one stone, essentially.

It’s several hours later, and the post-decoration crash has hit the four of us hard. The combination of constant up-and-downs on step-ladders to hang lights, ornaments, and decorations, cheesy Hallmark movies, and delivery pizza has taken a toll on everyone. I’m looking over at the sofa where Christian is passed out cold, Marie is trying to fight it, and Randy is trying to pull his phone out to check something but doesn’t want to disturb his dad who’s sleeping next to him.

“Well, it’s getting late and I might as well get to bed. Thank you, guys, again for everything today. I appreciate it.”

“I’m just glad you guys got here safely and we can get the whole collection going.”

“When are your parents going to be here?”

“Matt said he was going to leave after breakfast, so they should be here sometime between noon and 12:30 based on traffic. Luckily, it’s only an hour’s drive from here.”

“Well, that’s great, I can’t wait for tomorrow then. See you both tomorrow, good night you guys!”

“What about him? Should we move him?”

“No, he’s good. Dad’ll wake up around midnight and stumble into the kitchen, grab a snack, and come to bed like nothing is wrong. I say just leave him for now.”

Well, they know Christian more than I do so I guess just leave it. Might as well join them then and head off to bed for the night so we can get a head-start on the preparations tomorrow, as there’s still a lot to do. We might have the wrong light set and no wall decorations but we can still get a lot more done with what we have, especially with my mom and dad arriving so everyone will be together again. I can’t wait until then, but it’s time to sleep first so that can happen.

Honestly, it was surprising how tired I was going to bed, as after changing and crawling into bed I was out like a light within minutes. Next thing I know, it’s morning and the jingle for Little Drummer Boy is ringing in my ears. It takes me a second to realize it’s my phone and that was my ringtone for my dad, who’s calling me. Taking another second to wake up and get ready, I answer the call and talk to him.

“Hey, morning, Dad! What’s going on?”

“Morning, sweetie, I hope I didn’t wake you as you sound a little off.”

“Yeah, you did, but I’m up now so it’s no big deal. What’s going on?”

“Oh, shoot. Sorry about that, but I hope it’s okay if you’re Mom and I arrive a little earlier than expected. We got an early night last night and woke up early so we’re getting an earlier start to everything. I hope that’s fine, I figured you’d be up by now.”

“No, it’s okay, Dad, you’re good. You and Mom are fine to come over, Randy’s parents are already here, so you’ll have time to catch up with them.”

“Well, that’s great then. Again, I’m sorry for waking you but we didn’t plan on being up this early so I wanted to call you and give you a heads-up about us being there a bit early. If you’re good with it, the four of us should be there in around an hour and a half so that you guys can get something to eat before we get there.”

Ahh, right, Larry and Bo were spending the night with Randy’s parents and were coming over with them. Slipped my mind, damn.

“Well, it still means a lot to hear from you. I’ll have everyone ready for you guys so we’ll see you soon! Love you, Dad, bye!”

Hanging up, now it’s time to start the day. Randy is starting to stir but not to where he’s ready to get up so I get him up and started for the day, which allows me to get dressed and into Christian and Marie’s room where they’re both missing. They must be in the kitchen, then, so I quickly head over to check and indeed they’re inside the kitchen getting breakfast ready. Marie is standing by the coffee maker while Christian is rifling through the refrigerator.

“Oh, morning, Brenda. How’d you sleep?”

“Good morning, you guys. Didn’t sleep too bad at all, just got woken up by my Dad telling me that they’ll be here earlier since they went to bed and got up before they expected.”

“Well, that’s great. We’ll get you something in just a second if you’re up for it. I think the coffee’s almost ready and the waffle maker is almost heated so it should be ready soon. What time were they going to show up?”

“About an hour from now.”

“Oh, wow, that’s what that call was? I didn’t know they’d be here so soon, I guess we have to get this going.”

“Yeah, I’ll go get Randy up while you get this finished then and we’ll get ready for them afterward.”

As I leave them to go get Randy up and get the day started, it seems appropriate to simplify what we’re going to do to get ready for my parents and brothers-in-law. Now, Larry and Bo will be easy, I can probably just give them a bed and sheets and they’ll be fine, so nothing extravagant needs to happen. I can probably talk Randy into letting them have the couch as Matt and Jean will take the other guest room for the stay. They’ll probably be the ones to eat us out of the house before the holiday so we’ll need to keep an eye on stuff just so that no one needs to run out for a special food run a day or two before Christmas. Matt and Jean are going to be fine in the second guestroom so that works perfectly, we’ll have enough food for them both, and with the extra boxes in the backrooms of the house, there’s nothing I can do to clean them up before they arrive.

That luckily allows me to walk into the bedroom where Randy’s getting dressed and about to come downstairs for the now-finished breakfast from Marie. Fresh omelets and a couple of slices of toast make for a perfect way to wake up before everyone gets here. Even luckier is that they’re all agreeable to wanting to get the house prepared like I wanted before so Randy and Christian decide to head off for a quick refueling run to the grocery store while Marie helps me get the living room sofas ready for Bo and Larry.

By the time everyone is done and we have everything put away, we have enough time to rest for a bit before we see Matt and Jean’s car coming up. It takes a few minutes to get everyone together, out of the car, and into the house which is a fun repeat of the day before when Christian and Marie arrived. It’s still fun to see Larry and Bo as well, and we exchange our pleasantries and greetings with everyone.

It seems the time away from each other hasn’t changed anyone as we all move into the living room talking and chatting as if we still were together months ago. I don’t even get a chance to start decorating as by the time I can try to pull out the proper boxes everyone has instead sat down on the sofa and started a group conversation involving how much they’ve changed in the months since we’ve been together or a series of observations about the respective communities we’ve all moved into. Even though we’ve all found great homes in the time since we were together, there are just enough differences between them that I was surprised it spawned well over an hour-long conversation about it.

In fact, it was several hours of this coming around and going through several incarnations and return engagements before Matthew even realizes that they’ve wasted most of the day without doing anything. I don’t think anyone cared, at least I didn’t as I got lost in the conversations just like everyone else, and the amount of fun I had catching up did leave a strong impression on the day as a whole.

By the time anyone wants to start to get dinner, the girls have managed to get the tree decorated with the boys coming up with the bright idea to stretch the outside lights along the top of the ceiling wall and use them in that manner instead of the traditional inside lights. It creates a highly unique and festive environment in the downstairs rooms which is somewhat similar to the LED lights I used to hang up in the college dorm, but instead of pastels, it’s holiday-themed. It’s a bit brighter and thus a little hotter, but I think we can deal with it for a couple of weeks.

It’s now later at night, and the family is cleaning up from dinner. Larry is at the kitchen sink washing dishes while Matthew and Randy are drying them. Jean walks in and places her dishes on the sink.

“Okay, so I got breakfast tomorrow morning then, what are you guys interested in?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve had eggs. I could go for scrambled or even burritos or something,” Matthew comments.

“We don’t have the tortillas for burritos though,” Randy corrects him.

“I guess an omelet would be fine then.”

“Scrambled eggs and bacon it is.”

She leaves, heading out of the kitchen and going back to the living room. Matthew follows suit and leaves me, Larry, and Randy to finish cleaning up which seems to be an odd way of going about trying to get out of the dishes. Can’t say I blame them, though, they’ve done a lot with us over the day and I appreciate the help.

“So is everything okay with them? That was weird, right?”

“Honestly, yeah,” Randy tells me as he looks up from the counter. ”I don’t see the point of all that production work to then do scrambled eggs.”

“Yeah, might just be because it’s been a long day,” Larry chimes in putting the last of the dishes away.

“Um, yeah, I can see that, it could just be nothing in particular. We’ll keep an eye on it for sure.”

“Sounds good, you guys know them better and that just struck me as weird. If that’s all with the dishes then, I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay, but if you don’t mind I want to go real quick before you do real quick.”

“No, go ahead. I have to message Sasha back, she called me during dinner, and I have to call her back before I forget.”

“All right, I’ll be quick.”

Randy heads for the bathroom while Larry goes to the living room with Matthew and Jean. It allows me to pick up my phone and scroll through for Sasha’s chat as we’re going to be doing phone tag for the night. Hey, sis, just returning your text from dinner. We were with our parents all day so I had to recharge my phone. Anyway, if you were still going to come over tomorrow we should be free after breakfast so let me know when so I can get the house ready for you! Talk to you soon! After finishing, I hang up and put the phone down as I can hear Randy finishing up in the bathroom before coming out.

“I’m good, all yours. Did you want to watch a movie before bed?”

“Sure, find something by the time I get out. Netflix or Hulu, though, we haven’t used those in a while so it might be worth it to try that for tonight.”

I leave Randy to his devices, I’m sure he’ll pick something stupid again although I don’t know why I complain about it at first. His cheesy genre picks are mostly fun once they’re over but never sound appealing when he brings it up. It’s odd, but I don’t know what else to do. I know whenever I want to watch something it usually turns out lame or just not worth it. Even weirder, I can swear that there’s someone following me but there’s no one in the hallway with me.

By the time I make it to the bathroom and get ready for the shower, I can hear Randy in the bedroom scrolling through the TV to find an appropriate film. After getting inside and starting to feel the warm water run through my hair and down my back, that feeling of being watched again starts up again. It seems to

be something appearing on the far side of the room, but with the water in my face, I can’t tell for sure. I know that the shadow of the towel on the back of the door isn’t right for some reason. Wait, Randy doesn’t take this long to find a movie.

Every streaming service in the world has holiday films plastered all over the load-up screens.

“Hey, you horny toad, no shower sex! Our parents are here!”

Peeking out of the curtain, I can see no one is in there with me. No strange shadows, no weird figures, not even Randy. This day has gotten to me for some reason then, I don’t get it, but I’m not sure what else I can do about it but keep on showering. By the time I’m done and ready to go back into the bedroom with Randy fully dressed in a towel, it seems so weird he hasn’t come in with anything.

“Hey, babe, what do you think of this one?”

There it is, took him long enough, but I don’t know what he expects of me, I’m not in there to see what he wants. I wonder, though, would he admit to trying to sneak a peek while I was in there? I wonder why he took so long, and it would explain why I thought there were shadows in the room with me. During the holidays with both of our parents here is a bit kinky but that has to be the cause of everything going on here. I guess I just have to ask him, and after walking out of the bathroom I can see Randy is sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through the app on the TV.

“Were you just in there right now?”

“No, no I’ve been trying to find a movie for us to watch like you said. What about this one, “Candy Cane Lane?” The poster looks interesting at least.”

“Yeah, sure, sounds fine. Just, I don’t know, I thought you were trying to sneak in with me or something.”

“Honestly, I’ve thought about it a few times.”

Ooh, there it is. I knew he had that in him, maybe I can get him to act on it but some other time. Brenda smiles flirtatiously and goes back into the bathroom as Randy settles under the sheets propping up some pillows to stay sitting up against the wall. After what feels like several minutes, with Randy sitting up in bed playing with the remote to the TV Brenda comes in fully dressed for bed from the bathroom. She slides in next to him as he reaches over to the drawer next to the bed and pulls several batteries out of the cabinet.

“Oh, need new batteries?”

“Yeah, kept freezing up and not responding when I tried to press play. I figured I might as well, and guess you can start from the beginning with me this time.”

They hug and share a kiss as he manages to get the TV working properly as the film ‘Candy Cane Lane’ begins playing in the background. As the kissing grows more passionate and romantic, Brenda goes from his side to now straddling Randy as they continue their steamy make-out session. Finally, she breaks it off before slipping under the covers and disappears completely

for a second. Some strange rustling sounds perk up under the covers as Randy begins to laugh incredulously at what’s going on beneath the shifting blankets only to then throw first her pajama top out from under everything.

“Should I continue?”

“Oh, yes, babe! I would love for you to keep going!”

Suddenly, the blankets are thrown up and the burnt face of a Santaesque figure appears around his pants, but talks in Brenda’s voice for the following.

“Oh, that’s just what I wanted to hear!”

It then menacingly starts to pull his pants open as Randy fights to keep it away, finally grabbing his arm and biting into it causing him to let out a huge scream. This startles Randy awake who was in bed having just had a nightmare. He looks around and sees the TV still on the start-up screen for ‘Candy Cane Lane ‘ and sees Brenda emerging from the bathroom wearing the same pajamas as from his dream.

“What’s wrong, does the remote need batteries? I thought you kept them on your side?”

Randy is completely flustered by what’s going on and takes a minute to respond to everything.

“Oh, yeah, I do. Just, I had the weirdest dream while you were in the shower right now. I didn’t know I fell asleep, that’s the first thing.”

“Well, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Well, that’s the other thing, it was just like what’s going on right now. I was in bed trying to get the remote to work, I change the batteries when you get into bed. We start going at it, but before anything happens you disappear under the covers and show up as this burnt-skinned Santa Claus. Like with the beard and hat, everything.”

“Oh, my god, what happened?”

“Nothing, that’s when I woke up.”

“That’s so weird, I’ve never known you to have dreams like that. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think so but I’m not seeing what brought it on, especially since it was just like now. The remote not working and you coming out of the shower. I don’t know what that means or who that guy was in my dream. He was dressed like Santa Claus but his face was...so strange, like it was burnt or peeling.

“Oh, wow, that’s strange, and kinda creepy as well. I didn’t know you were into that kinky stuff, I could’ve pulled a fake beard out of the decorations earlier.”

“Oh, ha-ha, real funny babe! We’ll talk in the morning, I’m not feeling it right now.”

He shuts off the TV and puts the remote on the nightstand by his bed, turns off the light, and kisses Brenda good night as he slides down to get ready for bed. Brenda looks a little put off but kisses him on the forehead good night, turns off her bedside light, and curls up to go to sleep. With Randy asleep on his back and Btenda sleeping on her side, they remain on their side of the bed for a little while before Randy rolls over towards Brenda to become her big spoon. As he does this, the tent created by his feet under the covers remains even

though he visibly rolls over to the side to cuddle up next to Brenda, and after waiting for several seconds this spot grows to the point where it’s standing tall ominously over the couple as it continues to grow in height. Finally, it stops growing and the blankets roll off to the side revealing the same burnt-face of Santa angrily looking down at them.

We’re now in Christian and Marie’s room, who’s lying on her stomach only her arm is sticking out from under the pillow ominously close to the edge of the bed. Peacefully sleeping, she’s completely unaware of a stick-thin human hand slowly crawling up from the space between her bed and the nightstand next to it which starts to feel around the edge of the bed. As it continues, this becomes clear that the hand is trying to feel around for Marie and can’t locate her, which causes it to angrily feel around at a frantic rate.

Finally, it seems to bump into her wrist which causes it to settle down as the hand traces its way back to her fingers. Still sleeping soundly, the hand tries to intertwine with Marie’s hand and pull her towards the space it came from but doesn’t have the strength to do so. Finally, it breaks the hold, grabs Marie’s wrist, and pulls that toward the open space.

This tugging finally gets Marie’s attention who stirs, groggily looks over at her hand being pulled to the dark space, and tries to pull her arm away. Instead, the hand digs in with its fingernails into the skin around her wrist, breaking the skin to draw blood and getting into a death grip with the wrist. It then starts pulling the screaming Marie towards the space again with more violent tugs. “Christian! Christian! Help me!”

Held down by the strength of the hand, Marie can’t move or get her hand free from the grip around her wrist. Finally using her other hand, she continues calling out for Christian while trying to pry the hand off which is just enough of a distraction to wriggle her bleeding wrist free. Still, the proximity to her fingers is too much and the hand immediately grabs out at her fingers intertwining them again, and starts to pull Marie toward the open space. At this point, a second hand emerges and does the same thing, feeling around the edge of the bed for Marie’s hand and finally latching on. Both hands pull, as one, a screaming Marie towards the darker space by the bed. At this point, Marie jolts herself awake, having just had a dream. She finds her fingers intertwined as if the pulling and tugging happened due to holding hands with herself. Not sure what’s going on, she wipes the drool from her mouth and pillow before reaching over to the clock on the nightstand. 2:23 AM. Frustrated, she goes to put it back but sees the same space where the hand emerged from her dream and thinks twice about setting it back, lying awake trying to fall back asleep.

We’re now in the room with Larry and Bo who are also sound asleep on the sofa bed. The clock on a phone left on the table springs to life and reads 2:55 AM as Larry starts to snore loudly when a demonic elf in a Christmas hat and jacket walks over to him out of nowhere where he bends over looking coldly down at his body. The sudden nature of his appearance symbolically caused Larry to start choking

and coughing while in bed as immediately after standing over him this starts up which doesn’t cause any concern or reaction from the elf. Continuing to stand and glare menacingly over him, the choking and coughing fit is enough to cause Larry to wake up from his sleep still coughing. He tries to call out for his parents but with no voice, he can’t get much out as the whole experience gets worse.

Finally stumbling out of bed, he tries to get help but simply lays on the floor coughing as he continues to choke. The elf gets up and walks over to Larry’s expired body on the floor looking angrily down at it before walking away coldly. This causes Larry to also sit up in bed, unaware of everything but being the third person now to have a nightmare.

Awaking like normal the next morning, I can tell there’s something off in the house. Normally it’s a bit more vibrant and friendly, but there’s just something odd about the air inside the bedroom as I try to wake up even more. I need coffee for sure to make more sense of this but there’s something here, and if Randy was awake he’d agree with me.

Checking my phone, it says 8:45 AM which is way later than normal for when I wake up so it’s got to be the aftereffect of the work yesterday. Getting out of bed and getting dressed in my robe, I head downstairs to check on breakfast but I don’t smell anything unlike yesterday. In the living room, I spot both Larry and Bo on the couch spooning each other, making for a bizarre visual this early in the morning. Leaving them, I make my way into the kitchen and try to figure out where the coffee machine is located to start a new batch.

The aroma of the batch tends to wake up everyone, as almost immediately Larry and Bo start to stir and wake up when they realize they fell asleep how they did. Shortly afterward, both Christian and Marie come downstairs which is the same for Randy just right after them. Finally, Matthew and Jean come down a minute later and join everyone at the table by the kitchen where everyone else is waiting for their coffee in a friendly if decidedly obvious lack of energetic responses.

“All right, we’re almost ready. How does everyone take their glasses?”

“One sugar and a splash of milk,” Jean blurts out.

“Two cups of milk for me,” Matthew follows up.

“Iced is fine,” Christian chimes in.

“I’ll go with two cups of milk as well,” Marie says.

“Umm, what kind of flavorings do you guys have?” Larry asks.

“Regular and Cinnamon Spice, I believe.”

“I think we’ll both take the Spice.”

With that, I get started trying to fill the drink orders but it’s far more draining for me than I expected and I’m yawning heavily trying to move through the kitchen to get everything for everyone. I can’t help it, my legs and arms are just sore which makes it hard to move around with this much energy trying to move everything around.

“Honey, are you sure you’re okay? You look exhausted.”

“Yeah, just…tired. I think I’ll be fine once I get this down.”

“Well, what happened sweetie?” Matthew asks me, trying to fight back his own yawning. “You look like you didn’t get much sleep.”

“To be honest, I didn’t fall asleep until about 2:30 this morning, he told me about this nightmare he had and it kept me up most of the night.”

“Wait, that’s when I woke up from a nightmare myself,” Marie cuts in, “it was strange but there was this gloved hand that came out from underneath the bed and started pulling me. I checked the clock when I woke up and it was just before two-thirty in the morning.”

“That’s weirder, but I had a nightmare myself,” Larry says, turning our attention to him. “There was someone in the room with me and I started coughing and choking uncontrollably with him standing over me the entire time. The weirdest part was that by the time I woke up and calmed myself down, it was just about three in the morning.”

“Dear, you had one too?”

“Yeah, mom. I didn’t get to sleep until a few hours ago.”

“Is that normal, you guys having nightmares like that?”

“No, we’ve never had that since we moved in. Would be a little late now to start having nightmares, it would make more sense a few weeks ago.”

“Do you think it had something to do with being overworked yesterday, and we just did too much?”

“Well, it’s not a far-fetched idea, it could be the case, sweetie.”

“Yeah, but why did it happen to three of them, and in almost a seeming order with how it played out with everyone? That’s a bit weird, for sure.”

“Okay, yeah, that part is a little confusing but it shouldn’t be too bad if we take it easy today. Sasha will be here around 3:00 or so which is pretty much the only thing I know going on today, and she’s only staying for a few minutes while she drops off a few ornaments for the house. Maybe we just take it easy today and see what happens?” This seems to be an accepted term, and we go about trying to relax during the day. Me, Marie, and Jean decided to spend the morning making batches of cookies for the boys while they spent the time watching daytime TV all morning. Thank god I’m doing the baking, most of the women on those talk shows are just awful doing nothing but day-drinking or just yelling over each other on the most banal of topics that no one can get a word in edgewise or have their point come across in a way that would convince otherwise of their viewpoint. It’s targeted at people like me, but man I wish they had cheesy Christmas movies on instead.

As we go through the day and everyone seems to be doing what they can to try to get by after everything that’s happened, its low-energy feel mixed with the holiday atmosphere creates an odd tone in the house. I’m just

glad that everyone’s safe though, it just feels so weird to know that there’ve been a series of strange dreams between several people earlier tonight but there’s not much I can do about this as I’m quite exhausted not just from dealing with Randy all night but also cooking all morning.Finally, there’s a knock at the front door which means Sasha must be here. I get up and go over to let her in as she is at the front door.

“Hey, sis, what’s going on?”

“Not much, it’s good to see you! Come on in!”

“Sure thing! What’s going on everyone?”

However, before anyone can respond, the front door rapidly flies from my hand as if someone yanked it out of my grip and hit Sasha in the face, causing her to stumble awkwardly into the house. Once I realize what’s going on, I try to reach down to help her but a strand of Christmas lights appears from the corner of the room and wraps itself around her feet. I mean, it looks like Christmas lights but b fore I can notice the lights have dragged her along the wall of the hallway into the living room directly for the Christmas tree set up from yesterday and she disappearsscreaming into it.

By this point, everyone seems to react to the situation and gets up to see what’s going on as the whole thing is just too weird to understand. By the time I can accept that I just saw the tree pull my sister into the center of itself with a strand of lights, the screaming inside stops and the house grows eerily silent. Everyone looks at it for what feels like forever, all sixteen eyes collectively looking at the tree waiting for it to do something. Anything.

However, by the time I’m about to question what’s going on, a gurgling burp-like sound is heard from the tree, and from the center of it rolls a mass of bloodied human flesh, tangled rolls of Christmas lights, and various colored balls ornaments spilling onto the floor in front of us. It’s Sasha, the shirt and the pants are a dead giveaway as the mess made of the tangled lights and various cuts to the body leave me quite confused as to what’s going on.

Brenda breaks out into hysterics at the sight in front of her as she realizes that it’s indeed Sasha, with her sister cut up, bleeding all over her body, and wrapped up with a strand of Christmas lights like a sweater. Everything happening at once seemingly just causes her to freak out much like everyone else around her, with the gathered family reacting similarly to Brenda. Randy tries to go for the body only to have it be manipulated by the strand of lights and levitated in the air above his head, dangling ominously for a few minutes before it’s thrown at high speed against the window and bounces off with a sickening thud while leaving a massive blood splatter where it landed.

Alarmed by the action, Christian and Marie pull Randy away from the tree while Matthew and Jean make their way over to the stillscreaming Brenda as the whole thing has turned her into a mess. As Larry and Bo also make their way over to the group on the other side of the room, sidestepping Sasha’s bloody mess on the floor, a low buzzing-like hum slowly grows louder and more audible. No one seems to hear it or react, more concerned with the more overt threat

of the tree standing before them, but it soon grows louder to the point where it draws attention to itself from the others. Is it a buzz, though? Or is it more of a growl, generating the kind of pitch that living beings do? But there’s nothing or no one in the house that can get remotely close to producing this kind of sound. Yet one by one, the family starts suspecting something is going on when the odd buzzing sound begins to fill the house and draws their attention to it. Not even close to being too loud, it’s just unnatural, and nothing seems to be the cause of it.

Finally, out of the fireplace below the TV on the side of the room, a voluminous mountain of snow pours into the room, blanketing everything around them in freezing cold snow. Pouring in from the open flute as if pumped out through a hose, the flurry comes into the room at a steady pace that causes everyone to fall back over themselves but not with any kind of serious intent as they all seem able to brace themselves easily enough by shielding their face as they back away. It’s more the mounting collection in the room that seems to be an issue.

Realizing the only way to safety is to get out of the room, Larry calls for everyone to leave into the main hallway for safety which causes everyone to trudge through the collected snow with a loud crunch as everyone makes it to safety. Jean falls once trying to get out but thankfully Matthew is there to pick her up and pull her to safety with the others as they’re the last ones out of the room and back in the main hallway.

Gathered together in the hallway, it seems the proper ploy is to escape out the front door or find the landline in the kitchen to call for help since most of the other phones are inside the snowed-in room. In the chaos and confusion of it all, Bo tries the front door option which doesn’t go according to plan. Charging at it with the intent to break it down to get outside, the door simply bends like rubber and bounces him off to the floor in front of it, causing everyone to rush over and look at him with a sense of concern. While trying to come to terms with what’s going on, Larry tries to simply open the door like normal only to find the knob won’t turn as if it’s locked. Even with Brenda shakily finding the house keys from her keychain and handing it to Larry to unlock the door it remains closed, unable to properly turn even though it clearly unlocks for him. Repeatedly slamming into it to try to break it open also does no good and everyone looks at the situation even more scared and confused than they were previously. As the panic starts to wear on everyone and the inability to recognize what’s happening around them, the next course of action is to go for the phone in the kitchen. With Randy leading the way and trying to shield himself against the still-flowing snow coming out of the living room, he makes his way to the kitchen at the end of the hall and signals for everyone to follow his lead and come toward the kitchen. Christian and Marie are successful, as are Larry and Bo who manage to get to the kitchen door. When Matthew and Jean try to make their way across with Brenda in tow, a porcelain Santa decoration that was placed on the table in the living room comes flying out of

the room and hits Jean hard in the shoulder, shattering to pieces. With Christian and Brenda stopping momentarily to help her up, a second porcelain figure comes flying out of the room where Brenda’s head is located. As she ducks at the last second, it smashes against the wall behind her and allows her and Christian to get Jean to her feet and join the others at the end of the hallway by the kitchen.

Finally feeling safe, everyone takes a second to catch their breath while Randy attempts to use the phone in the kitchen to call for help. Unfortunately, he finds the phone dead and that no line can reach the outside, apparently trapping everyone in the house. Giving everyone the bad news, they all seem to be shocked and confused at the situation trying to recognize what’s going on. Running back over the series of events, from Sasha arriving and being dragged into the Christmas tree to the snow erupting from the fireplace and the series of decorations thrown at them, no one can make any sense of the situation as they can’t find any rational explanation for all of the events. In fact, no one can explain one of the events.

Now comes the discussion no one wants to have, what the inability to escape or contact others could mean. The dead phone is a sign that someone or something is holding them inside to prevent them from leaving, and with no one able to open a closed door even with the keys unlocking it, there’s no way out of the house while all these strange things are happening. An attempt at getting out through windows or the backdoor should be tried but it would likely result in this happening again due to the foresight already displayed to keep them inside.

As Larry tries to walk over to the kitchen’s back door to find a way out, a strange sound emerges from the refrigerator that catches his attention. With it being a liquid-like gurgling similar to the earlier growling heard in the living room, this draws Larry over to the refrigerator where he opens it to reveal a gingerbread cookie dressed like the elf from his nightmare that morning is standing there looking at him. Almost getting a mocking tauntlike tone to his laugh, the cookie jumps off the shelf and runs across the floor to Larry waving a series of frozen kielbasas at him and trying to smash them against his foot. Able to dodge everything but blocked from getting to the back door, Larry retreats to the group who’ve noticed the incident and are rushing to help him.

While Christian and Matthew try to get Larry away from the cookie, Bo and Randy look to combat the creature but are thwarted at every opportunity as the kielbasas are used as weapons to defend it. However, realizing that it’s outnumbered, it tries to escape back to the refrigerator and slides underneath successfully with its paper-thin frame.

This completely confuses everyone as no one can make sense of the situation. Instead of figuring out or making sense of what just happened, the family just looks at each other with complete and utter bewilderment as if nothing

is making sense. The series of confusing and just plain odd scenarios has everyone unsure of their next step which results in a stream of suggestions to get out of the house but no clue if they’ll be effective or how to pull them off successfully. It ranges from going back for their phones in the living room, grabbing furniture to smash out a window, to going upstairs for a bedroom window to crawl out of.

Trying to do something, Randy leaves the kitchen and heads into the hallway towards the stairway when a large, guttural growling sound comes from the living room. Rather than continue, he stops dead when it picks up again with what sounds like multiple figures in the room with the way the growl comes off. Soon, this is shown to be a massive seven-to-eight-foot tall snowman which merged from the snow pumped into the room from the fireplace that towers over Randy as it ducks under the doorway to waddle menacingly in his direction.

Frozen in place, Randy is unable to move as the monstrous snowman comes towards him. It turns worse when a second snowman, slightly smaller than the first one, comes out behind it looking menacingly at the gathered family. Still worse than that one is two similarly-sized snowmen to the second being so that one massive being and three smaller apparent henchmen are in the hallway coming out of the living room towards the kitchen.

Forced to head back into the kitchen, Randy heads to the utensil drawer and begins pulling out plenty of knives or other types of protective weaponry. Having managed to clean everything out, he passes them to the rest of the family as the gingerbread cookie from the refrigerator appears on the counter trying to stab at him. Taking defensive tactics, Randy tries to swing the knife and defend himself which leads to the cookie laughing and diving back behind the space between the counter and the toaster.

Not wanting to be there much longer, the group decides to rush out of the room up to the stairway by the side of the hallway to the second floor when one of the smaller snowmen steps up and tries to block their path. Even though it can’t get in front of them, the creature being so close to them gives everyone pause for concern and defensive strategies. With Randy, Larry, Christian, and Matthew taking on this defensive positioning, Bo takes Brenda, Jean, and Marie upstairs to safety which allows the men to fend it off. During an opening in the attack, Matthew charges forward with his knife and stabs the snowman drawing a thick red-and-white striped liquid to begin pouring from the wound down the lower half of the creature’s body. Instantaneously, the entire house smells like peppermint from this candy cane-style feature. However, the snowman is undeterred and simply scoops some of the red-and-white striped liquid in its stick hands and hurls it at Matthew in the face. Upon its landing, the impact zone starts to smolder and burn as if being dissolved by a corrosive acid

which is exactly what’s happening. The screaming and writhing in pain that occurs is enough to draw the attention of the rest of the men who decide to grab Matthew and try to get upstairs while using their knives as defense, and in fact, barely manage to get upstairs as their slender frames allow them to go through one by one and the bulky snowmen can’t reach or follow.

Finally getting to the second-floor landing with Bo and the women, Christian and Larry help a still-agonizing Matthew down while Jean tries to console him only to keep getting in the way as the chaos of the situation doesn’t do anyone any favors. With half of his face oozing from the damaging liquid and no way to clean it off safely without getting it on them, it causes a slew of panicked shouting and no real answers from anyone beyond trying to go into the bathroom to wash it off in the sink. As Christian and Jean lead Matthew into the bathroom by

Randy and Brenda’s bedroom, the rest of the group gathers at the bedroom door and tries to determine a plan of action.

“All right,” Randy says as he tries to take the lead on getting everyone to safety, “So we need a way out of here and get him to a hospital. I don’t like the way he looks from whatever that was.”

“What was that, and why does he smell like a peppermint candy cane?” Brenda questions.

“I think it’s got something to do with the snowmen. He stabbed one trying to get away and then that stuff flowed out of the wound like it was its blood and it got on his face burning him.”

“So what now?” Bo ponders, “There’s no way we can go back down there with those things running around, and we still need a phone or something to call for help.”

“Maybe if we broke through the window we might be able to get someone’s attention and flag them down for help,” Larry suggests, eyeing one of the bedroom windows on the other side of the room.

“Could be worth a shot, I don’t know right now.”

“All right, what do you have to break through it?”

“Check the closet, there are probably a few metal bars or beams we can use in there.”

As the four head over to the closet to follow through on the idea, Jean comes out of the bathroom shaken and visibly upset.

“He’s gone, he’s dead!”

This announcement collects the attention of everyone else and they stop to take in the news. It hits Brenda hard who begins breaking down even further as she’s now lost her father after losing her sister earlier in the night. Randy goes to comfort her and tries to hold her together although everything affecting her at once doesn’t make for an easy time.

By the time Brenda finally manages to collect herself and try to get back to her normal state, she finds several gingerbread cookie figures dressed like the one from the kitchen who were dressed like the elf from Larry’s nightmare. Now, though, there are at least a dozen of them at the front door to the bedroom holding broken-off candy canes like stabbing knives. This draws everyone’s attention and causes them to back away from the doorway to the bathroom on

the other side of the room.

The swarm of gingerbread cookie creatures in front of the group seems to instill a sense of courage in the others as Larry, Bo, and Randy decide to charge at them swinging their knives wildly and kicking at the diminutive beings. This allows Brenda, Marie, Jean, and Christian to try to sneak past the conflagration in the hallway as the distraction manages to get them out of the bedroom but it soon becomes obvious the gingerbread cookies can outlast the men who begin to advance them into the bedroom closer to the bathroom. Realizing that the men haven’t followed them, Jean tries to get Brenda’s attention.

“Hey, wait a minute, where are the boys?”

As Brenda takes a second to realize what she’s asking, Marie’s statled gasp from further in the hallway gets their attention and alerts them to the sight of Marie and Christian getting swarmed by a strand of Christmas lights much like Sasha was earlier. However, they’re both attacked around the waist and wrapped up like a snake constricting its prey before being dragged down the stairs screaming as Jean and Brenda are helpless to stop it from happening. Face to face with the series of snowmen at the bottom of the stairway, the snowmen are now wielding axes which are used to chop up and dismember the two of them as the splatter and severed limbs cake the area in a lake of flowing blood.

Completely trapped within the hallway as the gingerbread cookies are still in the bedroom with the men and the stairs completely out of the question with axe-wielding snowmen blocking the way out of the house, Brenda and Jean are at a loss as to what to do. Finally, they hear Larry, Bo, and Randy call out for help from the bedroom and they quickly decide to return to help the men.

Upon entering the room, they see the area is littered with the broken pieces of multiple gingerbread cookie figures lying on the floor with slice wounds showing where they got cut. With Randy and Larry on the far side of the bed stabbing repeatedly at what must be several gingerbread cookies but not being able to be seen from the angle they’re standing at and Bo trying to break out through the window with the steel bar hanging in the closet.

Realizing they can save the men, Brenda and Jean decide to rush to the side of the bed where Randy and Larry are fighting the cookies and use their surprise attack to begin slashing the backs of the unsuspecting beings.

This causes a slew of severed limbs, splattered white frosting-like blood to coat the side of the bed, and some anguished cries to ring out as the dying creatures conduct their death rattle. With only a couple of broken pieces left squirming on the floor, Randy gets up and crushes them underfoot ending the threat from the gingerbread cookies.

This finally allows me to relax, the death of the gingerbread cookies being crushed under Randy’s feet finally allows me to take a breath for the first time tonight. My sister is dead, my dad’s most likely bleeding to death in the bathroom, and I saw my husband’s parents slashed to pieces before me so to take a moment to let everything

escape me is something I don’t want to overlook. I take my breath and immediately crumble into Randy’s arms, letting his warm, comforting embrace wash over me even if just for a moment.

With the moment over, I turn my attention to the fact that we’re still trapped in the bedroom. Bo tries to strike the window with the bar but it just bounces off with a thud that resembles rubber bouncing off concrete. It just causes me to feel even more convinced that there’s no getting out of the house. It’s all over now.

“So, what now?” Larry asks, completely frustrated and broken by what’s happening.

“I think we need to focus more on why this is happening than how we can get out of here as I don’t think whatever’s keeping us here will let us leave,” Randy tells us, “that way we can figure out to get out of here if we know what’s holding us here or what’s going to get us out of here.”

“Well, then, what is going on here?” I ask, trying to get to the bottom of the situation the only way I know.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Jean replies, not as much answering my question but doing her own thing.

“What exactly has been happening?”

“I don’t get it, none of it makes any sense,” Randy responds, in a deep concentration trying to figure out what’s going on himself. “I mean, let’s start at the beginning, that might help us. So, Sasha shows up and is attacked by strands of Christmas lights from the tree, right?”

“Wait, no. Wouldn’t it be the nightmares you, your mom, and your brother had this morning?”

“What do those have to do with this? That was this morning, granted, but it has nothing to do with the events this afternoon.”

“Well, it has something to do with what’s going on. There’s something off about all three of you having some kind of nightmare last night unprovoked and then all of a sudden today we’re subjected to a living nightmare with Christmas ornaments coming to life, murderous snowmen stalking us throughout the house, and no way out of the house.”

“That’s somewhat of a stretch, babe, I think it’s all a coincidence.”

“No, wait, she has something there,” Larry cuts in as if I’ve sparked something in his mind. “Earlier today, my nightmare was about a strange elf standing over me while I was choking to death. Means nothing, but each of these gingerbread cookies is dressed exactly like that elf. Look at each of the pieces here in the room, it’s all the same clothing like the gloved hands and sweater jacket. That’s how the elf looked like in the nightmare.”

“The elf looked like these things?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It was a little uncanny that it was the same design as the nightmare elf.”

“Mmm, I still think that’s a little flimsy of a connection, though. That can just as easily be a coincidence as it is the truth.”

“Well, wait a minute,” Jean cuts in, “Earlier during my night-

mare, I dreamt that I was pulled into the open space in between the bed and the nightstand in my room. The hand that pulled me looked like the one on the Santa figurine you guys set up on the mantle above the fireplace. It’s the only one in the house where he’s not wearing gloves so it stood out but I haven’t had the time to breathe and think about it until now.”

“I get what you’re trying to say, but that still doesn’t mean anything. We experienced a series of weird dreams and nightmares but that’s all it seems to be. There’s got to be something else going on here.”

“If it’s not about the nightmares, then what’s the cause of all this stuff happening? It feels like we’re trapped in a nightmare with these things just continuing to happen. It feels very much like a nightmare come to life.”

“I agree, babe, but that doesn’t mean the nightmares are connected to what’s going on. There’s something else here, something we’ve looked past or missed that’s the cause of everything, and if we can figure that out we might be okay.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Well, there has to be something that’s causing all this to happen. There has to be something, a starting point to what set everything off. Now, it was when Sasha arrived, right, when the tree came to life and attacked her so that has to be what caused everything. Maybe she did something or brought something into the house that started all this.”

“Why would a house care about a person? They’re not sentient beings, they wouldn’t care.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here and yelling at each other isn’t going to fix it.”

“Hey, hey, guys knock it off,” Bo says from the corner of the room, cutting us off. “Come over here and check this out.”

The four of us head over to the corner of the room and try to figure out what he’s looking at but instead, he starts sniffing the air near one of the vents for the AC system. Suddenly, I get a whiff of something odd, familiar. Peppermint.

“Why does the vent smell like a candy cane?” Larry asks, looking at us confused.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s safe to stay here. We have to keep moving.”

Randy grabs my hand and tries to lead me out of the room back to the hallway before I can come up with a way to question what’s going on. It looks like Larry and Bo are trying to get Jean to safety behind me as Randy has me out the door before I can make sure.

By the time Randy has taken me out of the room and into the hallway, we both stop dead in our tracks and look around. Instead of the usual hallway leading off to the different rooms, it seems to be a clearing in the middle of the forest as the blackness of the surrounding landscape is a mass of darkness surrounding me in pretty much every direction. Rather than be-

ing a way into the extra bedrooms, the left of the hallway is a trail heading off into the distance lined on each side by massive, ornately decorated Christmas trees on each side of the trail. The bright, sparkling lights and high-end baubles on the trees are as ominous as it is comforting, with the warm lighting illuminating the confusion on Randy and my faces despite the glow washing over me in a familiar feeling.

Why are there Christmas trees lined up in rows on the second floor of our house? How do they fit in the house, they look like they’re ten to fifteen feet tall. I don’t have time to ask Randy any of that as it feels like a matter of seconds before Larry, Bo, and Jean come out of the bedroom and nearly crash into us as they seem to be as taken aback by us seeing the lines of Christmas trees and blackness surrounding them inside the house.

“What is this?” Bo asks us, the first of us to speak.

“I’m not sure, this is the bedroom hallway right?” Randy questions while looking around frantically at the site surrounding all of us.

“So what’s going on?” Larry cuts in, almost cutting off Randy in the process.

“I don’t know, but we need to go down that trail,” Jean replies, drawing our attention to her. “There’s no door back into the bedroom, right?”

This comment brings everybody’s attention to the way we just came. In keeping with her comment, there’s no doorway or way back into the bedroom as it’s now completely gone to be replaced by the same blackness as the rest of the surroundings.

Except for the lines of Christmas trees along the trail going off into the distance. We all look at each other in the middle of the hallway and almost immediately know the same thing. We have to go down the trail, no matter what’s waiting for us at the end.

We start down, Randy again leading me while Larry and Bo take Jean just behind us. Just to make extra sure, before we step on the trail I reach back and grab for one of their hands which is revealed to be Bo when I look back to confirm it’s him.

The trail just feels off, with the looming tree-tops towering over us in the darkness surrounding everything where I can’t even feel comfortable with the sparkling lights decorating the rungs of the trees don’t even feel joyous.

There’s nothing warm or comforting about the bright red, yellow, blue, white, and green lights blinking in my face. I just keep a hold of Bo’s hand as we march on in silence, the crunching snow beneath us being unnerving due to us traveling through the upstairs hallway the entire time. Wait, that can’t be right. Could it? Why is there music playing?

“Hey, hey, stop for a second. I think I hear something.”

It gets the group to stop and I try my hardest to pay attention to the music playing in the background.

Everyone looks around but I can’t be bothered, there was music playing a few seconds ago. I’m sure of it, but where was it coming from? What was it? Wait, there it is! I know that now!

Silent Night, Holy Night! All is calm, all is bright! Round yon Virgin,

Mother and Child! Holy Infant so tender and mild! Sleep in heavenly peace! Sleep in heavenly peace! It takes me a few minutes but I finally see the source. It’s the Snowmen from earlier, coming up quickly behind us through the trail as they’re four or five trees behind us but are gaining quickly!

“Careful, they’re coming!”

“How many?”

“Too many, we have to keep going!”

I try to push us forward, mustering the strength I can to go ahead of Randy and pull Larry, Bo, and Jean along so they can stay up with the two of us. The trail continues on, leading us past more of the massive, decorated Christmas trees lining each side of us like a never-ending tunnel into the distance. I can’t see an ending, just more trees with the bright lights illuminating the trail into the distance. This does start to be a bit draining and deflating with the inability to see what’s the end game to the trail but I know we have to keep moving with the Snowmen coming up behind us.

Silent Night, Holy Night! Sleep in heavenly peace! Sleep in heavenly peace!

That confirms it, we have to keep going!

“Wait, slow down, dear,” Jean calls out from behind us, sounding completely out of breath. “I can’t keep up, please just leave me here and you guys go ahead! Find a way out of here!”

“We can’t leave without you, please Jean, let’s just go quickly!” Randy tells her, urging her along with the rest of us. He jerks her to come quicker as the Snowmen use the break to get closer to us even though they’re still several trees behind us. That’s too close for me to feel good about it, so I agree with Randy, let’s get moving. Together, me and Randy grab Jean, Larry, and Bo and we head off together down the trail, but after taking one step we suddenly fall face-first into the snow made up of the trail. The freezing cold of the snow and the sudden nature of the fall completely startles me and it takes me a second to realize none of us are moving.

“What happened?” Bo asks somewhere around me but I can’t tell where he is.

“I don’t know, but we need to keep moving. I can hear the Snowmen, we need to go now!”

I try to get up and run but I can’t do anything in the snow. My arms and legs are so heavy from everything I’ve done I don’t know if I could move them anyway but being in the freezing cold snow has done so much extra damage to them I’m not able to move. Being so out of breath has made it nearly impossible to move, and with everything that’s happened, I’m not sure what to do about it. There’s no time for that, as I roll over to get my face out of the snow to see the Snowmen’s faces pull up and look down at me as the tree tops of the brightly-colored Christmas trees loom over their heads as the blackness of the surroundings fills in the empty space around them. The screams of Randy and Jean echo out next to me as the slashing of axes and knives fills the air and drowns everything out before warm blood splashes across my face. As the Snowmen raise a pair of knives and axes above their heads and plunge them down to-

ward me, piercing pain in my stomach is the last thought possible before I black out. The next morning, a contingent of neighbors from the Home Owners Association, the head Carlos, his assistant D’Andre, treasurer Kim, and associate Tina, stand outside the house and look on at the now empty residence. Another neighbor, Grace, pulls up to the curb and climbs out carrying a series of folders and papers with her.

“Okay, everybody’s here, let’s get started,” Carlos tells the group.

“Are you sure Moghru’s finished with them by now?” Tina asks, “I don’t want to go in there if he still has some targets left alive.”

“House has been quiet for far too long, the rule of thumb was to wait for a half-hour and check,” Kim responds matter-of-factly, “We’re fine. The lights dimmed just before 5:00 AM so it’s been a couple of hours now.”

“Then let’s go take a look,” Carlos says as he leads the group inside.

He leads everyone inside, cautiously entering the front door and heading into the main room. The snow has melted away with no traces of anything left behind. The tipped-over tree and the bloody remains of Sasha are still there as well as the remnants of the decorations hurled at the family which are scattered in pieces across the living room and adjacent hallway.

“Looks like he got one, go find the others,” Carlos informs them upon finding Sasha’s body.

“How many are there?” Grace asks, about to head out of the room.

“The two of them, plus their family and a guest judging from their cars outside,” D’Andre informs the group. “There should be seven of them in total, so six more we need to find.”

“Sounds good, but do we even know what set him off?”

“Good question,” Carlos responds. He heads over to the fireplace and appears as if he’s talking to a figure inside, “Oh great Moghru, your humble servant beseeches you, how was your wrath triggered by these infidels?”

After a second, the strand of Christmas lights hung up around the ceiling Brenda and Randy put up the day before comes on, despite having been visibly off the entire night. This causes Carlos and D’Andre to look up and notice the lights around the room.

“Ah, that’s what it was,” D’Andre remarks, “Christmas lights, trying to get around the ban by going inside.

You want me to take those down or find the rest of the bodies with the girls?”

“We got all day, let’s find the bodies first before they start to smell and then we’ll never resell this place. Go on, we’ll get them down by lunch.”

By the time D’Andre takes this instruction and starts to leave, Tina returns with Matthew’s body slashed numerous times across the chest and stomach.

“Found one, and there’s one more where he came from.”

“All right, let me go grab him, and I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

“Sure thing. Oh, and Tina, one more thing before you return to your duties. How long do you it will take you and Marie to clean this place up and we can put it back on the market?”

“Ugh, I don’t want to touch this place before the New Year, but I suppose if we can start on the second or third we can probably get it ready to go by Liberation Day, depending on the mess upstairs of course.”

“Yeah, and judging by how long it’s going I think Kim has found something big. Let D’Andre take the kitchen and let’s go help her get this place cleaned up. The sooner we get these bodies removed, the quicker we can take these decorations down and appease Moghru.”

The group heads upstairs where they quickly find Kim who’s coming out of the bedroom taking gloves off.

“Hey, we got one in the bathroom alongside about ten to fifteen minions crushed and broken inside the main bedroom.”

“Oh, man. That’s awful. Let’s get the body out of here and then we’ll return the broken minions to the sacrificial altar. Maybe then we can take a break and get the decorations down before anything else happens.”

At that point, a knock occurs on the front door and in walks Sheriff Parker and Deputy Alison.

“Greetings, all,” Parker exclaims as he comes in, “We’re here to help with the body removal. Are they gone?”

“Yeah, he got them all last night. There are three in the kitchen, one up there in the upstairs bathroom off the main bedroom, and we’re still looking for the last few now.”

“Splendid, Hail Moghru! Come on Allie, let’s help get their bodies out of here and make sure everything goes according to plan.”

“Right. Just what’s the plan, again? They put illegal decorations up, right? What’s the write-up for that violation? I don’t remember it in the manual.”

“Gas leak, a pipe burst under the house and pumped deadly gas into the house and they all passed in their sleep. We’re still investigating and making sure everything’s cleaned up and sealed off before we open the house again. All medical files are to conclude with healthy individuals and normal ailments who were just poisoned, just so unfortunate it happened around the holidays, yadda yadda yadda.”

She finishes taking that down in her notebook and signals ok to Carlos and Parker before heading up with D’Andre, Kim, and Tina.

“I like her. Good kid, asks too many questions but I think she means well.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about this generation. Always asking questions and not going on blind faith like when we were indoctrinated but we have to replace our flock somehow. Moghru’s insistent on staying here so we can’t

move to a new community so we have to recruit these kinds of families, just sucks we let these bastards in and passed over this couple I really wanted who showed more potential engagement just because these two had a higher revenue stream.”

“Well, maybe we can still offer it to them when do you think this place will be ready?”

“Tna said she can have it ready by Liberation Day if she and Marie get started on the third, in the new year. Maybe they’ll wait that long, maybe they won’t but I don’t know if they’ve also found a new house either since we haven’t been in touch since the sale.”

“Don’t worry, if it’s meant to be it’ll happen. Moghru will bring the right ones into our sphere soon enough, you know he hates flexing his powers like this so he’ll have someone come in and follow in his grace and glory.”

“I really needed to hear that, thank you. Come on, let’s get these rookies a hand with hand with cleaning up after his handiwork, and then we can get the rest of the clean-up started.”

The two embrace in the traditional gesture of the Order of Moghru and head back up the stairs where the rest of the crew are finishing the round-up of Brenda, Randy, Larry, Bo, and Jean from the hallway.

The End

©2024 Don Anelli

Published with Permission Uncaged Book Reviews

Don Anelli grew up in Southern California in various Los Angeles suburbs before settling in Pico Rivera. An avid movie fan from a young age, exposure to Japanese kaiju films and subsequently the work of Ray Harryhausen gave him a lifelong love affair with creature features and monster movies that gradually evolved into Horror. Wanting to take the creatures and other figures he had grown to love in his direction, he started writing his own stories involving them which was put on hold when real-world duties carried him away from this for several years. Keeping this love intact by writing movie reviews on several sites that inadvertently shut down, he started his website Don’s World of Horror and Exploitation to keep these writings alive online before gradually turning into housing new reviews, features, and interviews with creative figures over the years. Spurned on a series of interviews with authors about their work and process, he dusted off an old idea to begin writing again turning it into his first piece “Scream for the Holidays.”

authors

Sofia aves

USA Today Bestselling author Sofia Aves writes fast-paced police romances, sizzling military units, steamy cowboys with a Montana backdrop and the occasional cheeky god. Married to a veteran, she often tackles topics of PTSD and reintegration and has a soft spot for all who work in uniform. Sofia writes kidlit for charity and has over one hundred and fifty publications across four not-so-super-secret pen names.

Publishing is her life. She has been a marketing manager for both Romance Writers of Australia, and Romance Cafe Publishing and an acquisitions editor for Evernight and Evernight Teen. Sofia is a mum of three crazies in a returned veteran household and has an overly large fur baby who thinks she’s a teacup puppy. After eighteen years of planning and dreaming, Sofia and her husband will put the finishing touches on their very own alpaca park this year. Sofia lives near Brisbane, Australia.

Uncaged welcomes Sofia Aves

Welcome to Uncaged! You released Savage Covenant with Evernight Publishing in March, which you cowrote with Jade Marshall. Can you tell readers more about this book? How do you split the writing process with a co-writer?

SAVAGE COVENANT is a prequel to GALLO EMPIRE - a dark mafia series of 3 existing books with another seven planned. It started as a ‘let’s see how this works with one book’ and quickly blew out into ‘this side character needs a book. And this one!’ We love writing together and bounce off each other’s ideas on a consistent energy high. We choose a character to write each, and are constantly planning as we go, on both the book we’re writing at the time and new ideas to come. I love ending chapters on an impossible hook just to have Jade message me the next morning with a “And what do you want me to do with that?” Honestly, it’s a lot of fun and we have a ball. We live in opposing time zones (I’m in Australia and she’s in South Africa) so we

have a few hours each day where we can bat around ideas. Usually by the time I’m done with my chapter she’s up and ready to kick off.

How do you use social media as an author?

As an author we’re meant to use socials as a promotional platform and there’s all sorts of made up formulas running about on how often you should promote your book v other stuff but honestly the writing community, especially in spicy romance, is so amazing that we spend more time socializing and sharing each other’s work than we do our own. It’s also a place to put wins and woes, and I talk about imposter syndrome (when you don’t believe you should be doing what you do because you’re terrible at it) a LOT.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

I write all day. No, really, I have no life. Twice a

month I go out to writer’s groups, and I do stuff at home with my kids. But honestly writing is everything to me. It’s more fun than reading (no really, it’s like the best reading puzzle ever and you get to pretend you control the outcome when really the characters do) and it’s my happy place. Oh, and I have alpacas (more on them later).

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

Enid Blyton. I loved her as a kid and as a mum I’m constantly in awe of the level of creative genius. Just sitting at the dinner table would be an inspirational event.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

Okay, so seeing above, writing is my relaxing. I also loom with my kids, and I have an overgrown vege patch that I adore during sunshine hours. And I love my sleep. Cannot overrate that.

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

I spent the first three years of my writing life with three young kids at home watching Paw Patrol. Now I prefer silence. I live in the bush (rural Australia) so the only sounds I get are a few birds, my dogs, or rain.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

Caffeine fueled romance author.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

Romance is life! Also, coffee. No seriously, read what you want to read and don’t worry about what others think. They read smut, too.

Stay Connected

Enjoy an excerpt from Savage Covenant

Savage Covenant

Jade Marshall & Sofia

Aves

Mafia Romance

I walk into the job expecting to find broken souls and death. I don’t expect to leave with my newest obsession.

The tiny woman who survived torment and terrors others don’t want to imagine. She curls into my arms like a delicate little orchid but she’s strong.

So much has been taken from her, because I failed. And by God I’ll get it back. Because I fell for her that first night when I took

her away from the place where she’d been left to die.

The girl who won’t say anything, except to give me her name.

The girl I love, who may never be able to love me back.

Thalia.

Excerpt

He lowers me onto a large white marble counter before slipping out of the bathroom. I wait with bated breath until he returns holding several items in his thick muscular arms. He opens the water and soon a sheen of steam is coating every opulent inch of the massive bathroom. I watch him add bubbles and a bath bomb before lighting scented candles and placing them all over the room.

If I were any other, less broken woman and he wasn’t a man who just pulled me from a shipping container, I would laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. Watching him putter around the room and pull out pristine fluffy white towels in his apparent nervousness brought a sweet edge to his humanity.

“Um…” He rubs a hand down his face. “I’m sure you want to be alone but I’m worried you’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

I don’t say a word.

“It’s not like I want to take advantage and see you naked or anything,” he rambles, looking at his feet. “Although I already have. Obviously.”

I remain silent. Jesus. Who is this man?

Slipping from the counter, I make sure my legs are steady enough to hold me before releasing the cold stone slab. Tilting my chin in defiance I step around him and make my way to the bathtub. Stepping in,

I take a moment to brace myself before lowering my body beneath the bubbles.

Motherfucker! That stings. I can feel where every scrape on my body is. It might not have been the best idea to let him pour all this crap in the water.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” he says before stomping out of the bathroom, his shoulders tight.

I don’t move a single muscle. Sitting in the middle of the tub with my knees pulled against my chest, I wait. Surely, someone will come for me. They always do. It won’t be long before a man enters and uses me for his own pleasure. I see no reason to clean myself up if they will only dirty me again.

I don’t know how long I sit there but when the door opens, the water has cooled a bit. I wait for the inevitable but when nothing happens, I turn to see what’s going on.

“There’s a doctor here to see if you need medical attention,” he says. Anger blazes in the depths of his entrancing gaze. “She’ll wait until you’re done so you don’t need to rush.”

With a stiff nod, he leaves me alone once more.

What the f**k?

Is this real right now? Have I actually been rescued from the men that constantly hurt me? Is this man really my salvation? Do I dare give myself that kind of hope when I know how despair can easily crush me once I find out it isn’t true?

Releasing my knees, I lower my body into the water until my entire head is submerged. I hold my breath as long as I can before coming up for air. I take my time washing my hair and my body, wanting to be truly clean for the first time in years.

Stepping out of the water, I wrap myself in a massive, fluffy white towel before wrapping my hair

as well. On the counter sits one of those old-timey shaving blades and I grab it.

If this is a lie, if these people intend to hurt me, I will go out with a fight. It’s the first time I’ve ever had a weapon to defend myself with and I fully intend to use that to my advantage. I slip the blade between my skin and the towel wrapped around my chest before exiting the bathroom.

Sitting in the corner on a black sofa is the man who brought me here and a woman I would assume is in her sixties. She smiles softly but I can see the fear and stress written across her features.

“Thalia,” the man says. “This is Doctor White. She needs to check you and make sure you don’t need anything more than food and rest.”

“Hello, Thalia,” the woman says, rising from her spot. “If you don’t want to do this, all you need to say is no.”

I say nothing. I only lift my chin and walk over to the bed before lying flat on my back.

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LESLIE& Lorek & Lyra

These two fuzzy menaces keep me company during my early morning writing. Iorek, the gray and white one, is outgoing and friendly. He loves everyone. Lyra, the fluffy one, is skittish and likes to hide. But she is the softest creature on the entire planet when she acquiesces to pets.

MELISSA & Portage

Portage is a trash goblin that I rescued from a mall called Portage Place in 2013. She occupies her days coming up with new ways to escape the house and being terrified of any random noise that comes from outside the windows.

DEL & Monty

Monty showed up at my front door three years ago, probably a barn cat tooling around (I live in a rural area). He’s a true rags-to-riches story, and is now a fancy cat with a bowtie that loves guests, parties, and music. He doesn’t go by normal cat rules – he comes when he’s called, and he rarely leaves my side, as if he’s a dog trapped in a cat’s body. Monty is also very chatty; I have no doubt that his English comprehension is quite good.

First up: Roo. My little white coated mess. She’s never far from my side. She’s my favorite child.

Next, Rex: When our elderly neighbor went into an assisted living facility, we adopted him. He’s super sweet, it’s hard to believe he was once a homeless dog before our neighbor took him in.

Sketchy: She showed up on our front porch one day and never left.

Chowder: Sketchy’s kitten from her first litter. There was a time when she was too feral to rehome, so we kept her on our property, and I worked on getting through to her. She’s no longer feral, in fact, she’s quite spoiled.

Odin: Sketchy’s son from her second, and last litter.

Ticia: By far the best thing we ever pulled out from under our porch.

AUTHORS AND THEIR PETS

Pets and companions come in many shapes and sizes. From furry to feathered to hairy and scaley - there is a place for all of them. Authors have a special relationship with their pets - whether they remind them to get up and take a break or they inspire their writing. Meet the critters that share their love and devotion to Uncaged Feature Authors.

SOFIA & Alpacas

Pictured are four of my alpacas. They were a dream for many years, and I love having them around. Each has their own personality, especially the big guy, Boof, who came to me as a rescue. They help with anxiety in myself and my kids and are a quiet and beautiful addition to our alpaca park, Lorendel.

SAM & Peggy

This is Peggy, short for Pegasus. I named my world after her, Pegala and my first book is dedicated to her memory.

N.L. Mclaughlin

Nancy was born and raised in Massachusetts. After serving in the USMC, she returned home and went to college. Not long after, she moved to California and married. Six kids and multiple moves around the US later, she and her family call Texas home.

Uncaged welcomes N.L. McLaughlin

Welcome to Uncaged! Your book, Tricksters will release in July. Can you tell us more about this book?

Tricksters is a horror set in the desolate landscape of the west Texas desert.

Inspired by The Hamiltons, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Kin and Brother, it’s a wild ride through the harsh desert landscape with a pack of blood thirsty shapeshifters.

It’s guaranteed to make you think twice the next time you see a coyote by the side of the road.

You like to travel a lot. Do you find a lot of inspiration from the places you visit?

I love to travel. Mostly road trips to obscure places off the beaten path. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good popular destination like everyone else. But, for me, the real excitement comes from visiting places that most will never see. Right now, my favorite places to visit are in the desert (preferably west Texas) and the Hill Country.

And yes, I get a great deal of inspiration from travel.

How do you use social media as an author?

Mostly to convey my progress on various works and to connect with readers as well as helping to boost other authors. From time to time, I also share snippets of my day-to-day life.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

When I joined the Marine Corps, my recruiter tried to convince me to take a job as a journalist. Needless to say, being young and prone to stupidity, I insisted on taking the job that was the “closest a female could get to a combat role” at the time. So, all 5’2”, 98 lbs soaking wet of me became a field radio operator.

It wasn’t all bad, I made some incredible friends with people from all walks of life. They were my family. However, I spent most of my days and nights working twelve or twenty-four hour shifts, and sleeping in Humvees in the field.

It was sweaty, dirty, freezing cold at times, and

FEATURE AUTHOR

always hard work, but I wouldn’t change any of it. I honestly have no regrets.

Besides, after I got out, I went to college and ended up in journalism anyway.

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

That’s a tough one. The old adage, “Never meet your heroes,” comes to mind.

But in all seriousness, If I could go back in time to meet any author who is no longer among the living, my first choice would be Kurt Vonnegut.

As for living authors, my first choice would be Chuck Palahniuk.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

Road trips with my number one road trip partner, my husband of 31 years, Robert.

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

Yes. In fact, when I’m writing, every scene is inspired by various songs. I’ve been known to play the same song on repeat at high volumes, until it becomes a sort of white noise that allows my brain to focus and create.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

Unremarkable.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

Welcome, I’m glad you took the time to read this far.

Stay Connected

Enjoy an excerpt from Tricksters

Tricksters

N.L. McLaughlin

Horror Releases July 25

For generations, the Tricksters have inhabited the mountains of west Texas. Preying off unwitting travelers, the pack’s existence remains a well-kept secret.

On a road trip, Ash and her friends make the fateful decision to stop in the dusty little town of Sierra Diablo where they meet a handsome and charismatic local named Caleb and his peculiar group of friends.

Later that night, a frightened young girl stumbles into their campsite, begging for help.

What follows is a night of terror as Ash and her friends fight for their lives against a pack of bloodthirsty coyote shapeshifters.

When she fails to return home, Ash’s older brother, Matt, sets out to find her. Upon arrival in Sierra Diablo, he realizes that there’s something odd about this tiny desert town. Determined to uncover the truth, he investigates further.

As he slowly uncovers the truth, Matt realizes some secrets are better left undisclosed.

When searching for answers, be careful that you don’t come to regret what you find.

Excerpt

Chapter Four

“Number three,” said Ezra with a snide grin. “In the left corner pocket.” He tapped the edge of the table with his cue.

“Now that’s some confidence right there,” said Caleb. He lit a cigarette, took a long puff, then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “Tell you what. If you can do that, I’ll buy you dinner.”

Ezra snickered and stood upright. “I think dinner’s already been sorted out. Now bet something you’re willing to lose.”

Caleb’s face twisted into a vicious smile. “Name your price.”

“That’s easy. First choice,” said Ezra.

“Hold up,” interjected Pax. “I thought first choice was mine this time.”

Caleb shook his head. “Nah, that was for your birthday. It ain’t your birthday anymore, so now you’re just a pleb like the rest of us.”

Pax released a long sigh.

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Hannah. She rested against the edge of the table. “I’d add to the wager, if I knew what was going on.” She grinned and took a long sip of whiskey.

Caleb leaned close to the woman, breathing in the subtle scent of floral shampoo mixed with the cheap whiskey in her glass. “What’s your favorite cut of meat?”

he asked.

“Well,” replied the pretty blonde. “What woman wouldn’t appreciate a good prime rib?”

Barely able to hold back, he snickered. It would be insincere of him to deny that Hannah piqued his interest. But then again, at some point, they all sparked his curiosity. After all, if they didn’t, it wouldn’t be much fun. Notwithstanding her beauty, Hannah came off as very intelligent with a decent sense of humor. He glanced over at Izzy, who stood nearby, arms folded, with a sinister glare in her eyes. She couldn’t possibly be jealous. She, of all people, had to know there was no other woman for him. Caleb sauntered over to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, then gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Her body relaxed against his.

“Personally,” said Jasmine. “I don’t eat meat.” She exaggerated a shiver. “I’ll never understand how anyone can eat a poor, innocent animal.”

“Well, that’s where I agree with you,” said Bass. “Which is why I only eat the ones who deserve it.” “How would you even know that?” asked Jasmine. “For one,” said Bass, moving nearer. “You only eat what you hunt yourself. From there, it’s easy to see who deserves to go.”

Jasmine rested her hands on her hips. “What would be an animal that deserves to go?”

“The weak,” said Caleb, with a grin. “The slow, the stupid.”

“That’s just cruel,” said Jasmine. “Here I was, thinking you were talking about predators.”

“Predators can be slow and stupid,” said Bass. “They can also be weak.”

Jasmine scoffed. “That makes no sense.”

Bass responded with a boisterous laugh.

“Nah,” said Ben. “It’s nature.” He shrugged. “It happens every day.” “Ever been huntin’?” asked Caleb.

Ben nonchalantly responded, “A couple of times. When I was a kid, my uncle took me and my cousin deer hunting.”

“That so? You bag any?” Caleb took a drag from his smoke and exhaled.

“Nah.” Ben shook his head. “My cousin did, though.”

“Too bad,” said Ezra. “There ain’t nothin’ like the taste of fresh meat you bagged yourself.” He chalked his cue. “I, for one, love the sweet flavor of a nice, plump young doe.”

“I don’t know,” said Izzy, leaning into Caleb. “There’s something about the meat of a strong young buck.” She grinned maliciously.

“I kinda prefer them lean and strong enough to put up a good fight,” said Caleb. “Makes the meat tastier.” Just thinking about meat fresh from the kill; the warm, salty blood mingling with the savory flavor of adrenaline-soaked flesh torn right from the bone, made Caleb’s mouth water. His pulse quickened and his muscles twitched. He popped his jaw to accommodate his growing teeth, then willed the trickster to calm down.

“Y’all don’t sound like you’re talkin’ about deer anymore,” said Hannah, standing off to the side of the table.

Caleb turned his gaze toward the pretty woman. “Well, what else would we be talkin’ about?”

Hannah shook her head and grinned. “You have got to be the strangest group we’ve met so far.” She stared into his eyes.

“What?” teased Caleb, moving closer. “You tellin’ me you don’t like what you see?”

The blonde shifted her body uncomfortably as she glanced over at Izzy, who was busy pretending she wasn’t paying attention. Hannah moved her gaze back to Caleb. “I wouldn’t say that,” she said, flashing a coy smile.

Caleb grinned; it was always too easy. A flirtatious smile here, a little whiskey there, and the inhibitions go right out the window. It was almost sad how simple prey could be. Sometimes he wanted more of a fight— it would be nice to have to use all his skills and ability. He always did like to play with his food.

“Do you guys know of any good places to camp around here?” asked Ben.

“Well, as luck would have it,” replied Caleb. “We do.” He glanced over at Ezra, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ll draw you a map,” said Ezra. He leaned the cue against the table and searched his pockets for a slip of paper.

“Here,” said Pax, slamming a napkin against his chest. Ezra blew a kiss to him, then pulled a pen from his pocket and leaned over the table, scratching out a rudimentary map. When he finished, he handed it over to Ben.

“Is this a public campsite or something?” asked Ben. “No,” said Caleb. “It’s private land.”

Concern swept across Ben’s face.

“It’s okay. We know the owners. They won’t mind at all.” With his most sincere expression, Caleb looked Ben in the eyes. “It’s a perfect private camping spot.” “I just don’t wanna get arrested or shot for trespassing,” said Ben.

“Trust me when I say no one’s gonna shoot at you,”

said Caleb.

“What do you think?” Ben asked the rest of his group. They deliberated in silence, passing glances and nods around while Caleb patiently lit another smoke. Suburbanites were too easy. At least the country boys gave him a run for his money. A few had even managed to escape over the years. His personal promise was that anyone who made it to the next town over would be allowed to live. It’s not like anyone would believe their rantings about a pack of wild coyote shapeshifters hunting the hillsides.

He watched the newcomers with a mix of amusement and disdain. Why were these types so simple? Their lifestyles made them soft and blind to the dangers that lurk all around them. They certainly were the meatiest, and he loved them for that, but they were also full of trust and naivete. Veal—that’s what they were. Simpletons raised in pretty boxes, fattened up and weakened so someone like himself can come along and clean his teeth with their bones.

“Looks like we have a consensus,” said Ben. “You swear the owners won’t mind?”

“The owner’s family goes way back in these parts,” replied Caleb. “They don’t mind at all.”

“You know,” said Ben. “I’m glad we stopped here after all. This was fun. If any of you ever find yourselves out in Phoenix, give me a shout. I’ll show you around.” Caleb nodded in agreement. “Sounds good. You know, right before y’all came in, we were wondering what we were gonna do for entertainment tonight. Thanks for fillin’ that void.”

Ben smiled and nodded. “Okay then, before we head out, let’s have one more round of drinks. Shall we? On me.”

“Always up for free drinks, rare meat and wild women,” replied Caleb with a wink.

Don’t miss this title:

and you think golf is tough

Guest column

by Emil Rem

Guest Column

And You Think Golf is Tough

by Emil Rem

Finally, I was free… at least for the summer. Laura had taken the boys home with her to the Philippines. I was left a bachelor.

On my first Thursday evening alone, I rushed to my Scrabble club—a place I hadn’t visited for years. Remarkably, nothing had changed. All the usual suspects were present and recruiting for The North American Championship, to be held at Reno this coming summer.

“Why don’t you come? We’re sharing a minivan and hotel rooms. It’ll be cheap.” Without a second thought, I complied. After all, a vacation in the desert would do me good.

All went well until the first day of the tournament. I hadn’t played Scrabble for a decade. Expecting to play in the fourth division, I was hauled to my senses by a colleague. “Congrats, you’re in the top division. You just made it in bottom place.” The organization had reinstated the rating I last had when I stopped playing tournaments.

On my first day, I entered a palatial casino ballroom—the largest in Reno. There were hundreds of tables, row upon row, regimented like an ancient Roman army phalanx beneath the over bright, overheated, overpoweringly mighty chandelier. It was my first tournament away from Calgary and I had drawn the top player. I began to tremble.

It was like the prelude to ‘Gunfight at the OK Corral.’ My opponent arrived with a swagger, offered a perfunctory handshake, then completely ignored me as he laid out his paraphernalia—tile tracking sheets, various felt pens and biro—then set and reset the time clock. I looked down at my own half-

chewed pen, hoping it wouldn’t smudge or run out of ink. I willed my hands to stop shaking.

We drew for first. The champion drew an F. I drew an E. The player closer to A would begin.

I stared at my tiles in disbelief. No vowels. Now what? Convention dictated keeping at least two tiles. I exchanged them all, forfeiting my turn and any advantage in going first.

The champ glared at me, communicating his disdain for my decision. He played a 36 pointer.

My new rack—AUUIIIE. There was nowhere on the board to play more than two letters. The maximum I’d score was 6. I changed all my tiles again.

The number one player continued his annihilation, playing JOES for 40 points. Thankfully, despite an open board, he still hadn’t found a Bingo—using all his tiles to earn a 50 point bonus.

For the third time, I reviewed my new rack of tiles. Glory be! A blank appeared, which I could use as any letter. And I found a Bingo AND a spot to place it, provided my opponent didn’t block it. He didn’t.

A 92-point play! Now I was only 20 points behind.

Adrenalin rushed through me. I had a fighting chance. My tiles were improving. If I could score at least 30 points in the next two turns and prevent the champ from playing a Bingo, I could win.

Word by word, I advanced on him.

My final turn—I was 22 points behind. I had five tiles left: MYAF and O. I found it! And a spot to play it. FOAMY for 31 points.

The champion challenged.

On a challenge, both parties walk to the Word Judge to determine the word good or not— to avoid any tampering.

The champ refused to budge from his seat, making me walk all down the line of tables alone. The other players all turned to look at me, wondering what was wrong.

Of course, the word was good—even a novice knew it. The champ had deliberately insulted me in retaliation for his loss.

The champion could barely sign the official tally slip acknowledging his defeat. The man’s hands were clenched into fists.

“Where are you from?” he spat out in barely guttural American.

“From Calgary.”

“Where’s that?”

I told him and, in return, asked “ Where are you from?” “New York!”

“Where’s that?“

©Copyright 2024 Emil Rem for Uncaged Book Reviews www.uncagedbooks.com Published with Permission

EmilRem—an eccentric accountant, has become a writer of eccentric characters in exotic locales—using his stories to take us on a trip into his fascinating twisted world. Born to a close-knit, Muslim, East Indian family in Dar-esSalam in the 50’s, he then moved to Maidenhead, England at the age of five. The next twenty years were spent shuttling between England and East Africa—attending Christian church wearing a St. Christopher’s Cross one minute, to wearing a green armband at Muslim religious classes in Africa the next. These days, Emil and his wife (originally from the Philippines) live in Calgary, Canada. They have two sons.

feature authors

Del Blackwater

S. Atzeni

Sam Muller

Del blackwater

Del Blackwater is a novelist and travel writer based in Wisconsin. Her life vacillates wildly between a quiet existence in the country and a feverish, risk-centric existence when on the road. Her travels have taken her to four continents and she makes questionable decisions in all of them. While Egypt is inevitably the high-water mark of both her travels and her writing, she tries to spend time in other places as well. Del is published many times over as a board game and tarot deck designer, notably as the creator of Playlist Wars, a music game. When not keeping busy, she unwinds by taking care of a menagerie of critters and enjoying something she calls porch time.

Uncaged

welcomes Del Blackwater

Welcome to Uncaged! Can you tell us more about the book and the series? How many books are planned? Thank you!

I’m very excited to be featured in Uncaged. Dead Egyptians is coming out August 8th, it is historical fantasy and book one of a series – I am anticipating seven books total. Dead Egyptians is a huge story –my goal is to cover every year from 1902 up to Egypt’s independence in 1922, and a little beyond, albeit through the lens of historical fantasy. The book reads like straight historical fiction initially, but because I have the spirits of dead Egyptians walking around and deadsplaining things to the living, and they perform various acts of magic, I am in the fantasy camp. Which in itself is exciting. I’ve never personally read a historical fantasy novel that was set anywhere other than a vaguely medieval place, so I think it’s time to remind the world what dead Egyptians can get up to in a day.

What are you working on now that you can tell us about?

I am working on a non-fiction travelogue called In the Company of Djinn that I’m hoping to release in 2025 – Dead Egyptians necessitated quite a lot of research trips to Egypt, and I’m very excited to give readers the real Egypt. It’s a good companion piece to Dead Egyptians, because I went to every place I wrote about in order to fact check myself. My editors seem to think it’s a winner – it’s a bit scandalous, but it’s definitely the real Egypt. I have a gift for getting to places most travelers never see.

How do you use social media as an author?

I am very active on social media; I’ve found Facebook to be a perfect place to meet my fellow authors and get to know their work. I’ve also started a Dead Egyptians-specific site on Instagram and start posting about all of the obscure things that tie in Dead Egyptians to the real world of Egyptology. (Del Blackwater Author on Facebook, deadegyptians on Instagram). There’s so much there; I will never run out of material.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

For someone who loves art and architecture as much as I do, I actually (like my protagonist) do not enter tombs. It makes the guards crazy, because I will always visit the necropolis’ to get the lay of the land, but when my tour guides inevitably go into the interiors of the tombs and I just sit outside, the guards get really confused, which often ends in hilarity. They sometimes assume that some Egyptian made me feel guilty about the practice, when it’s actually the other way around.

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

This was such a tough question, because for years, I’ve been answering this very question with, “Oscar Wilde, of course!” The man knew how to pass an evening. However. It is a fact that this novel would not exist without the work of Joan Grant. Her influence is plain to anyone that knows her work, and mine. She was a remarkable woman and a brave

one, besides. I’d love to see her work come into vogue again.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I use a system of relaxation known as porch time – my perfect evening is a small group gathered on my porch, taking turns at the Bluetooth speaker. You can’t have just one person dominating the soundtrack, you know? Gotta let the soundtrack evolve as the evening evolves.

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

I need total silence in order to write, and even the smallest interruption hurts almost on a physical level, because I want to be in that world that I’ve created, and when I’m wrenched out of that world over a cell phone dinging or whatever else, it can be a disproportionately

harsh experience.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

Too bold for my own good.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

There is treasure in Egypt, and it’s not the artifacts. It’s the knowledge.

Enjoy an excerpt from: Dead Egyptians

Dead Egyptians Del Blackwater

Historical Paranormal Releases August 8

In Egypt, all things are possible. So discovers Albion Stanley, a recent Cambridge graduate and brilliant linguist newly arrived in Cairo in 1902. Albion sees the unseen, including ghosts. It is a less than comfortable reality, which he tends to with copious amounts of whiskey and numerous other vices.

Also in Cairo is Aleister Crowley, the famed occultist. Aleister is a dangerous man, but not an unsympathetic one and never a dull one. Together, they discover the world of dead Egyptians, some of whom are older than the pyramids.

Dead Egyptians have a lot to say. They are deeply unsatisfied with the state of modern Egypt, yet, for all of their wisdom and power, they have limitations. As a Seer, Albion proves indispensable to both Crowley and the dead Egyptians.

Dead Egyptians transports the reader into a glittering turn of the century Cairo, while also addressing the atrocities of colonialism. It is hedonistic, while also exploring the complex world of Ancient Egyptian religious thought. It is historically accurate down to the fabrics, while remaining fantastical at its core.

Shepheard’s was famous for its chance encounters. Naturally, the hotel was lavish beyond description, its many trappings notable in their own right. But it was something else which drew the regulars season after season. Glittering tiles and grand staircases could be found anywhere in Cairo, but only Shepheard’s held a reputation for drawing the right people together at the right time.

How many fateful conversations took place in the Long Bar alone is unfathomable. Even Stanley, when searching for his Livingstone, set off from Shepheard’s.

I spent the better part of my adolescence waiting for the day when I could finally set foot there. I have always been accused of over-imagination and I spent far too many hours creating that world in my head. Sheikhs and Pashas would be ordering servants about whilst ladies fanned themselves to contain their excitement. This hustle and bustle would be tempered by the sheer elegance of the rooms. I did wonder briefly if I would be disappointed, but I suppose there was a deeper, calmer voice in me that knew I was on the right path.

It wasn’t until 1902 that I was able to fulfill my dream. Imhotep’s words at Abydos informed virtually everything that I did in my youth, and I was always determined to return to Egypt. I devoured any and all materials relative to that part of the world, even studying Eastern Languages at Cambridge. The thought of Cairo was irresistible to me. Egypt was finally awake after a long slumber, and the whole world was invited to see the results. I could not have resisted her charms if it had been my aim.

Shepheard’s

I was twenty-two years old that year. I might have returned to Egypt the very moment I left Cambridge, save the small matter of my parents having to foot the bill. My father supported the journey whole-heartedly, but it took a little time to convince my mother to release the necessary funds. She would have me stay in England and join the Foreign Office. Out of desperation, then, I returned to Liverpool and made

myself as useless as possible until she became disgusted with the sight of me (which I’m happy to say produced the necessary funds).

The journey was long, but comfortable enough. I went by various ships from Liverpool to Marseilles to Suez. Once at Suez, I went by train to Cairo. In Cairo, I took a hansom to the hotel.

The wrought-iron terrace was just as I pictured it. It floated mere steps above the madness of Cairo--close enough to hear, see, and smell the place. A crowd of fashionable people were drinking in the cacophony of the streets below them. Roundabout were peddlers, beggars, dragomen and all manner of beasts, so I could not say whether my arrival was noticed or not. I did decide, in my youthful arrogance, to avoid eye contact with the other patrons as I entered. I thought it would seem as though I’d been here a thousand times. I will never know if I turned any heads. But I do know that as I entered those legendary halls of Shepheard’s Hotel, I was its slave.

In the foyer, I was greeted by the two most famous ladies in Cairo. I speak of the two bronze statues at the foot of the grand staircase. They were unapologetically sensual, and were known to inspire a sort of petty larceny. Every so often, the statues would disappear for a time and then return just as inexplicably. Young men on a lark were nearly always blamed for the disappearance, though being paying patrons of the hotel, I imagine they were rarely accused of the crime. Seeing the statues now for the first time, it was easy to understand how the prank had caught on through the years. The ladies were life-sized mirror images of each other, with their arms raised seductively as if in a belly dance. The suggestion of movement was further punctuated by their bronze bodies, clothed only from the waist down, in pseudo-pharaonic garments that revealed more than they concealed.

These punctuated the foot of the grand staircase and were flanked by lotus-headed columns, which matched the walls in various shades of apricot, tur-

quoise, and russet, as colourful as if they had been plucked from a production of Aida. On the staircase, a series of priceless rugs drew the eye skyward towards the landing.

Within days, I could note with pleasure that Shepheard’s was every bit as exciting as I’d expected. Every group added to the chaos in their own way. In the morning, one could hardly find a place to stand amidst the mass exodus of groups enroute to the sights. Sprinkled in at any hour were British officers on leave, who were, on occasion, still dusty from their latest desert assignment. Tea time brought out the oldest and wealthiest residents. The Long Bar’s clientele would pick up shortly afterwards and stay humming until the wee hours. At dinner, of course, was the real show—a procession of elegant ladies descending down the staircase for the evening meal.

Shepheard’s was not perfect. It was beautiful, but it was not Egyptian. One would find a piece from the Sudan, a piece from Persia, another from Italy, and very little from Egypt herself. But I didn’t mind. Cairo was more cosmopolitan than New York. I was in the center of the known world, and Shepheard’s was the center of the center of the world

Also frequenting the hotel was another group of people who I can only call the dead Egyptians. Imhotep had told me about the Sight in my youth, but only in the most general sense. For this, I wanted to curse him to his face. He said nothing that would prepare me for the terror and confusion that was truer to the reality of the past several years. I could not understand it--he seemed so kind. How could he have let me walk into such chaos unarmed and unprepared? Anything would have aided the transition, even the warning that it would not always be pleasant would have helped. But no, he had simply told me what I was and then left me to the hounds.

As a young man, I had experiences which brought

me to the point of lunacy, and sometimes beyond it. Every time a new experience presented itself, I withdrew further into myself, unable to find even a single soul with whom to discuss the changes. Yes, some of the changes were fascinating, and even pleasurable. I did enjoy the ability to blur my eyes ever so slightly in order to see a kind of colourful glow around people. No two colours were ever quite the same--they were quite changeable and alive. Those surrounded by light hues were unburdened and free, and those with dense hues seemed to be burdened and trapped. Fiery people tended to have fiery colours dancing about them. Let us say simply it was far more telling than the colour of a person’s eye.

I grew to hate ghosts, though. It didn’t dawn on me how much such a thing would cost me in the end. The loss of privacy is unimaginable until you’ve lived it. There was no way to shield myself from them, no way to block them or to unsee them. They were part of my landscape now, the same as buildings and trees, and every bit as unavoidable. By the time I entered adolescence, I was afraid of my own shadow. I cannot begin to express the toll it took on me.

There are as many varieties of ghosts as there are people. Some are not true spirits at all; they are simply pictures of memories that never left a place. This was a hard lesson to learn. If ever you hear tell about someone who always descends the stair at the same hour each night, that likely describes a memory stuck in the place which bore it. Though there is no way to interact with these ‘ghosts,’ they are often the most terrifying of all. The level of emotion that has to exist for a scene to imprint itself on a physical space is quite extreme. And it is never happy. Always the scenes are of violence or terror or tragedy. The places which bear them are cold even in summer. I quickly learned to avoid these places--that energy is as dissimilar from Imhotep’s warm energy as can be imagined.

As for active spirits, I came to believe that some were innocent souls who were simply lost in time. I told myself their passage of time is different than ours, but I didn’t really know.

The truly troubling ones were the kind that interrupted one’s privacy. They clung to this world over some perceived wrong or another. I was never ready for them, and I would never fail to curse Imhotep afterwards for abandoning me to my fate without a word on how to deal with these spirits.

As for dead Egyptians, I wanted to believe that they were superior to other ghosts. I was angry at Imhotep, but not afraid. He was wise and poised and different, somehow. I wanted to think the same would be true of other dead Egyptians. I did discover quickly upon my arrival that so few of them remained that to see one was special. Even at Shepheard’s.

Sam Muller

Sam Muller loves dogs and books. Ideal? No, for some of her dogs also love her books. Page edges and spines of old hardbacks for preference – a mystery she hopes to resolve, someday.

The dogs in her stories never chew on books. Spooky, the daemon-dog in her first book, helps his human partner Allii uncover the killer of her beloved stepmother. Spooky also gives the novel its tagline: How dangerous it is to live among humans, even for humans.

I will Paint the Night, a YA fantasy cum murder mystery, is published by Fractured Mirror Publishing, an all female (and all animal-lover) press. It is the story of Allii (Albalia of Sallonia, 17, unwanted princess, self-trained herbalist) who is framed for her stepmother’s murder. As a reviewer said, Allii has to “brave her family’s history to discover the pain they inflicted on a nation and learn how to undo it.”

Sam believes words can help or harm. The choice is ours. Pegala, the world she created, has its share of bad happenings and characters you wouldn’t want to spend a second with, but in the end, animals are saved, children protected, and the underdog has a fighting chance. In between finishing her first novel and writing its sequel, Sam also penned many short stories along those lines and even got several published.

Uncaged welcomes Sam Muller

Welcome to Uncaged! Can you tell us more about I Will Paint the Night? Is this a debut novel?

Yes, this is my first novel, though I have several published short stories.

I will Paint the Night is the story of a girl who must come to grips with the pain her family has inflicted on a nation and find ways to heal a broken land.

Allii (Albalia of Sallonia), unwanted princess and self-trained herbalist, framed for murder; Spooky, dae-

mon dog with a rock-bottom opinion of humanity. Their effort to uncover the killer of Allii’s beloved stepmother unfolds against a backdrop of palace intrigues, cultural norms, historical wrongs, and a looming war.

It went through three major revisions and the struggle to get it traditionally published was probably one of the most uphill battles I ever waged in my life – so far. You can read more about it here. https:// authorspublish.com/case-study-the-road-uphill-to-apublishing-contract/

How do you use social media as an author?

I don’t. I’m a technological ignoramus. I don’t own a smart phone or even a non-smart mobile phone.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

I’ve been a dog parent for a long time. Last year, I found myself becoming a crow-parent. I got to know a crow accidently. She was hit by a ceiling fan and I saved her. A few days later she returned and kept coming every day. She also brought her baby when he/she was old enough to fly. Through her I got to know her entire murder. I never realized crows could be so clever and mischievous, and so capable of communicating with humans. One can watch their antics forever.

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

Ursula Le Guin. I encountered her at a pre-Easter church sale, in the form of the Earthsea trilogy, three much-thumbed but well-preserved paperbacks, affordably cheap. I started reading A Wizard of Eearthsea that evening. By next morning I had finished all three books and discovered a new literary love.

In that trilogy–as in many of Le Guin’s subsequent books– a well-lived life is not a life of epic questing or grand heroism but one of decency, kindness, and responsibility. As Sparrowhawk says in The Tombs of Atuan “Hospitality, kindness to a stranger, that’s a very large thing.” A truth for everywhere and all times.

We read books; most we forget, some we remember, a few we return to. The ones we return to are the ones that stand the test of time, and retain a sense of relevance. “Having intelligence we must not act in ignorance; having choice we must not act without responsibility,” Le Guin says in The Farthest Shore. How could I not want to meet the author who wrote those timeless lines?

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

As I said, I’m a dog parent. I love watching my dogs when they are sleeping and marvel at what a thing of perfection a dog is. I have been a bookworm all my life, so reading obviously. A bit of gardening, and music. Since last year, crow-watching. They help me relax, and gets me through rough patches in life.

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

I like quiet, total silence, and the consequent the feeling that I’m alone in the world. Since I have dogs, that is not an option during daytime. They love the sound of their own voices. So I do most of my writing early morning when they are fast asleep.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

Dog lover and book worm.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

Give new authors a try. Not just me, but everyone without massive institutional backing. Since I’m not on social media, readers cannot follow me. But if they want to, here are some free links to my published stories Stay Connected

Cosmic Roots and Deldritch Shores Appararition Lit Truancy Mag

Almost all of the characters and even place names in I will Paint the Night are named after dogs and cats. But there is one character in the book who plays herself: Bandikutz the dog. In real life, she was Bandicoot, also known as Bandi, Cootzi, and Coot. For many years she was head of my pack and kept everyone in her order with a mere look.

Here is how the MC Allii describes their first encounter:

“We were coming to the end of our meal when I heard the sound of a commanding bark: “Put me down.”

A man was walking towards the cottage, carrying a load of wood, a dog at his side.

From the peremptory bark and Pattii’s description, I had expected a large and ferocious animal. The dog was no bigger than a house cat, oblong-shaped with stickthin and bandy legs, a porcine head, and a little curly tail.

A king couldn’t have appeared more regal or looked more disdainful.

The dog reached us first, her manner both curious and unwelcoming. Pattii picked her up and kissed the top of her head. “This is Her Imperial Majesty Bandikutz the Great.”

“And behold my majestic kingdom,” growled the dog.

Bella, and Peanut. Here are Peggy (the world Pegala is named after her) and Bella (she was the inspiration for Bellizza) watching over me.

Enjoy an excerpt from I Will Paint the Night

Allii is 17.

While I was writing I will Paint the Night (or rather struggling through its many versions), my constant companions were Bandicoot, Peggy, Lilly, Sherry,

I Will Paint the Night

Sam Muller

YA Fantasy

Allii has a busy schedule

Stay alive

Find the killer of her beloved stepmother

Stop her father’s people from decimating her mother’s people.

She has no family to back her, no army to protect her, no manifest destiny awaiting her.

Just Spooky, a daemon-dog who thinks humankind is beyond redemption.

I will Paint the Night is a murder mystery set in a fantasy land of magic and dragons, a tale of betrayal, dysfunctional families, and friendships that save worlds.

Excerpt

1 – Death doesn’t knock

That night, Liminalin, One God, appeared to them in a dream. His four heads were crowned with gold diadems. His loincloth was of silver, and his cudgel iron. He said, Follow me, and I will lead you to your future. And his voice was the roar of a thousand black-lions.

Song of Sallonia – Book One

Mother died and took the memories with her.

No trace of her existence remained in the castle, other than me. And the painting in Father’s study. Framed in smoked silver she sits under a blooming änge tree, flame haired and ebony skinned, one hand holding a yellow änge sprig, the other resting on an open book. In the painting she is smiling, happy. Bellizza too looked happy when she first came to Sallonia to marry my father. I was six then, and my new stepmother eighteen.

Stepmother; was there ever a word more seeped in myth, laden with tradition? One hardly ever heard of evil stepfathers, but which stepmother wasn’t evil?

Experience soon disabused me of that inherited fallacy. It was to Bellizza I ran when I was seven and believed the ground would open up and suck me into the bottommost hell because I had asked why One God had four heads and only two hands. It was with Bellizza I shared my secret dream of becoming a plant explorer. She had backed me when I demanded permission to study herbalism, and praised my translation of the great classic, On the World of Plants, from High Pegalian to Sallonian. I did it as a birthday gift to Father. His response had been a polite smile and a stilted thank you.

Fourteen months ago, she helped me escape a marriage that would have been worse than the hell. Much worse.

The rose-apples were a thank you. Bellizza loved rose-apples, but they couldn’t survive in Sallonia, with its seven months of scorching heat and seven months of unrelenting rain. I had begun my experiment of growing them in my indoor garden with little hope of success. But two seedlings survived into adulthood and one bore fruits, soft and luscious, pentagons in pink. Bellizza was in the sunroom thread-knitting, when I went in with the rose-apples. She smiled in greeting, smiled when she put down the thread-knitting to accept the fruits, smiled as she bit into one. But her eyes remained lost in whatever desolated landscape her mind inhabited these days. I wanted to grab her by her shoulders and tell her

that not being able to give birth to a living son wasn’t the end of the world. I didn’t. It wasn’t the lying part that stopped me, but the useless part. I would have lied with every word if it gave Bellizza even a thimbleful of comfort.

It wouldn’t have. We both knew better. The Song of Sallonia left no room for arguments. Kings ruled. Queens produced sons. And princesses kept their blasphemous thoughts to themselves.

“This tastes good, Allii.” Bellizza’s voice had a lilt in it.

I grinned. “Truly? You aren’t just being nice to me?”

“I swear, by my sister.”

Thirteen months and thirty four days of working the soil, of struggling to control temperature with ember curtains in the rainy season and water screens in the dry season had not been in vain. I kissed her cheek.

“Thanks, Belle.”

This time the smile reached her eyes. In that moment, she looked like the Bellizza in the picture on the red mahogany table, eyes alight with love, blue hair rippling in the wind, one hand on my father’s arm, the other hand clasping mine. The picture had caught her joyous smile, the proud lift of Father’s head, the skip in my step –happiness imprisoned on a canvas.

Bellizza munched more rose-apple. “You really are magical with plants, dearest.”

I grinned again. “Maybe I have witch-blood in me.”

Most Sallonians were undecided on the existence of witches but every Sallonian knew what they were like – nasty, evil, and green-fingered.

In Sallonia, we said, Like the touch of a witch, killing men and healing trees.

Bellizza’s breath was a gasp. “Allii, don’t say such things.”

I knelt and caught her hand, my copper-collared fingers stark against her pearly-skin. “Only to you, Belle. You know I mind my tongue as a rule.”

“Not even to me. You never know who might overhear.”

My eyes darted around the sunroom. Who could overhear us in this glass cage devoid of living things, other than the two of us?

Perhaps Bellizza meant One God. With his four heads, he certainly had enough ears for it.

“Won’t do it again,” I said, standing up, giving the skirt of my robe a vigorous shake.

Bellizza’s blue brows formed a delicate arch over her blue eyes. “You are leaving?”

“There’s a little something awaiting my attention.” Her eyes twinkled. “A new plant?”

“A fern, a green beauty with silver whorls.” I laughed in anticipation of the joy awaiting me.

Bellizza nodded, reaching out for the half-finished thread-tree and the silver needles. Her smile was like the pale gleam of a distant star.

I closed the door wondering what twist she’d add to the white thread-tree. Would it be a branch curling like a scimitar or noose-like roots? The last time she did a thread-tree, she gave it a fruit like a screaming mouth. Thread-knitting was how Bellizza had escaped the stupor of despair after her final stillbirth.

Bellizza conceived every year. Each pregnancy ended in a dead baby. After her ninth attempt, Doktoras Poll said she wouldn’t be able to conceive again. She emerged from the birthing-chamber a week later a wraith. Her eyes were blank, her smiles grimaces. She ate little, spoke less, and rarely left her apartment. I spent as much time as I could with her, shoving plants under her nose, reading to her from books I hoped would interest her, telling her a woman’s worth was not in her womb.

She responded only once. “If you hire a singer, you expect her to sing,” I bristled. “You are not father’s hired singer. You are his wife, his queen.”

Her fingers clenched on the arms of her chair. “A royal marriage is a contract, dearest. I’ve failed to fulfill my part in it.”

The maids whispered the king no longer visited the Queen’s Apartment. I had sense enough not to ask Bellizza about it, but I did ask Nana. Nana’s lips tightened.

Nana, Dame Nanarina, personal maid and surrogate mother, helped birth me, nursed me, taught me my first lessons, scolded me and loved me. When she folded her lips, a lecture was bound to follow, a wave of words cresting on an appropriate quotation from the Song of Sallonia. Curiosity featured at the top of Nana’s Sin List, on par with disobedience and levity.

A curious mind stinks worse than a sewer, she’d mutter, a frown darkening her mud-brown face. Curiosity leads to hell, she’d add, her frown vanishing, her eyes turning into green pools of tears, as if she was visualizing me in that insalubrious place, imps pulling out my unruly tongue with fiery pincers.

But there had been no hurling of sacred quotes that day. Nana had nodded her head, her old eyes sad. That memory made me shiver, even though the hallway was warm with the heat from ember curtains. I told myself not to be a fanciful ass and rapped on the silver-studded door leading from the Queen’s Apartment to the entrance chamber.

The door glided open.

The Queen’s Guards had changed during my visit with Bellizza. I smiled at the new pair. Kiko brought plants for me whenever he visited his home in the Dollz Mountains. Terrii lived in the capitalcity, Pinckossia. Though he stood as straight as his ceremonial lance, his eyes were red-rimmed and pouched. Even his moustache drooped.

“Is the baby sick again, Terrii?” I asked. His smile was rueful. “She’s teething, Highness.” I’ve never encountered a teething baby, but the books were clear on the subject: one afflicted infant could deprive an entire village of its nightly rest. “Grounded star-roots with honey would help,” I said, “or some mashed…”

The door leading out to the private stairway opened. Father strode in, followed by Lord Sherriz, the Chief Minister. They must have come from a formal occasion. Father wore a state-robe, crimson with silver work. The Ring of Sallonia gleamed on his right hand. Sherriz tripped at his side, an eager insect.

I bowed, trying to think of something interesting to say. Alone in my room, I could conjure up long conversations between Father and me. Reality was another world. “Good afternoon, Papa,” was all I could manage.

Not a bit interesting, and he wasn’t interested. He nodded in my general direction, and resumed listening to Sherriz, his brown head bent to catch the short man’s murmuring.

They headed towards the King’s Apartment. “Allii, aren’t afternoons your plant-time?” The voice was deep and warm, with a hint of a smile. I turned around, focusing on the unadorned magenta robe of the speaker, giving myself time to put together an answering smile.

At twenty seven, Cousin Tygyrin was only nine years older than me. But he was already a member of the Governing Council, a general in the army and a lay attendant of One God. I was certain he was the son Father would have liked to have in my place. Had he been less kind I could have hated him.

“My rose-apple tree is bearing fruits,” I said. “I took some for Belle.”

Tygyrin kissed my cheek. “I knew you would succeed. And how are you faring with my humble offering on desert plants?”

This time, the smile came unbidden. “Finished it yesterday.” When I did, it was as if I was plucked from a boundless space of sun and wind, and dropped back into my limited world of routine, etiquette and tradition.

Tygyrin’s brows went up. “Your birthday was thirteen days ago and that book has seven hundred and five pages.”

“I read in bed.” Until Nana caught me and gave me a scolding as long as the Song of Sallonia for ruining my eyes.

Tygyrin laughed. “Would you like some of those plants for your herbarium?” I must have looked like a bubble of excitement for he laughed some more. “The next time one of my agents travels to...”

“Lord Tygyrin, His Majesty is waiting.” Sherriz managed to sound both unctuous and smug, a signature trait. His smile was apologetic, but for a second, the pale blue eyes gloated in the babysmooth face. I once told Bellizza he must use a pot of face paint every day. She shushed me but only after we finished giggling.

“In a minute, Chief Minister.” Tygyrin’s voice was cold.

Sherriz cleared his throat. “The discussion on the blueprint can’t wait.”

“Will you excuse me, Allii?” Tygyrin lowered his voice. “It’s a new weapon, an important matter.” I nodded, keeping my eyes on his long fingers, on his totemic ring, a black lion on a red field.

Tygyrin’s lips brushed my head. “I hope to see you in Aunt Bellizza’s room in the evening,” he murmured and was gone.

I turned around and headed towards the stairway. I should tell Terrii how to make the concoction to reduce his baby’s teething pain but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him or Kiko.

Terrii would be here in the evening. I’d tell him then. Once alone on the stairs leading up to my apartment, I balled my hand into a fist and hammered the banister, wishing the polished wood was Sherriz’s smooth face. Hurting myself as a way of taking revenge on Sherriz might have made some obscure sense when I was seven; not at seventeen though. I knew it, just as I knew, in some dark seldom-visited crater in my mind, that Father’s indifference enabled Sherriz’s insolence. Still, my mood lightened with each burst of pain.

Had Nana seen me, I would have got a scolding. “Princesses never show their anger,” was another of her precepts, probably the three hundred and fiftieth. “Remember, you are Princess Albalia, the daughter of King Walterin.” She never said King Walterin and Queen Filliana.

No one talked about Mother, not even Uncle Bernii, who talked about everything under the sun and the three moons.

I entered my apartment and went straight to my workroom. It housed my most prized possessions: herbaria, book collection, plant presses and the enlarging glasses. I removed the snowflake fern from the plant-press and examined it through the enlarging glass. There was no discoloration.

The rest was routine - don soft cotton gloves, open

the herbarium onto a blank page, pick the right brush (quarter-inch for this one), apply the fish-oil paste on the back of the fern, place it on the blank page, write my observations on the facing page.

The next two hours would pass in happy oblivion. I’d be free from Sallonia, wandering among root systems, vegetative shoots, leaves, nodes, and apical buds. The moth rose was as big as my palm. I held it to my face, relishing the satiny feel of its grey petals, the musky smell.

A scream rang out, long and sharp, like Bellizza’s thread knitting needles. The castle was a place of hushed voices. A full-throated scream was as alien in it as the howl of a cloudwolf or the screech of a pink-owl. The scream stopped, as if cut with a knife. Silence returned. A different silence, like that line in the Song of Sallonia:

The silence that comes

After the end, and before the beginning.

One moment I was glued to the stool, moth-rose crushed in my clenched fist. The next moment I was running, out of my apartment and down the stairs. A crowd milled on the landing, lords and ladies, menservants and maids, even a few officials in their gray robes. Wordless whispers hissed through the air. The door to the royal apartments stood ajar. A guard kept the crowd at bay, using his ceremonial lance as a bar. I patted my hair to ensure it was where it should be and assumed a sedate descent, one step at a time. Running was one more thing Princess Albalia was not supposed to do, ever, not even if the castle was on fire and the said princess was about to be roasted alive. The crowd parted for me. The guard bowed. I had no memory of seeing him before. The entrance chamber was empty. The guards at the door to Father’s apartment stood still, eyes fixed on the middle distance. Terrii and Kiko bowed. Terrii opened the door to Bellizza’s apartment. I thanked him. His hands shook worse than my words.

A knot of women huddled by the entrance to the sunroom. Lady Nellin, Bellizza’s chief attendant, stood over them, like a malevolent spirit.

The deep carpet swallowed the sound of my hurrying footsteps, but Lady Nellin turned around, her face hardening into a polite mask. She stepped forward in a rustle of red silks and bowed.

“What’s wrong, Lady Nellin?”

“One of the maids screamed.” Nellin’s tone was as expressionless as her face.

I pressed my sweaty palms against the folds of my robe. “Why did the maid scream? Where is the Queen?”

Nellin pursed her lips and pulled the door shut. The nebulous fear vanished, leaving me in the all too familiar territory of anger. How dare she, that icicle of malice?

I reached for the door. Nellin’s hand shot out, diamond-glass bangles clinking. I raised my brows. Nellin opened her mouth and closed it. Her hand dropped to her side. She squared her plump shoulders and stepped out of my way.

I opened the door.

A shaft of light struck my eyes, blinding me. The rain had ceased. The kind of sun rarely seen in the wet season had broken through, bright as gold. I blinked and the room came into focus in slow motion: bay-shaped glass wall overlooking the garden, the red mahogany table, the two chairs... Bellizza was neither sitting on the chair knitting nor standing by the glass wall staring.

Something glittered on the floor. I looked down. Bellizza lay sprawled on the flowered carpet. “Belle!” I dropped on to my knees and cradled her head. “Belle, Belle…”

“Princess…”

I glared at Nellin. “Why are you just standing there? Have you called Doktoras Poll? Get me

some pincha leaves and a glass of…”

“She is beyond help, Princess.”

“But she...” The words died as I looked and saw.

Bellizza’s placid expression was distorted into a grimace. Her midnight blue eyes were glassy. A touch of foam spotted the perfectly shaped lips. Blood-infused saliva traced a delicate line down the chin.

The body I cradled was still, with the kind of stillness that had no place in life.

A hand jammed into my mouth forcing the scream down. It took me a while to realize the hand was mine. It shook, like the rest of me.

I waited till my teeth ceased chattering. “What happened? When did...” A sob rose, choking me. I allowed my head to fall, to hide my brimming eyes.

Nellin’s voice had no life in it. “Her maid and I came with her tisane and found her dead.”

Dead – the word slashed my innards.

“How?”

“Doktoras Poll is on his way.”

“My father?”

“Chief Minister Sherriz has been informed. He will apprise His Majesty.”

I smoothed the disordered blue waves and kissed the cooling brow. Bellizza’s familiar scent, the subtle perfume of moon-lilies, enveloped me. I laid her gently on the carpet and stumbled to my feet, almost slipping on a silver needle.

Bellizza had been knitting when whatever happened to her happened. The red and white threadtree, now three-quarters finished, lay close to one awkwardly angled arm.

I staggered to the glass wall and leaned against it, wrapping my trembling arms around my shuddering body. The sunroom was warm. The cold came from inside me.

“What is this? What is this?”

Doktoras Poll had not come alone. Father was with him, and Sherriz.

I said, “Papa, I’m sorry.” Or tried to. The words were unintelligible even to my own ears.

Perhaps Father didn’t hear. He didn’t look at me, but stood gazing down at his wife of eleven years. His usual earth-brown color had vanished, his face was drawn.

The sun disappeared behind a gray counterpane of clouds. The room sank into shadows. My eyes moved aimlessly, like fluttering moths, from Father’s blank face to Nellin’s tormented one, Doktoras Poll’s kneeling-form, the flowery carpet, the white and red threadtree, the picture from the past, the thread-box, the white and red...

A mist blanketed my eyes. My head began to spin in a crazy whirl. I reached out for something unmoving...

A hand caught my elbow in a firm grip. “Highness, you are in shock. You must retire to your room.” Doktoras Poll’s voice was kind. “You need rest, sleep.”

I tried to smile. Poll had been my mother’s friend. He had known me all my life since he delivered me. He turned to Father. “The Princess has had a shock, Sire. She needs to rest. And, er, I’d like to examine Her Majesty, if you would give me leave.”

Father nodded, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

I said, again, “Papa, I’m sorry.” This time I could hear my words.

Father bent his head to listen to Sherriz, a muscle on his left cheek twitching.

Suddenly Nana was there, cuddling me. “There, there, my Allikin, come away, love. You need sleep.” Her tone was a lullaby.

I hesitated and gave in. I’d talk to Father later.

##

I woke up to a room dappled with shadows. The sheer curtains offered a glimpse of a gray sky.

Morning or evening? Morning. Coiffure-birds chattered outside, and they only sang in the morning. The stone-light on the bedside table created a golden halo. Nana dozed in a chair by the bed. Her face was deeply lined, like the bark of an ancient tree. Her breath wheezed through her half open mouth. With her piercing eyes closed, she looked strangely fragile. Nana had been the biggest staple in my life, whose presence I never questioned, like the sun or the rain. Seeing her thus, devoid of her aura of authority, made me realize she wasn’t an eternal force of nature, but an old woman who would one day dieLike Bellizza.

A memory flashed, me at six, kneeling on a chair by an upstairs window, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of my new stepmother. The silver carriage coming to a stop by the main entrance of the castle; Bellizza stepping out, her blue hair flowing down to her ankles, like the waters of the Sky River… The memory segued into another memory, of Bellizza lying dead, her head cushioned by her hair. Bellizza once told me that she never saw her marriage contract. It was signed by her brother and my father. Her brother undertook to secure the north-eastern trade routes for Sallonia. Father agreed to sell Sallikan to Bellizza’s brother at a fixed prize. They were both keen on the marriage. Trade routes were vital to Sallonian commerce; and Sallikan – a metal of exceptional strength and suppleness, an essential component of mechanical pigeons, mechanical bulls and mechanical carriages - was available only in Sallonia. Bellizza was the sealant of the new alliance.

Married at eighteen, dead at twenty nine; eleven years of wedded bliss in between, marked by nine failed pregnancies.

That shouldn’t have been your life, Belle.

I closed my stinging eyes, and wished for yesterday, any yesterday except the last one. I’d go to Bellizza’s room after breakfast. We’d spend the morning together. I might read something to her or she might have some news of her favorite sister, the one who ran away from an unwanted marriage to become a stargazer. A hand caressed my cheek. A voice muttered a prayer to One God.

I opened my eyes and looked into Nana’s red-rimmed

ones, not sharp anymore but blotched with fear. “Sherriz wants to talk to you.” Something in Nana’s voice reminded me of the screeching of ulliina, the little brown bird of death. “Wanted me to wake you up. I said no, he’ll wait till you woke up in your own time, urgent or not.”

I sat up in bed. “Nana, they’d want to talk to me about Bellizza. Tell them I’ll be with them shortly.”

A knock rang, sharper than any I could remember. The door opened and Nellin walked in, wrapped in a dull green robe, the color of mourning. Her face had lines that hadn’t been there yesterday. She bowed to me but addressed Nana. “You informed the Princess?”

I cut in. “She did. And I’ve already given my answer. Now if you’ll excuse me-” I got up and walked to the bathing-chamber. As I closed the door, I caught a glimpse of Nellin’s expression. No known poison could have come close to its venom.

#

I paused by the door to the anteroom, holding my head high and my back straight. I didn’t want Sherriz to see how shaken I was.

It wasn’t Sherriz who awaited me, but old Minister Ekko, leaning heavily on his black and silver walking stick.

I smiled a greeting and sat down, indicating he should do the same. He stood there for a few seconds, gazing at me. Tears started trickling down his thin, parchment like cheeks and he let them. It was as if he didn’t realize he was crying. I wanted to put my arms around him, to comfort him. But such a display would violate royal protocol and probably embarrass him as well.

“The queen’s death is a great loss,” I began, my voice quite steady. “I saw her maybe an hour before…” The memories lashed at me. I stopped, battling my own tears.

“Highness, Princess-” Ekko swallowed and started again, this time in a slightly steadier voice. “The queen was poisoned.”

I fell back in my chair.

Poisoned, poisoned, poisoned, poisoned…

Minister Ekko was droning on. I forced myself to listen.

“-nivati.”

Nivati. I tried to remember what I’d read about nivati plants. But my memory was gone, like Bellizza. “According to Doktoras Poll, it’s a fast-acting poison. He says paralysis would have set in within seconds. She wouldn’t have suffered.”

I tried to murmur a prayer of thanks. The familiar words eluded me.

Ekko had been studying the carpet now he addressed it. “The poison was administered through a rose-apple.”

“I took the queen two rose-apples from my indoor tree-” I stopped, touched by a ripple of dread. “Did you say the poison was in a rose-apple?”

Ekko swallowed. His eyes never left the carpet and he continued to address himself to it. “Yes, Highness.”

I have no clear recollection of what happened next, between the time Minister Ekko said his fateful words, and the time I was escorted to my room by royal guards - the only suspect in the murder of my stepmother. Did I protest my innocence? Did I ask to see Father? Did I demand a chance to clear myself? Of any of it, I retained no recollection.

All I had were three memory fragments.

Minister Ekko muttering, his voice tremulous, “They are saying you hated the queen because she took your mother’s place.”

Nana wailing, “My baby, my baby, she killed nobody. My Allikin-” Until her was voice was cut off, as if by a knife.

Lady Nellin storming into the room, face crusted into a mask of hate, voice throbbing, “Why did you kill her? I thought you were clever. Didn’t you know you were safe only so long as she was there? Why did you have to kill her?”

S. Atzeni

S. Atzeni (she/they) is a multi-genre, award-winning writer of prose, comics, and academic scholarship. They are the co-author of The MOTHER Principle graphic novel series and The Legend of Dave Bradley and the upcoming W(h)ine and Cheese in the One ‘n Done series. S. Atzeni holds a B.A. in Professional Writing and Journalism and a Master of Arts in English from The College of New Jersey.

S. Atzeni is also the co-founder of Read Furiously Publishing and serves as its editorial director and its head of acquisitions, including serving as co-editor for the bestselling Life in the Garden State NJ anthology series. Through Read Furiously, S. Atzeni is proud to publish great books, be a part of an amazing independent literary community, and participate in literary activism. S. Atzeni was recently nominated as part of the “40 under 40 in Publishing” list through BookCAMP magazine.

Uncaged welcomes S. Atzeni

Welcome to Uncaged! Your newest book, W(h)ine and Cheese will be released in July and is part of a series called One ‘n Done books. Can you tell readers more about the book and this series?

The One ‘n Done series is very close to my heart because we created the series after meeting with readers and discovering that people want to read, but are struggling to find the time and motivation. With the One ‘n Done series, you get an eclectic collection of individual stories and creative styles designed as a bite-size narrative to enjoy in one sitting, a long weekend, traveling, or enjoying a coffee break. Plus the series is literally pocket-sized, so it’s the perfect traveling companion to help you get your reading in. I love working on this series as an editor and publisher, so it’s really fun when I get to contribute as an author too.

W(h)ine & Cheese is my love letter to campus fiction

and a celebration of the mixed feelings that come with being a college student. I’m not very good in social situations and whenever I had to interact with people at college parties, I was the absolute worst party guest (cheers to my college roommates for pushing me out of my comfort zone!). When I became a college professor, I noticed these same eccentricities and anxieties in my group of students and I knew this story of social engagements gone wrong, set against the backdrop of college privilege, bad wine, and weird background characters, needed to be told. I also wanted it to be a fun summer read that makes you laugh and remember those weird experiences that only happen in youth.

Can you tell us more about the Read Furiously Publishing?

Read Furiously was created as a way to push back against the exclusivity of the publishing industry. We found that too many talented writers were being

rejected from “mainstream” presses because they didn’t fit the mold of “author.” Many of our authors have found us because they were told their work was “too difficult,” “too political,” “too queer,” “too silly,” or “too traumatic.” They were told they were “too old” or “too young” or not “queer enough” or “not BIPOC enough” based on the damaging social constructs that control the larger publishing industry. Read Furiously is a direct response to this and we dedicate our time, energy, and resources to publishing titles that offer a new perspective on the world through a roster of new voices. Most of our authors are debut authors or authors who have been in the industry for a while but struggled to find a publisher that matched their style, needs, and value system. I feel very privileged to work with them and see their words take shape into the books we publish.

In 2015, Read Furiously published its first title, the graphic novel series The MOTHER Principle. Since then, we publish 4-6 titles a year which includes creative nonfiction, fiction, graphic novels, and poetry. This focus on different genres is also on display through our New Jersey anthology series and our bestselling One ‘n Done series, pocket-sized books that feature standalone stories by various authors that can be read on the go or during a long weekend. At the core of everything we publish, we want our authors and readers to have what they need in order to achieve their reading goals, whatever that may be.

To continue with our promise to support a sustainable reading journey, Read Furiously donates 5% of our net proceeds to various literacy programs and book-related charities. Through our published titles and community efforts, our goal is to cultivate a reading relationship with fellow “Furious Readers,” those that believe that reading can be both a leisure activity and a form of literary activism.

How do you use social media as an author?

Probably not as well as I should! When I was in college, Facebook appeared and even then, it con-

founded me - what was I supposed to do on this platform? Who is even listening to me? Twenty years later, I’m still trying to figure it out. I’m much better at using social media for our publishing house because then I get to talk about all of our projects and celebrate our authors. I’m still getting used to doing that for myself, so my author’s social media profiles are really just fan pages for my cats.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

In college, I wanted to be a stand-up comedian and actually tried to perform some material during an open mic night. It did not work as well as I hoped, so I focused on being weird through fiction.

If you could spend time with any author, living or not, who would it be and why?

That is always such a difficult question! I would love to sit down with David Sedaris because I’ve admired him for years. I met him once at a signing and he was really fun to talk to for those ten minutes. I would love for us to grab dinner and people watch.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I really love consuming stories in any form, so I love going to the movies and taking time to watch/binge a TV show that’s on my list. If I need to be outside, my family and I love to be in our garden, trying to figure out what part of the landscape we can tend to next. Our newest project is going to be a moon garden for our nocturnal pollinators.

A lot of authors like music or background noise when they write. Do you like to have music/white noise or do you prefer it to be quiet?

I prefer quiet when I write - otherwise I’ll get distracted by a specific song or sound. Since I also work so much with dialogue, I like to reread the scenes to make sure the pacing flows smoothly and I need a quiet space to do that.

How would you describe yourself in one sentence or less?

A person who is trying their best to make positive change.

What would you like to say to readers, and where can they follow you?

To our Furious Readers: thank you always for supporting us and for reading our books. My favorite thing to do is have a conversation with someone who has read my book or another Read Furiously book and can’t stop talking about it. That makes everything we do worthwhile. Next year we will be celebrating ten years as a publishing house, so we have lots of great news in the works

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W(h)ine and Cheese

S. Atzeni Romantic Comedy Releases July 23

Social engagements are the cornerstone of the college experience. Unfortunately, this is not one of them.

A broken heart, something to prove, and discounted dairy products create a perfect storm

of disaster at a party where the wine is actually a dollar store garbage can mixed with unidentified blue liquid.

A campus novel mostly off-campus, W(h)ine and Cheese is a story of friendship, privilege, and bad ideas. In their next One ‘n Done installment since The Legend of Dave Bradley: a Performance Piece, S. Atzeni returns to ask the all-important question, “did this really happen?” The answer is simple: don’t worry about it.

Excerpt

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a college student, in possession of an attentive audience of their friends, will make this all about them.” - Jane Austen (maybe)

The day Mal broke up with me, I thought about trees. We were inside the Student Center, which is a strange place to look for trees; plants don’t do well in this environment. The Center is a giant collection of random places, events, and people: a food court, couches filled with sleeping students using the school newspapers for blankets, rooms on the second floor meant to be used for events but sit silently most days (unless someone can get the room open, then everyone uses it for a quiet study space until we’re kicked out), student organization offices, and a very unhelpful help desk because being a student worker means you are getting paid minimum wage to do your homework. The entire building is made up of rectangular windows that fit from floor to ceiling, allowing us glimpses of the outside world as we study our life away, but also toasting us quite thoroughly if one sits too close (or falls asleep on the couches - you don’t want that kind of sunburn). On good days, the sun holds us close in its gentle embrace. On bad days, it glares at us with a fire of a thousand…um, suns? Oh crap, this got away from me.

The very big windows also give you a beautiful view of campus, but can be a bit jarring as birds tend to fly

into them, the thunk thunk sound of their tiny bodies hitting the glass as they fall to the ground (it’s a long way to the bottom) ruin the navel-gazing that college students have perfected for centuries. It’s very hard to keep one’s head up one’s ass when you’ve just witnessed avian homicide.

So it wasn’t an actual tree I was thinking of when I was being dumped, but the idea of a tree. Semiotically speaking, I was thinking of the meaning created by the word “tree” rather than the physical representation of it. Which then led me to consider that when I think of the word “tree,” why do I think of those childlike drawings of trees? You know the ones: the brown rectangle with big green, loopy-loops imitating what? Branches? Leaves? Both? Why have we normalized this idea that leaves and/or the tops of trees are curly or twisted lines of green? I drew so many of those trees and everyone - parents, teachers, most grownups - applauded my artistic ability to (not) capture a physical representation of the tree. Instead we were encouraged to continue to look like assholes as we drew these brown rectangles with curly hair on top. Don’t get me started on the hole in the center of this supposed “tree.” Seriously, were the adults laughing at us behind our five-year-old backs? “That’ll show them,” they cackled to each other, helping themselves to another plate of Entenmann’s coffee cake. “That’ll show them for thinking the world cares.” So we continued to draw these abominations of the botanical community: brown rectangle, gaping hole in the center, and unruly tops that resembled nothing related to photosynthesis.

“Are you listening to me?” Mal demanded, narrowing their eyes.

“What? Yes, I am,” I lied. “You were trying to break up with me.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Mal said. “I am breaking up with you. This isn’t working. We’ve been having -”

As Mal continued to break up with me, I thought of

the concept of trees and the lack thereof of their physical manifestations. I think the beauty of being a college student means you are allowed a space where you can be this pretentious, so I wasn’t about to squander this privilege. Thus, I allowed myself to consider the conceptual framework of trees. Bits of what Mal was trying to say were breaking through; however, my hyperfocus continued to protect me from what was happening directly in front of me. I’m winning! I crowed delightedly to myself as I won a competition no one else entered. I’m winning the breakup moment by refusing to pay attention!

Over Mal’s shoulder, I stared at the student flag for the Environmental Club. My roommate Ana and I started it after we noticed our small liberal arts college had the big student organizations - student newspaper, Greek life, sports, cultural organizations - but no club devoted to making sure we didn’t all die in a horrible climate change disaster. When we presented the application to the student government, they looked at us with a mix of sadness and pity. “You can try,” the student government president told us, “But no one wants to think about this during their free time.” Naturally, our undeserved youthful confidence told us that this particular student government president, as a senior, had been broken by the college system. Obviously, we were much smarter than this senior. We will change the world with our kindness, brilliance, and altruism.

Unfortunately, no one else saw it our way. The first meeting, and every one since, have consisted of two members: the president/ vice president (Ana) and the secretary/treasurer/event coordinator (me). It’s a lot easier than it sounds. We don’t have enough members for a budget, so there isn’t even a treasury and/or events to organize. Super easy! Our first, and only, order of business was to create the student flag. This is the flag that hangs in the Center and is on display to showcase all of the extraordinary things happening at the college. See? The flags say to tour groups. Our students

FEATURE AUTHOR

are better than all the other students out there! Your mediocre child will also get this unearned confidence if they apply here! Of course, Ana and I were told it wasn’t necessary to have a flag since there weren’t enough members, but we insisted. Because it was for Mother Earth, after all. Plus we wanted to be included when the tour groups bring the prospecting students around to feel bad.

Mal continued to drone on about something. “I just feel all of our fighting is taking its toll…be best if we…I’m sorry it went on for so long…I think it’s better if…”

Anyway, the flag was felt on felt on felt, depicting a cartoon child standing in front of its parent. We didn’t have the artistic talent - or enough felt - for any features, but it clearly showcases human forms because we made sure to give them heads, bodies, arms, and legs. We tried to angle the child’s head toward the parent, but we couldn’t get the neck right so there’s extra felt covering all of the extra glue that came about during the process. Also, in felt, are the words “Daddy, Mommy, what are trees?” and one lone, small tree in the background. We understand there is only one felt parent in the front of the inquisitive felt child, so it seems strange that the child is talking to both parents. However, we ran out of felt, so we decided the question should be an interpretative one. Yet also literal. And also rhetorical. And also thought-provoking.

And yes, it looks exactly like you think it would.

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Uncaged Reviews

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How far will he go for vengeance?

Brus Stone remembers nothing of his life before he was rescued at the age of five summers and brought to live as part of the Northern Watch. Having been told his mother abandoned him, he’s about as willing to give his trust to a woman as he is to hand his sword to his enemy during battle.

Uncaged Review: This is a nice start to a new series, and this one focuses on Ross and Grace, and the many secrets that have been kept from both of them. When Grace and her sister want to get to her father, she sways her friend from a clan her father wants an alliance with to take her, but they are attacked on the journey and Errol is injured. Ross and Conal from the Northern Watch save them, and are tasked with taking the women to their father safely. But there are a lot of secrets, and some could destroy the love that Ross and Grace are findng in each other.

There was a good deal of action, and watching the love build throughout the book was a good touch and the book keeps a decent pace. This story will keep you reading until the last page and I’m looking forward to the series continuing. Reviewed by Cyrene

Big Crimson FC Schaefer Vampire Suspense

No good deed goes unpunished, so beware when a desperate stranger comes to the door after sundown pleading for help and sanctuary. Good Samaritan Kyle gives Jim refuge and saves his life by killing his attacker, only to discover that this desperate stranger is a bloodthirsty creature of the night, one who is now in his debt and feels honor bound to repay the favor.

Uncaged Review: Kyle who’s a prison guard finds himself in a spot of trouble one night helping a stranger, Jim. What happens next is a journey of one hell of an adventure. I really enjoyed this book . I was hooked on the storyline and was rooting for all the characters. This book filled with some laughs and good humor. This book will have you laughing out loud in all the right places.

For Fans of Comedy/ Horror and Buffy the vampire slayer. Reviewed by Jen

The Lady of the Mirrored Lake

Jennifer Ivy Walker Fantasy

Hunted by the Black Widow Queen, Issylte--a healer with the verdant magic of the forest--must flee Avalon with the two finest knights in the Celtic realm, both wrongly accused of treason. The trio travels to Bretagne, where Issylte heals a critically injured wolf and obtains fiercely loyal, shapeshifting allies.

Uncaged Review: The author sets herself apart in the fantasy field. Everything is so well researched and the book flows from one scene to another. In the second book of the trilogy, Issylte, Tristan and Lancelot are preparing for war, bringing in allies and putting together an army for the war against the Black Widow Queen who killed Issylte’s father and has Tristan’s father under enchantment. Issylte learns to defend herself, and makes some strong alliances – and is gifted not only becoming the Lady of the Mirrored Lake by the Tribe of Dana, but also alliances with the mermaid warriors, bear clan and the wolves. Hiding out at Lancelot’s kingdom, they train and prepare for the war.

This is such a well written book, and the romance between Tristan and Issylte finally comes to fruition and where the author came up with some of the names for many characters is truly mind boggling. There were many characters to keep track of, but it wouldn’t have been the story it is without the supporting cast. The final book brings us to the grand finale, and I’m looking forward to it. Reviewed by Cyrene

Dead Girl

Kerrie Faye YA Fantasy

Dying has its perks…mostly. Bullied teen, Ember O’Neill goes from the weird girl to the tyrant of her school when she is resurrected from a deadly prank. Now secretly supernatural, she dethrones the school drama queen and snags the hot new guy, but her reign is at risk when the Order, a heretical sect, sends an assassin to eliminate her.

Uncaged Review: I really enjoyed this supernatural suspense book. Meet high schooler Ember and she isn’t like normal girl’s her age. What follows is the story of Ember and how she gets caught up on life, trying to be a normal girl. This book was really enjoyable and had me trying to guess at what was going to happen next. The only thing I didn’t like was the ending. This ended with some loose ends still not tied up. I’m keen to see what happens next? Or if there going to be a book two Reviewed by Jen

Uncaged Reviews

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Wallflower’s Midnight

Waltz Collette Cameron Historical Regency

A masquerade ball sets the stage for an American wallflower’s revenge against an English noble, only to be complicated by unexpected love…

Demon’s Mark Ella Summers Fantasy

The schemes of deities are always multi-course affairs.

Three years ago, gods and demons united against a common enemy. Now a terrible, ancient secret threatens to tear that alliance apart.

Uncaged Review: A very sweet novella, that only takes a couple of hours to read. Peter Hartigan has returned after a devastating injury leaves him without a big chunk of his memories. Told he humiliated Althea Westbrook, the nearby neighbors, Peter is afraid but determined to give his apologies to the family, even not knowing what he did. So he holds a masquerade party and gives an invite to a servant at the Westbrook’s home… not knowing the servant he handed it to was not a servant at all.

Eva Westbrook is an American cousin visiting on an extended stay. She knows how badly Althea was hurt, and vows to go to the masquerade to humiliate Peter like he did to her cousin. But when she gets there, she finds he may not be the cad everyone made him out to be, and finds the attraction between them undeniable…

Will it work out for the two? And what really happened that night with Althea? This is nice fun read and although very short, and I’m not normally a fan of instant love type tropes, it actually works pretty nicely here. Reviewed by Cyrene

Uncaged Review: The eleventh book in this series hits the ground running and hardly slows down. As we are nearing the end to this series, Leda and Nero are thrust into a battle that no one knows who is starting it, the demons and gods blaming each other. It will up to Leda to find the answers to save the truce between the two factions and still protecting their daughter Sierra and along the way and find out who is stealing all the immortal artifacts.

There was a good suspense storyline running in this one, and it’s a tangled affair when everything comes to light. I would liked to have seen more Leda and Nero time, but I really enjoyed Leda with her father, Faris. My only gripe was that Nero seemed more on the sidelines this time. This is a fantastic series for anyone who loves the fantasy genre. A series that I could easily read again. Reviewed by Cyrene

Forever Her Duke

Scarlett Scott Historical Regency

Vivi, the Duchess of Bradford, loved her husband from the day they first met. She was an unabashed hoyden. He was the heir to a dukedom and her older brother’s best friend. She vowed to marry him, but she never could have imagined just how dreadfully that youthful promise would go awry, shattering her hope for a future.

Uncaged Review: This is a shorter read, one I finished in a couple hours. A beautiful second chance story of two people torn apart from guilt, and brought back together with love. After a year of a self-imposed exile after his wedding to Vivi, Court returns to his ancestral home and to Vivi, to find her angry and cold toward him and a two week house party that Vivi has planned. But Court is determined to win over his wife and the two will need to find a way to move beyond the past to look to the future.

This is a shorter book, and I would have loved to see more interaction between the two of them with them finding their way back to each other, and I think the author could have really elaborated a bit more, especially during the house party. This is a fun, spicy romance and I have to say, I even laughed a couple times at Court’s musings. And that swan…. Reviewed by Cyrene

A Fallacious Seduction

Virginia Barlow

Western Historical

A sassy heroine and an alpha lawman clash in an epic tale of mistaken identity by the author of The Wicked Sister! When the train US Marshal Reese Calhan is riding on explodes, he is one of two survivors. Trouble is, the other survivor is the woman who betrayed him years ago. A woman he thought was dead.

Uncaged Review: One of the best western historical books I’ve read in a while, and I realize I’m late to the party, but this is a good western with suspense, danger and spicy romance. This book starts out with a literal bang, when a train explodes from a bomb. Only 2 survivors, Reese and Shanna, who Reese swears is a woman named Jenna that betrayed him years ago, and he is not letting her get away this time. Meanwhile, Shanna has no idea who Reese is, or anything he’s talking about.

I guessed a couple different ways this could go, and it was a good read getting through all the pitfalls these two will go through. Shanna is a strong, smart woman with a heart of gold, and while this confuses Reese, he can’t help how he feels about her, but convinces himself it’s all an act.

Great story, good characters, a good ending and I always like when we have an epilogue. If you like western romances, you can’t go wrong with this one. Reviewed by Cyrene

Uncaged Reviews

Knight of Chaos Sherry Ewing Medieval Historical

In the chaos of war, can one knight defy the odds to find peace with the woman warrior he loves?

Sir Theobald Norwood finds himself embroiled in a mission of loyalty and love as he stands by Empress Matilda in her pursuit of the throne.

Uncaged Review: The middle son of the Norwood family, Sir Theobald Norwood, fled London, escaping to Oxford with the Empress Matilda secretly hidden away. On a small farm outside London, Mistress Ingrid Seymour knew the time had come to leave the tiny village with nothing keeping her there and both her parents gone. Ingrid knew that her destiny didn’t lie in town. Before Ingrid even meets the Empress though, she runs into Theobald, who decides to be her protector and delivers her to the Empress. When Ingrid finally gets to meet the Empress, she promotes her as a lady-in-waiting, which Ingrid isn’t really wanting, but her fighting days aren’t over either. Theobald and Ingrid have a much bigger threat to fight besides a war, enemies that want both of them dead but most of all falling in love. What an amazing, fast-moving historical romance filled with action, adventure, battle and love! Who wouldn’t appreciate that? These are usually my favorite types of stories filled with enough fighting going and heartfelt affection that, of course, I don’t get bored and instead devour the pages wishing the book would never end! Sure, the book is the second in the series, but it can somewhat stand alone. You just might want to read the first book about Theobald’s brother, Wymar, just to understand the relationship between them even if you didn’t, there is enough background information to understand what is going on. Theobald is the perfect representation of a knight. He watches over and protects women, children, his fellow knights and, most of all, Ingrid. That I couldn’t help but fall for him too. While Ingrid might be a warrior maiden, she still manages to ensnare the heart of Theobald and everyone likes her too. Do I look forward to the next book in the series, you bet I do! Ms. Sherry Ewing has penned a book that has everything I relish: an enjoyable, well-written story that you can’t help but get caught up in, lots of plot twists/twists, so you never know what is going to happen, beautifully written characters that almost seem real, stunning visuals that make it easy to see the entire tale in your head and an epic romance that literally sweeps you away!

Reviewed by

Roslynn Ernst

Flames of Flamenco

Jennifer Ivy Walker Contemporary Erotica

In Montmartre, the bohemian heart of Paris, Ella meets an intriguing artist who sketches portraits on the trendy Place du Tertre and dances flamenco at the local tablao. As Jean-Luc introduces her to the secret delights of the City of Light, Ella becomes his Muse, the passion they share inspiring and igniting his art and his dance.

Uncaged Review: Ella is in Paris, studying for a month when she meets an artist and dancer, JeanLuc. They begin a month-long love affair, but they both become so much more to each other than just the mind-blowing sex. Jean-Luc has never felt more inspired, and Ella is falling head over heels for him, dreading having to leave Paris in July.

This is a very sexy erotica, but it’s also a heartwarming, tender story of two people’s summer fling becoming so much more. There is some conflct to keep the story moving forward and the story keeps a good pace. This novella is perfect for a couple hours, Since this is a shorter book, I’ll not give anything more away, but the reader will be flipping pages to find out how it all ends. Reviewed by Cyrene

Charming the Chess Mistress

Louisa Cornell & Andrea K. Stein Historical Regency

The loss of Col’s damning journal pages is about to turn deadly; The forfeit of Charlotte’s closely guarded secrets might destroy her; Will their mutual quest for justice bring them together, or tear them apart?

Uncaged Review: This book was easily read in a couple hours and it’s a very original storyline that I hadn’t read before. When two writers are penning a book together, it’s always fun to see if I can recognize where one author stops and the other begins, but this is a seamless story. Both our main characters have a past with dark secrets, and both have a lot at stake if either of their pasts comes to light. Charlotte was taken in by Captain El Goodrum, the owner of a house of pleasure, but Charlotte is her chess master. Four nights a week, competitors pay a fee to try to beat Charlotte as she walks among the tables in her disguise.

Col is a highly trained Bow Street Runner who knows Charlotte has possession of his journals from university days, that can endanger not only him, but someone he loves if the pages come to the surface.

What I really liked about this book is that we aren’t reading about members of the ton, or high society regency. We are reading about people that are coming from average backgrounds and are making their own futures. Good spicy storytelling that was original and easy to like. Reviewed by Cyrene

The Baron to Break Tammy Andresen Historical Regency

What if Prince Charming wasn’t so charming? What if he was the bad guy?

And Baron Robinson liked it that way. Except when his best friend’s sister, the lovely Miss Emily Cranston, is suddenly alone in the world, he knows it’s his duty to protect her.

Uncaged Review: This is sort of loosely based off of the Sleeping Beauty story, I think. But instead of an evil stepmother, the no-good mother is mother to Baron Jacob Robinson, our handsome rake, who will truly see the evil in her by the end of the book. Jacob has been working since his father’s death to get the finances in order, since his father left him in so much debt, with a mother who wants to spend it all. Emily just lost her parents, and as the sister to his best friend, who is missing, Jacob feels duty-bound to protect her, even when the solicitor tells them that Emily’s family didn’t have much money left.

This book becomes a wild race to get Emily to safety and find out the mystery surrounding the deaths of her parents and how everyone else plays into this and why they want Emily. It’s a shorter book, so it was easy to read in a couple hours and even though Emily was sheltered her whole life, she finds strength and sass. These two will have to overcome their own doubts and self-loathing and find their inner strengths to get their HEA. I did not read the first two in this series, and this stands on its own well. Reviewed by Cyrene

Uncaged Reviews

The Black Dragon Kathryn Le Veque Medieval Romance

Addax al-Kort was not born in England. As the heir to the throne of a defunct distant kingdom (near present day Pakistan), Addax came to England with a trade caravan when he was very young.

Uncaged Review: Sir Addax al-Kort, a magnificent knight, known on the tournament circuit as the black dragon, is one of the greatest! Addax loves to compete in tournaments, especially against fellow knights and even his best friend, Maximillian “Max” de Grey. Max’s father had instantly betrothed him to the beauteous Lady Emmeline “Emmy” de Witt. Addax is very surprised at the marriage but feels there is another motive for why the wedding was done in so much haste. When Addax is asked by Christopher “Chris” de Lohr, an Executioner Knight, to find out the true reason why Max’s father so wanted the marriage and if it had something to do with the Scottish? Chris asks Addax to go to Max’s home and find out the real reason while also passing along information to him. Addax will do this and also becomes very close to Emmy, slowly falling for her too as well. Addax realizes that there is a fine line between being Max’s friend and his love for Emmy is also putting them both in mortal danger. What an amazingly wonderful historical romance that is not only a joy to read yet manages to captivate anyone who reads it! The book might be a love story, yet there is so much more than just a tale of that. There is so much depth, beautiful visuals and fascinating characters that the story literally transcends on another level that I couldn’t help but get caught up in the novel too. There are very few plot holes that are left unturned. Sure, I had a few questions about what actually happened to Addax’s family and wanted to know what really happened, yet I figured it would all turn out fine. Addax is such a charming, honorable knight that, even though he isn’t truly English, he’s still a tremendous person that is worthy of being a perfect book boyfriend. While Emmeline isn’t the young sweet innocent damsel but an older woman who is still feisty and is just enchanting too. Do I look forward to more of the executioner knights? Well of course, I do! Hopefully Essien gets a story too. Ms. Kathryn Le Veque writes not only with a deep passion for the story, but everything too. I anxiously await more of her books, no matter what they may be!

Reviewed by Roslynn Ernst

Stone of Love

Margaret Izard Fantasy Romance

After leaving her abusive ex, American scholar Brielle DeVolt embarks on a career-changing opportunity, the renovation of Laird Colin MacDougall’s Chapel ruin. The attractive, broad-shouldered Laird leaves her weak-kneed, but can she trust herself to love again?

Uncaged Review: . Brielle is an American historian tasked with restoring a chapel in Scotland that belongs to the MacDougall clan. Having been hand-picked was a dream come true and in the best timing. Breaking up with an abusive ex-boyfriend, Brielle finds the trip to Scotland a way to start over.

Colin MacDougall lost his parents in an accident and is now the new laird. When he meets Brielle, he is astonished by the connection he instantly feels toward her. What neither know yet, is that Fae stories and myths of the past are all too real, and soon Colin will need to go on a quest for the Fae, back in time, to right a wrong. As Colin and Brielle get closer and their love blooms, all could be lost if he doesn’t complete the task and return to his time.

This book has just the right amount of magic for the story, and readers will root for the two main characters. The book is full of descriptions that will make everyone want to travel to Scotland to see the beautiful lands. The book and story are a magical journey, and I am looking forward to the next book. Reviewed by Cyrene

Dark Glass

Orlando A. Sanchez Urban Fantasy

Sometimes, being immortal can get you killed.

When Fate pays Simon a visit accusing him of disrupting causality, she makes him an offer he can’t refuse—become mortal or die.

There’s only one small problem. In order to become mortal, Simon must find the goddess, Kali the Destroyer, and convince her to remove her curse.

Uncaged Review: The 11th book in this series has Monty and Simon scrambling to find out why Simon is disrupting causality, and the only way they can is to go see the goddess, Kali, who cursed Simon to be immortal. But that could a deadly visit, Kali isn’t known to play nice. In the meantime, Haven is attacked and Monty and Simon are sidetracked on the way, and the attack puts Monty in mortal danger.

This book is non-stop out of the gate and it does end on a cliffhanger, but since the next book is out, it’s not that big of a deal. We find out even more about our duo and their pasts, and we delve a bit deeper into Monty. But not all is as it seems…

Great series and this a good addition to the series. I like the fact that the author keeps this series fresh and exciting and I’m looking forward to continuing on.

Reviewed by Cyrene

She Serves the Realm

Lee Swanson Medieval Historical

At the conclusion of Her Dangerous Journey Home, Christina Kohl learns of the death of Sir Edgar Baldewyne, the boorish and abusive husband of her beloved Lady Cecily. At last free to marry, Christina and Cecily lack only the permission of the king to fulfill their heart’s fondest desire.

Uncaged Review: Secretly, Christina Kohl hides who she really is. On the outside, everyone knows her as Sir Frederick, a trader, merchant, and sometimes a knight when she is called or needed to be. Christina just wanted to be free of her stifling obligations to serve and marry her true love, Cecily. The king, though, always seems to have ulterior motives and agendas for his purpose, thereby keeping Christina from what she truly desires, to be with Cecily. Christina must do all of these tasks without complaint to finally get everything she wants. Yet there are many more, from a queen to even a nation, that stand in the way of this and could bring about Christina’s downfall and expose her true nature. Yet even though Christina had lost her faithful servant, many came to her aid, including Cecily. What an amazing historical novel with some romance thrown in! That is just a fantastic read! The story follows a brilliant protagonist who is on her own odyssey of sorts because of a power-driven king. The tale is masterfully told and very intelligently written, with beautifully drawn-out characters that become a part of you too. So, it makes for such easy, quick reading that it is hard to even put the book down! The only sad part was that it had to end and be the final in the series, and I am not ready for it to end because I am curious to find out what will happen to everyone. The ending does seem a bit abrupt, but at least it ended happily despite the sorrowful feelings that it had to be over. Christina, or rather, Frederick, is extraordinary! Yes, she has to undergo feats that no man can handle. However, a woman who must keep her identity hidden manages to show her true strength and courage, which makes her not only relatable but extremely likable. Even Lady Cecily doesn’t take a back seat to Christina but is able to stand on her own. Mr. Lee Swanson has written another phenomenal book that is not only well worth reading but leaves me eager for more stories, no matter what they may be! Reviewed by Roslynn Ernst

Uncaged Reviews

Nighthawk

Kathryn Le Veque Medieval Romance

1271 A.D. - The Wolfe’s greatest son is a man known as NIGHTHAWK.

Patrick de Wolfe is every bit his father’s son - cunning, intelligent, and ruthless. An enormous man with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s pale green eyes, he’s the man destined to lead William de Wolfe’s great legacy.

Uncaged Review: When I wanted to continue reading in this author’s world, I decided to stay with the de Wolfe clan and this story centers around Patrick, known as the Nighthawk and one of the most feared sons of The Wolfe and maintains control over Berwick Castle, not far from his father’s domain, Questing Castle. Berwick Castle is a large, almost impenetrable castle. Patrick is known as the Nighthawk, making his own name for himself for his prowess at war and is getting ready to travel to London to a prestigious position with the King. He comes upon a skirmish on the border and finds a woman captive by some reivers. When captured he finds she’s a postulate for a priory and was kidnapped by the men. Along with the woman, Brighton, was a nun, whom Patrick finds and is told a tale by the nun’s dying words.

Taking her back to Berwick, he decides to get counsel from his father, William. But things will spin out of control, and Patrick will need to decide if his feelings of wanting to protect the woman is just his honor or something more. There are a lot of secrets that have been kept from Brighton, and the de Wolfe’s could become a target from a Scottish clan and some Norsemen.

This was an action-packed book, and the family members are back here, along with a gaggle of grandkids. William is older now, but still a force to be reckoned with, along with their wives. The romance isn’t quite as fast as William and Jordan, but William will soon find out that his son has become a formidable man.

I don’t know how the author can sweep us into the epic journey, but I’m along for the ride. I was completely in awe of the masterful way this story was told, and how this author astonishes me every time I read one her books.

Reviewed by Cyrene

Broken Time

Sherri Moorer

SciFi

Is anybody listening?

Dr. Alessi Byrne has spent her life studying spatial anomalies to prove string theory. Her work seems to be nothing more than theoretical research until an anomaly opens over Antarctica and transmits a three-word message: Is anybody listening?

Uncaged Review: The premise of this book is a good one, and it opens up with an apocalyptic event, but then backtracks to show us how it got to that point, which I am perfectly fine with. What wasn’t so great, is that the book would also backtrack in Alessi’s life, at too many different points which was totally confusing, and it was very random throughout, occurring without any real notice or segeway. The reader has to pay close attention to the time stamps at the beginning of each chapter, if this had been better plotted, it would have made a better read. There was just a lot of scientific mumbo jumbo that really doesn’t make sense to an average reader. I was able to piece together most of it and the premise is promising, but the pacing is slow and there was too much repetition.

I could recommend the book to the crowd that reads heavily in this genre, but the ending was lackluster after all the drama of the story and I even guessed at Stacia, maybe not fully as told by the end of the book, but close. This is not a bad story in any way, but it could have used some polishing to tighten up the time jumps a bit better. Reviewed by Cyrene

Stonebridge

Linda Griffin

20th Century Historical Romance/Ghost

After the death of her mother, Rynna Dalton comes to live with her imperious great-grandmother and her bookish, disabled cousin Ted at Stonebridge Manor. Almost immediately she is aware of a mysterious presence, which she believes is the spirit of her mother’s murdered cousin, Rosalind.

Uncaged Review: This is a well written book, and it kept my interest, to a point. There are a lot of triggers in this, so be warned before you pick it up. Rynna goes to live with her great grandmother at Stonebridge, a huge manor that looks like it was stuck in time. Except for the music room, where Rynna feels the most warmth. Her Aunt Rosalind was murdered by her husband, and Rynna feels her warm presence. Also at Stonebridge, is her cousin Ted, who is disabled from arthritis and spends the majority of his life in a wheelchair. Then there is the other cousin, Jason, and he’s a successful lawyer and the son of Rosalind. Jason is charming and great to be around, and Rynna falls for him easily. But the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…

I had a few issues with this one. I don’t think second cousins should marry. I think that relationship is too close, so to me it felt like incest. And the abuse – and Rynna’s stupid decisions – it doesn’t matter what the time stamp on it is, she made some bad decisions throughout most of the book. The one character I had the most attachment to was Ted. The paranormal part of this is very minor, and I wish there would have been a bit more to it, but the ending was satisfactory. If you have been in an abusive relationship or traumatized in any relationship, this may not be a book for you. I think there should be a warning in the blurb area. Other than those issues, the story has a good suspense, if not a little drawn out, with a clever plot. Reviewed by Cyrene

The Fog Ladies: Date With Death

Susan McCormick

Cozy Mystery

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

Uncaged Review: If you like cozy mysteries, this book is a lot of fun. The Fog Ladies are a group of energetic seniors along with one younger hospital resident who seem to run into a good whodunit mystery. The ladies are out on a Senior Singles outing, and one of the members is found dead, as if he fell over a cliff. The cops write it off as an accident, but the Fog Ladies are on the job to solve the mystery. When yet another member is found dead, the ladies are in full sleuth mode.

This book is a lot of fun, and the ladies are a real hoot. I actually laughed a couple times at some of their antics, and of their tactless and very outspoken questions to others. I had not read the previous books in this series, and I didn’t have any trouble following along and getting to meet these characters. Having the seniors as the murder solving women in a book is original and a lot of fun. I did guess very early on, but it was fun seeing them get there. Reviewed by Cyrene

Amy’s Bookshelf Reviews

Drop: Making Great Decisions

Dr. Helen McKibben

Self-help|Audiobook

Dr. McKibben’s approach combines the study of the body, the brain, and the interaction between emotion and memory. She enables us tap into the biomechanics of emotions, resolve triggered feelings, and make better life choices.

Amy’s Review: Dr. Helen McKibben talks about an interesting topic in Drop: Making Great Decisions

In Drop: Making Great Decisions, the reader is introduced to Dr. Helen McKibben, who also narrates here book. I have/haven’t listened to anything from this author before, and I really enjoyed it. I found the that audiobook was the perfect format for this type of information. Not only does the doctor share her expertise, and also enters the world of neuroscience, and how you can retrain your brain, (note that not everyone can do that, especially if it’s broken, and that’s personal experience), but she also conducts interviews. The retraining of your brain in this instance is not about healing your brain, but making better choices and decisions, by thinking more before acting. It’s an interesting self-help book, and the doctor seems to have a lot of experience. The narration could be a big clearer in sections, but it was a good story to listen to. This book deserves both a read and a listen! I did get the sense that the interviews were replanned, but they were also engaging in conversation.

Pirate Trap

Matt Cost Mystery

Did Black Sam bury pirate treasure in Port Essex 300 years ago? After finding an incredibly lucrative Spanish treasure in the Keys of Florida, Black Sam Bellamy decided to leave the pirate life and return to his true love in New England. Before being shipwrecked on the way to retrieve her, he hid his booty with the Chbo So Clan in Port Essex.

Amy’s Review: Matt Cost writes a dramatic and mystery tale with Pirate Trap

In Pirate Trap, the reader once again is brought into the lives of Clay and his partner, Baylee. It is a story worth waiting for, especially when venturing the private chemistry between Clay and Baylee. Pirate Trap is part of the Clay Wolfe / Port Essex Mystery Book series, and this is volume five. I am a big fan of Matt Cost and read whatever this author writes. This author has a grand imagination, and talent for showing the story. I recommend reading all the books in this series, and then read this one. I also recommend looking into other of Matt Cost’s books, because this is a writer you don’t want to miss, and his ability to write various genres, without the stereotypical plot of detectives or mystery. Clay is an unforgettable character, and one of my favorite detectives, and I can’t forget Baylee, a tenacious and formidable character, a complement to Clay’s edginess. Pirate Trap is action-packed all the way to the end, as this story brings the reader along for the interesting journey of treasure hunting and hidden pirate treasure. Clay is still reeling over a loss when he is hired to find a treasure, rumored to be buried in Port Essex. He and Baylee, along with the rest of his crew, have to go up against a lot of unscrupulous and dangerous people, without getting killed, and to find the truth behind the pirate’s hidden treasure, if it exists, and what does it actually contain. Definitely a very unpredictable story, my favorite kind!

Table for Two

Eliot Parker

Short Stories/humanity

Conversation is more than just words being spoken, interpreted, and acted upon by others. Conversation is also the ultimate human interest activity, bringing people into direct contact with people in all of their complexity and vulnerability. The main characters in Parker’s ten multigenre stories set in the heart of Appalachia want to be heard; to have others listen to them-really listen-and understand their needs and concerns.

Amy’s Review:Magnificently written stories!

Eliot Parker writes a collection of short tales with Table for Two. Table for Two contains 10 dramatic short stories that form a connection, for better or worse, between a 2-person conversation. The reader is introduced to many characters within this short story collection, and the interesting part is how each story is different, shows human interaction, and behavior. Sometimes, this behavior affects the lives of all involved. From The Stars Above, that shows a daughter’s denial of her father’s dementia diagnosis, so much that he gets lost, to The Birthday Boy, who realizes after some heartache, that his family is the one that truly loves him. Others have a hint of darkness that includes greed and murder, while my favorite is Table for Two. The titular story. A man is grieving for the loss of his partner, and continues their daily routine of eating in a local diner, including ordering his partner’s meal, when things get out of hand, but then ... Each one is so intriguing and very well-written. I’m a big fan of this author! This author brings the story to life. The characters are so real, it’s like being with them within the story. This author is a great storyteller, and each story brings the reader on a journey through humanity.

The Silent Forest

David Kummer Psychological Thriller

In New Haven, everything is changing. And there’s no going back now. It’s been weeks since Allison went missing, and everyone has given up except for Kaia. New Haven mourns their dead as she keeps looking. And now, she’s starting to find answers.

Amy’s Review: David Kummer writes a thrilling sequel to The Misery House with The Silent Forest

In The Silent Forest, the reader is brought to New Haven, and Kaia. This is a grand sequel to The Misery House. This book is part of The House on the Hill series, and this is volume two. I am a big fan of David Kummer and read whatever this author writes. This author has a grand imagination, and talent for showing the story. David Kummer is a grand writer and also creates this thrilling story and environment in New Haven. The missing. The dead, and those who keep looking even when others have given up or given in. Suddenly, secrets are coming out of the shadows, no matter who tries to bury them. It’s a psychological thriller, and it definitely checks all the boxes, and is not predictable in any manner, which brings the story to life, and allows the reader to get immersed in the story. The reader and the characters gain a connection with each other. There is a chemistry that comes out of the story, and Kaia is one of those unforgettable characters. The plot and subplots are both thrilling and intriguing, all the way to the end

Amy’s Bookshelf Reviews

Postcards to Hitler: A German Jew’s Defiance in a Time of Terror

Bruce Neuburger

Historical/narrative history

An intimate history of the Holocaust, drawn from the final days of a Jewish family in Munich

Postcards to Hitler tells the story of a Jewish family in Munich living as close neighbors to the demagogue who becomes the Nazi Führer―Adolf Hitler. .

Amy’s Review: Bruce Neuburger writes a powerful tale with Postcards to Hitler: A German Jew’s Defiance in a Time of Terror

In Postcards to Hitler: A German Jew’s Defiance in a Time of Terror, the reader is introduced to a family, who ends up being neighbors with the would-be dictator of Germany, and the insightful terror that he projects to his followers. The family is Jewish, living in Munich, where the main character is Benno Neuburger and Anna Einstein, who marry when there is a prosperous time in Germany. They married in 1907, well before either WWI or WWII. The author shares the story of his grandparents, and it shares a wondrous love with the two before their world is turned upside down. Eventually, the World goes to war, when WWI is started, and things become almost unlivable, but the Neuburger’s have hope for a peaceful future. As a family story, that was passed down, the author also did his research so that he could get the complete picture of what life was. It was an amazing story of a life lived with love, and even with the horrors of war and the intensity of the lives the Jewish had to endure, including death, and other despicable acts. I haven’t read anything by this author before, and what a hidden gem. I enjoyed it so much, that I have now followed the author and look for more books to read.

Chasing the Edge

Leslie A Piggott

Detective/Thriller

When a college track star collapses dead as he tries to clear the last hurdle, sports writer Cari Turnlyle suspects foul play. As she tries to dig deeper, she continually encounters obstacles.

Amy’s Review: Leslie A Piggott writes a thrilling and chilling tale with Chasing the Edge

In Chasing the Edge the reader is introduced several characters, and I recommend reading the prologue as it gives the backstory of Dr. John Delamont, and his genetic creations. I haven’t read anything by this author before, and what a hidden gem. I enjoyed it so much that I have now followed the author and look for more books to read. Chasing the Edge is part of the Cari Turnlyle Series, and this is volume one. I can’t wait to read the books that follow this one. When we are finally introduced to Cari Tunlyle, the reporter that this series was named after, we see her at work. First, she’s covering her university’s sports news, and this time it’s a track meet. During the meet, something happens that turns several people’s worlds upside down, including Cari’s. The man she was supposed to interview died during the meet. Cari’s instinct is that it wasn’t a natural, or a heart attack, as everyone assumed it was. She believed it was something more sinister. Cari is determined and tenacious, and determined to get the job done no matter what. Leslie A Piggott not only tells the story but shows it with words as well. This story is a definite attention grabber, so much I couldn’t put it down. A very unpredictable story, my favorite kind, with a wellwritten plot.

The Left Turn: Two Lives, Worlds Apart

Becky Parker Geist Sci-fi | Audiobook

If your past vanished . . . who might you become?

Hannah, a forty-six year old author plagued with anxiety, and her partner James, an HR recruiter caught in a headlock of grief over his brother’s death, are as desperate for inner peace as they are clueless about how to find it.

Amy’s Review: Becky Parker Geist tells a wonderful self-discovery story in The Left Turn: Two Lives, Worlds Apart

Hannah and James, both plagued with demons of the past, anxiety, and the search for peace. I haven’t listened to anything from this author before, and I really enjoyed it. I did read the print version of the story, and enjoyed it, but I also really enjoyed this audiobook, especially with two narrators, and one being the author, herself. This book is definitely well told, and the characters are very engaging, and very realistic. Imagine if everything you knew and remembered was all of a sudden gone, and you’re living a new life. I can’t imagine having to rebuild a life into someone you’ve never been, as our pasts help define us. It’s a normal day for the duo, but then everything changes, their entire world. I can’t imagine, and with this story, the trials and triumphs, and the search for themselves, while dealing with the blur of their past, makes this story so unique, and very intense. This is one of those books that grabs you from the start and pulls you in. Geist has a great imagination. An emotional rollercoaster. Un-put-downable! It’s a great story to follow and try to figure out what will happen next, even when I already read it, I listened to it with a new perspective.

Western Justice Dean L. Hovey Mystery

The 14th book in the Doug Fletcher series opens with a call from a Black Hills sheriff requesting help investigating the discovery of a body at the Vore Buffalo Jump National Historic Site.

Amy’s Review: Dean L. Hovey writes a grand mysterious tale with Western Justice In Western Justice, the reader is introduced to Doug and Jill Fletcher, National Park Service investigators. I haven’t read anything by this author before, and what a hidden gem. I enjoyed it so much, that I have now followed the author and look for more books to read. Western Justice is part of the Doug Fletcher mysteries series, and this is volume 14. I hope to read the books that came before this one. I found that this was an very interesting premise, and a unique story line. I like using Historical and National parks not only for a back drop of the story, but also as a character in itself. Doug and Jill soon learn the identity of a murder victim, opening it up for more unusual suspects and intriguing characters. The story line has a great depth to it, and the characters have interesting traits, flaws and personality. This story lands the reader in Vore Buffalo Jump National Historical site, and it’s a dump job for the victim. A very unpredictable story, my favorite kind! This book is both thrilling and intriguing, all the way to the end.

Amy’s Bookshelf Reviews

Witness to Slaughter

K.A.

Lugo

Thriller

Jack has coped through previous holidays, but this one feels different. It’s been four years since he lost his family, and clues to finding those responsible have dried up. Hopelessness has him so tightly wound that he’s often driven out of his claustrophobic apartment before the ever-present black dog of depression drags him to a place where there’s no coming back from.

Amy’s Review: K.A. Lugo writes another intriguing tale with Witness to Slaughter

In Witness to Slaughter, the reader is once again brought into the world of Jack Slaughter. Witness to Slaughter is part of the Jack Slaughter Thriller series, and this is volume two. I have become a fan of not only the author, but rugged and brooding Jack Slaughter. Jack lost his family a while ago, but certain things bring back his grief, especially holidays. He feels like he’s reeling in his head, and has no ambition, but when a double-fee client comes asking for help, he takes the opportunity. What he thinks is a normal cheating spouse case, brings him into the nightclub scene of the LGBTQ community, and something is going on than just dancing and romancing. Jack connects with Lucas, the club owner, and finds out that there are some unexplained deaths and missing men. The police are calling the deaths suicides, but Jack and Lucas are starting to believe otherwise. It’s a great story to follow, and Jack is an unforgettable character. Both thrilling and intriguing, all the way to the end.

Johnny Lycan & the Anubis Disk

Wayne

Turmel

Urban Fantasy, Humor

Johnny Lupul is riding high. He’s got a PI license, a concealed carry permit, his first big payday and a monster of a secret. After rescuing a bookie’s daughter from Russian mobsters, the newbie PI catches the attention of a rich, mysterious client.

Amy’s Review: Wayne Turmel writes an urban fantasy tale with Johnny Lycan & the Anubis Disk

In Johnny Lycan & the Anubis Disk, the reader is introduced to Johnny, he’s just got his PI license, and is now officially a private detective, carrying a gun and all. After his first case that he solved, he’s starting to gain interest form those needing his help. Many stories I read about a PI are those who have the experience behind them. I found this one so interesting because Johnny is new to the game. I haven’t read anything by this author before, and what a hidden gem. I enjoyed it so much, that I have now followed the author and look for more books to read. Johnny Lycan & the Anubis Disk is part of The Werewolf PI Series, and this is volume one. I’m sure that Johnny didn’t think that some of his cases would lead to the supernatural, as he didn’t believe in it, and so if a case comes across his case about ancient curses, or monsters, he believes it will be easier to solve, if those things didn’t exist. And I’m sure he didn’t realize he would be one of those monsters. Wayne Turmel has a great imagination and not only tells the story, but shows it with words as well. A very unpredictable story, my favorite kind! I guess I found a new detective that I enjoy reading about. I look forward to the next two books coming up.

Johnny Lycan & the Last Witchfinder

Wayne Turmel Urban Fantasy, Humor

A mysterious figure stalks Chicago’s Paranormal community, and the only person who can stop it is Johnny Lupul, the Werewolf PI.

Amy’s Review: Wayne Turmel writes a humorous and fantastical tale about Johnny Lycan & the Last Witchfinder

In Wayne Turmel, the reader is reintroduced to Johnny, an established private detective. He takes on all types of cases, but has experience with magic, supernatural, and paranormal cases. Johnny Lycan & the Last Witchfinder is part of The Werewolf PI Series, and this is volume three, and his newest work. I am a big fan of Wayne Turmel and read whatever this author writes. This author has a grand imagination, and talent for showing the story. Wayne Turmel not only tells the story but shows it with words as well. This book is action-packed all the way to the end. Each one of his stories are unpredictable story, my favorite kind! Magnetically charged! It’s my favorite of the three so far, and it was worth the read, definitely worth the read. It’s packed with details, intensity, humor, witches and demons. I hope to read more books by Wayne Turmel. It’s a great story to follow and try to figure out what will happen next. Some of the pages, you end up reading slower than others, so not to miss anything. Sometimes you have to put the book down, just to take a breath.

MegaStar

R. J. Eastwood

Rockstar Romance

Unexpected fame, fan adulation, and money became his aphrodisiac, but distanced him from the woman he loved and lost.

Amy’s Review: R. J. Eastwood writes a sensational dramatic tale with MegaStar

In Megastar, the reader is introduced to Addison, a young man who, despite his upbringing, becomes a famous singer, almost overnight. I haven’t read anything by this author before, and what a hidden gem. I enjoyed it so much that I have now followed the author and look for more books to read. I found that the story has a fast pace, and sometimes, when needed it slows, so you can catch up, and the characters can even take a breath. Addison, suffers but tries to embrace his newfound fame. His childhood has created scars, some that will never go away. His music is solace for him, but the fame and fortune is something that he tries to deal with him. The story is an emotional rollercoaster, and filled with twists and turns, and things that seem upside down. R. J. Eastwood not only tells the story but shows it with words as well. A wondrous trail of words. Megastar is an embraceable, and unforgettable read. This story has so many levels, and brings childhood scars to the surface, affecting who Addison is and who he wants to be.

Amy’s Bookshelf Reviews

Her Name Was Lola

Karen Janowsky Contemporary Romance

Lover of fairy tales Lola Nelsson learned at an early age that darker truths lay behind their bright facades. At twenty-two, she still hopes for her fairy tale to come true before she graduates college.

Amy’s Review: Karen Janowsky writes a romantic tale with Her Name Was Lola In Her Name Was Lola, the reader is introduced to Lola, who always wanted that fairy tale life, romance, with a tall, dark and handsome man. I am a big fan of Karen Janowsky and read whatever this author writes. This author has a grand imagination, and talent for showing the story. Lola’s dreams, she knew, would not be a reality, as there is always the dark side of life. Some lives are just a facade, and face a darkness behind closed doors. She still is searching for her Prince Charming, but she’s trying to find her way through real life. Lola meets Vance, and they have a sex-love-hate relationship, as he may not change his womanizing ways. Things are not as they seem for either Lola or Vance, and that’s what I like about this story. It’s not just about I hate her, but I love her, and the couple has chemistry, whether it’s boiling hot or steamy and tenuous. Karen Janowsky not only tells the story but shows it with words as well. A definite attention grabber, so much I couldn’t put it down. Lola is an unforgettable character. Both thrilling and intriguing, all the way to the end. This book is definitely not a cookie cutter romance, it’s almost real, and you can feel the tension between the characters, both the positive and negative.

Murder by a Hundred Cuts R Weir Detective

After three years, the serial killer known as The Front Range Butcher, finally faces the charges against him. First degree murder under special circumstances for the five victims. Simon Lions confronted by his accusers in the trial of the century. One of those accusers being private eye, Jarvis Mann.

Amy’s Review: YES! R Weir writes another magnificent Jarvis Mann tale with Murder by a Hundred Cuts

In Murder by a Hundred Cuts, the reader is reintroduced to the incredible detective, Jarvis Mann, one of my favorite book detectives. R Weir’s writing brings him to life, so much that he is like a living, breathing person that enters the room, and you can’t want him to leave. Jarvis Mann usually does the mundane cheating spouse cases, insurance fraud, but there is always that one person who comes into his office, and desperately needs something. So, with desperation and a pleading please, he’ll take on that case. Murder by a Hundred Cuts is part of the Jarvis Mann Detective series, and this is volume ten. I am a big fan of R Weir and read whatever this author writes. This author has a grand imagination, and talent for showing the story. Weir has built a world that revolves around Jarvis, and his investigations, and the truths behind what people wish to keep hidden, but it comes to light. Jarvis Mann has been waiting for this day, and so have his readers and fans. He is ready to testify in the trial of The serial killer, The Front Range Butcher, Simon Lions. Now, Jarvis is a target for a vicious death after another witness is murdered. He’s used to threats before, but this one is different. R Weir not only tells the story but shows it with words as well. This story is a definite attention grabber, so much I couldn’t put it down. A reader can get lost in the story. A very unpredictable story, my favorite kind! I just love, love, love this story. The reader just embarks on a superb journey.

Order of Light

W. D. Kilpack III

Epic Fantasy

The future of Mankind relies on the Guardian of Maarihk. Can a mysterious Order help him repair the damage of choosing happiness over duty?

The Slave’s Diary

Kenneth R. McClelland YA/African American

Amy’s Review: W. D. Kilpack III writes a fascinating epic fantasy tale with Order of Light

In Order of Light, the reader is introduced to the second book of the New Blood Saga. W. D. Kilpack III is a magnificent writer, and storyteller. This author has a grand imagination, and talent for showing the story. It’s a grand sequel to Crown Prince. This is an incredible story, and I couldn’t put it down. Enter the author’s brilliant world, where humanity is dependent on the Guardian of Maarihk, and he has to engage and enlist the assistance of Ellis the Elder. The story is filled with intrigue, magic, survival, and the ancient times of Gods of Old. This is a world where bloodlines mean something more than family, it means legends of the past, feuding and the fight for a throne to rule. This building of this world is a grand epic fantastical work, and a deeply imaginative world. This story is a definite attention grabber, so much I couldn’t put it down. A very unpredictable story, my favorite kind! This was definitely a page-turner, so much that I could barely put it down, and it is a long, read, but definitely worth it! I look forward to reading more of this author’s work. It’s a great story to follow and try to figure out what will happen next.

While on his first hunt with his father, Kimbo is kidnapped from the jungles of Africa to become a slave in 19th century America. Sold like property to various masters, he escapes after a master enters him in a boxing match against another slave, a killer called Barnyard Willie.

Amy’s Review: Kenneth R. McClelland tells a dramatic historical tale with The Slave’s Diary

In The Slave’s Diary, the reader is introduced to 19th Century America, and Kimbo, who is hunting with his father in Africa, is kidnapped, and sold into slavery. I did read the print version of the story, and enjoyed it, but I also really enjoyed this audiobook. This narration really brought this story to life. It’s a very well told story, that tugs at your heart, because you know things like this actually happened, and sometimes, still happen now. Slavery is not a new concept, but it’s a concept that should just disappear for good. Kimbo’s journey is one of awe and amazement, and yet horrifying and terrorizing, as he is sold from master to master. He tries to escapes, and then keeps getting pulled back into a life that is torturous. It’s a remarkable story and is unpredictable, as you pray for Kimbo’s release and freedom, and also any companion that he meets. His story is one from fiction, but historical, yes, based on reality, of course. I really enjoyed listening to this story, as it had so many different layers, and the listener never knows what’s going to happen next even if you read the print book, you still wonder what is next. Sometimes what does happen next is gut-wrenching, and other times, triumphant. It’s an emotionally charged story, and some parts are slower than others, but in my opinion, the pace is right for what is going on in the story. Magnificent story, kept this reader turning the hanging on every word of the story.