(Obscura Nights, #1)
Publication date: August 4th 2026
Genres: Science Fiction, Young Adult
Seventeen-year-old Farris Aldan didn’t join the Sentinels to save the world.
He joined to escape insanity.
In Obscura City, contracting the whisperis means shedding your skin and becoming a monster. As a newly trained Sentinel, Farris hunts the infected, hoping vengeance will silence the guilt over his best friend Calla’s death.
Then he’s assigned his first solo mission. Track down Rena, a whisperis-infected punk rocker evading quarantine. From her black hair and beet-red eyes, she’s the spitting image of Calla. Farris can’t bring himself to arrest her. Not with that face, not with that voice.
Choosing Rena brands him a traitor. Now hunted by the Sentinels he idolized, including his adoptive father, Farris learns Rena’s connection to the whisperis runs deeper than anyone imagined. Visions of a cure guide her toward the Hollow, a hidden valley of darkness beyond the city. Only an ancient vantashade named Krieger knows the truth, but it offers a global cure for a terrible price: her life. To save Rena, Farris must risk everything–his future, his family, even the cure itself. And it still might not be enough.
Little by little, we awkwardly stumbled and sashayed toward the cluster of monsters. A littler further and we slipped into their group. Mere feet separated us from the graceful corpses.
A stench of boiled tar and kerosene swam over us. The air curdled with heat. We watched the burdeneds’ faces as we moved. No longer paying attention to us. Their shoulders, arms and chests were relaxed. Caring and glossy white eyes stared back at their deceased partners.
A small pressure pushed against my chest. Rena leaned her head against it, and I realized that she’d been shivering.
“God. I wonder when they died.” She mumbled so softly I barely heard her. “Wonder if they knew they were dyin’. What they felt when they turned into monsters.”
I shook my head since it was too risky to speak. Little by little, I moved us to the back of the room. Need to go slow so we don’t alert the burdened.
Rena looked up at me, her face mere inches from my own. “All their feelings…what happened to them when they died?” Her skin was so bruised and cut up. The dark circles beneath her eyes contrasted her increasingly pale complexion. “Their names? Their memories? Where did they go?”
My whole body ached. I swallowed. When I tried to comfort her, my mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Her hand squeezed my shoulder without a lick of strength. “I don’t wanna become like that, Farris. God almighty, I don’t wanna end up being just a memory.”
I tried to speak but again failed. Realizing my limitations, I instead pulled her even closer. Her breath felt hot against my neck. Her tears chilled my skin.
Rena gritted her teeth. Her chest shook from deep, silent sobs. “I don’t wanna die, Farris. I don’t…”
My back stung, muscles ached. Ribs throbbed and head pounded. I looked at the bandages over her eye. Around her ankle. The stains of blood on her cargos, her vest.
Nameless music played behind us. Forgotten dead danced around us. Filthy ground creaked below us.
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About Author Warren Wynnfield:
Warren Wynnfield is an American author writing young adult science fiction about parallel worlds, bizarre creatures, and mind-blowing twists. His passions in a previous life doing graphic and video game design heavily inspire his stories and characters. His previous novel, ‘Break the Moon,’ was published by Lost Boys Press on March 28th, 2024.
After earning a bachelor’s degree in graphic design from West Virginia University, Mike left behind the mountains for the beaches of Palm Coast, Florida. If he isn’t kayaking or hiking, he’s earning grey hairs writing through the moonlight hours.
The problem with bad decisions is you never stop wanting them.
I used to be the rebellious girl from the wrong side of the fenceline. He was the local hellraiser nobody could tame. While our families carried on a feud older than indoor plumbing, we fell for each other.
Then my vicious father found out. To save Timothy’s life, I broke his heart and disappeared.
Now over a decade later, I’m back as a large-animal veterinarian, working at his brother’s clinic and treating everything from prize dairy cows to Timothy’s homicidal llama. Avoiding him should be easy.
It isn’t.
He’s a single dad running two businesses, still infuriatingly irresistible, and determined to make me pay for every year he spent hating me.
The problem? I never stopped loving him. But if he learns why I really left, I could lose him forever.
“Yesterday…I wrecked you?” She gave me a look I remembered. Her green eyes flared. I was about to lose this fight in a way I’d never recover from.
She slowly unzipped her coveralls. My brain immediately abandoned ship. Not helped by the fact that traitorous memory chose this exact moment to replay yesterday’s rainstorm in vivid detail.
Meanwhile, in real time, she peeled the coveralls down and somehow stepped out of them while keeping her socks from touching the ground—a feat of female sorcery I could neither explain nor stop watching.
Underneath was a tight white shirt that clung in ways that should probably require a warning label, a permit, and possibly a pastor on standby.
My eyes briefly closed. Opened. She was still there.
Beside me, Cody made a small choking noise.
I cut him a glare.
He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
Then—because she enjoyed cruelty—she lifted both arms and twisted her hair into a messy bun. Which did things. Terrible, magnificent things to her chest.
Her mouth curved like she knew exactly what she’d done. She pulled a scrub top out of the duffle and pulled it down over the tight shirt. Without a word, she packed the supplies into her duffel, casually picked up the dart rifle from the ground, and started walking up the hill like she hadn’t just detonated every functioning brain cell in a fifty-yard radius.
Then she tossed over her shoulder—
“I’m back, Timothy Hurst. End of story.” A few steps later she said, “You’re welcome…for dealing with your dangerous llama.”
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About Author Zoe Forward:
USA Today bestselling author Zoe Forward is a parent, wife, veterinarian, and unapologetic chocolate lover. She writes spicy paranormal and contemporary romances that blend action, adventure, humor, and a touch of magic.
Zoe lives in the South with a lively menagerie of four-legged beasts and two slightly wild kids.
She thought chemistry only existed on the page, then he set
her world on fire.
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Burnout
Love Burns Series Book 7
by Isobel Reed
Genre: Small-Town Romance, Romantic Comedy
She thought
chemistry only existed on the page, then he set her world on fire.
The only men in Lucy’s life are fictional. Which is fine. So fine. At
thirty, she is happy with her life. She has a ride or die best friend. A cute
little ginger cat to snuggle with. And an apartment full of books. What more
could she possibly want? Well, before Jack Jones swaggered into town, with his
designer suits and British accent, the answer was nothing. But now, here he is,
showing up where she works, calling her beautiful and making her question
everything.
Jack Jones had it all. High-powered job in the city. Fancy apartment. Women
offering to warm his bed every night. Then he blew up his life. Now, he’s in
small town Wyoming, doing damage control while babysitting his sister’s kids.
There is one silver lining though… Lucy Mills. He felt a spark during his first
visit to Woodvalley Pines, when he’d shamelessly flirted with her at the diner
where she worked. Three years on, she’s somehow even harder to ignore. She’s
everything he’s been searching for. If only she’d just let him in.
Return to Woodvalley Pines one last time with this swoon-worthy opposites
attract romance packed full of chemistry, charm and Isobel Reed’s signature
witty banter. Burnout is perfect for fans of Book Lovers by Emily Henry and The
Flatshare by Beth O’Leary. Whether you’ve already devoured the other books in
the Love Burn Series or are enjoying it as a standalone, you won’t want to miss
this final book.
“Um … do you know what you’d like to drink?”
Lucy’s head was down, her focus entirely on the pen and paper she was clinging
on to for dear life. Her golden hair fell loose around her shoulders while a
thick braid swept along her hairline like a crown. Even in simple jeans and a
black shirt, she looked like a goddess.
“Can I get a root beer, Luce?”
“Sure can, Dyl.” She peeked up just enough to give
the kid a kind smile.
Like the greedy motherfucker Jack was, he wanted
some of that smile, too. “What do you recommend?” He kept his gaze on her,
leaning back in his seat and draping an arm across the back of the booth.
“To drink?” Finally, she peered up at him.
“Yes, beautiful. To drink. What do you like …?
What’s your favorite?” Ignoring Dylan’s snort, Jack’s eyes went to her pretty
pink cheeks.
Lucy’s brow furrowed at the question. “Uh. Um. The
iced tea, I guess.”
“Then that’s what I’ll have.” He shot her his most
panty-melting smile, delighting as her cheeks darkened.
The fact that she got so flustered around him
should be enough of a warning to leave her alone. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
“You’re into Lucy?” Dylan asked as Jack
unashamedly watched her walk away.
When he finally glanced back at his nephew, he saw
a familiar wide grin stretching across the kid’s face.
Just like Cody.
Dropping his elbows onto the steel tabletop, he
leaned in close. Dylan did the same. “Why? Do you think she’s into me?”
Not only did Dylan answer no far too quickly, but
the kid also went on to laugh his arse off. Right in Jack’s face. And he didn’t
stop. He even tipped his head back and laughed harder and louder until Jack was
sure he saw tears in the boy’s eyes.
Jesus. Kids are fucking cruel.
Once Cat and Cody’s devil child had finished, Jack
did not hide his frown. Or was it a scowl?
“Why the hell not?”
Dylan’s caramel-colored gaze went from Jack to
Lucy, and back to him. “You’re old.”
“Am not,” Jack protested, with all the maturity of
the preteen sitting across from him.
“Yeah. You are.”
“How old exactly do you think I am?” he asked
incredulously. Thirty-seven was not old.
Dylan shrugged, the movement causing some of his
messy brown hair to flop onto his forehead. “Forty-five.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open. The bloody cheek.
Before he had a chance to correct his nephew, though, Lucy was back and placing
their drinks in front of them before pulling out her notepad again.
Isobel was born and raised in London. While she’s a city
girl at heart, she loves daydreaming about running away to a charming small
town—though she’s not entirely sure her husband and son would share her
enthusiasm for the move. When she’s not writing small-town romantic comedies or
growing unhealthily attached to the characters in her books, you can find her
reading, chasing after her very active toddler, or attempting to channel her
inner domestic goddess in the kitchen (with varying degrees of success).
A troubled teen struggling with fractured family relationships forms an unexpected bond with a lost, blind horse that transforms her life, teaching her the true meaning of courage, resilience, and healing.
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Enjoy this peek inside:
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A week on the ranch had really transformed me. I looked the part, like I’d lived here all my life. Before jetting from Seattle, I had an expectation of riding a fast horse over a wide prairie, the wind whipping my hair. Never had I imagined myself in baggy-butt jeans with pockets that sunk to my knees. They were heavier than any I’d ever owned, and fastened high on my waist, as if pulled up with suspenders. The shirt tail draped my back, and I had to roll the sleeves five times.
But the boots! Oh, I loved how they made me taller. They fit like clamps, as if my feet were growing in bark.
I clomped to the large picture window, plunked the sombrero Sabion gave me on my head. “Eesh.” I look like a mushroom.
If Mom had told me from the beginning that Pap didn’t have horses, maybe I wouldn’t have thought twice about coming. I had the idea of wearing the giddy-up home—I would walk right past her at the airport and she wouldn’t even know me. But then, what would’ve happened to Radar?
No. Destiny had brought me here.
Pap’s boots stammered on the porch. I couldn’t resist a cocky stroll past him—long, lanky strides that thunked my foot heel to toe. He sipped smugly from his coffee mug. Well, of course—nothing unusual to him. Just a set of sensible clothes. Oh, well…as long as he’s happy—
* * *
Sabion’s smirk held a snicker. “Ah, si. You look…now you look right.”
I rolled my eyes. “Glug—”
Radar was pungent with horse sweat. Was it his timid nature that made me brave for him? A fearless front to give us both courage, like a parent protecting their child? Well, some parents. He sniffed my pant leg, and blew a snort that spewed junk on my knee. Now they’re broken in…
“How much time do I have today?” I asked. Sabion had honored his agreement to let me use Jennie half a day for training, but I’d already wasted a slip of his morning trying to make the blasted blue jeans work.
He looked at his watch. “None today. I am here too long already.”
“An hour?” I pleaded.
Sabion shook a finger. “Yesterday you say to me, ‘This day I will make repairs to the corral.’ You forget this? Now you say, ‘Este día voy a hacer reparaciones.’ Mas importante.”
I tried not to laugh. Sabion could never scold. Though he tried to sound tough, it only made him look leathery. It was kinda weird that I was beginning to understand him when I didn’t even speak the lingo.
“But you’re here already. I can make the repairs when you leave.” My plan today wasn’t to repair the corral; my plan was to string those blasted bells together while I had the workbench to myself. Then I’d reveal my fun training plan to Sabion when he returned.
His shoulders caved, the argument lost. “One hour okay is all.” His words netted altogether.
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About Author Katlyn Bates:
Katlyn Bates writes contemporary fiction for young adults. Her debut novel, Nightflower of Comanche Mound was named a 2025 Spur Finalist by Western Writers of America (WWA) in the Juvenile-Young Adult Fiction category. The recognition, along with multiple 5-Star book reviews from Readers’ Favorite, encouraged her to dust off old stuff she wrote just for fun, and look at them with fresh eyes.
Drawn to action and adventure that is grounded in real life, Katlyn finds inspiration in the wildness of the world around us. “Nature doesn’t care what we think. It’s wild and ferocious and unpredictable—a good reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. The downright ridiculous seems to call for a twist of humor. What I can’t see, I can imagine.” Juggling family, work, and life, over the years Katlyn grasped whatever time she had available for a writing class when she could—poetry, creative, a bit of journalism. What she discovered was that stories come from deep within us…a moment. A memory. An experience or impression or dream. Only when they surface, can you add texture and color.
A late-bloomer by her own description, Katlyn’s writing kicked off when she joined Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI), a community of like-minded people who selflessly share, uplift, and guide, one meeting at a time. “There’s so much to learn, just for the listening. Other writers energize me, challenge me to ‘say it better’. Everyone has a natural style, and it always amazes me how many ways there are to tell a story. From SCBWI to the Writers’ League of Texas (WLT)—where Nightflower of Comanche Mound was a 2022 Thriller/Action-Adventure Finalist in the Manuscript Contest—on to Western Writers of America and Women Writing the West (WWW), Katlyn has found that it’s networks of writers that encourage her “No matter what stage of writing skill, anyone, at any age, with a yearning to write should seek out others who love what you love. Don’t wait.”
A native Texan, Katlyn Bates lives near Dallas, TX, outside a small town that—like so many inter-connected communities, is quickly becoming absorbed by the sprawl. “As for me, it’s open skies and nature and landscape that frame a plot, and lend power to a story.”
A female sheriff races against time to solve a murder at a carnival that puts her whole town at risk. Thrilling, romantic, and full of suspense!
Sheriff Bet Rivers’ inspection of the carnival grounds should have been routine. Murder is certainly the last thing on anyone’s mind. Then comes the sound of a gunshot. And a dead body with no signs of trauma, no witnesses and no obvious motive for the killing. But solving the unexplained death is only part of the challenge. Bet is still grappling with her on-off relationship with town owner Rob Collier, while dealing with her feelings about her late father, the beloved town sheriff she had to replace. As Bet launches her homicide investigation, she soon discovers the carnival is a place of whispers, rumours, resentments and lie after lie. And as the stakes build, it quickly becomes clear that protecting a deadly secret is something that someone is willing to kill to keep. Fans of Julia Keller and Sheena Kamal will love this riveting suspense.
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Praise for KILL TO KEEP:
“Thrilling . . . romance and suspense. Taylor delivers” ~ Glen Erik Hamilton, award-winning author of Past Crimes
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KILL TO KEEP Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Police Procedural, Rural Crime Fiction
Published by: Severn House Publication Date: July 7, 2026 Number of Pages: 279 ISBN: 9781448317400 (ISBN10: 1448317401) Series: Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series on Amazon & Goodreads
I’ve been enjoying the series and anticipated this next book would be another exciting read. And it was. What made it more fun was the setting. A carnival. So much activity. So many people from all walks of life trying to make a living. And huge crowds. Pack that many people in the same place and anything can happen.
This is the third book in the series and the backstory would be too long. So, here goes on a small bit. Bet was temporary Sheriff but now she’s permanent. Rob, her romantic interest, is with the FBI. There relationship is complicated but they’re trying. I like that they’ll be working together. Rob leased some property to the carnival and while it’s setting up a shot is heard and Bet and Rob find a dead body. This is where it gets real interesting. Like I mentioned, there’s quite the gathering of people. Lots of secrets and questions. And nobody is offering up much information.
I was caught up pretty early on and some parts got kind of wild. Like where the lion that’s discovered wandering around in the woods came from. The carnival didn’t have any. And why no one knew who the dead person was. Hard to find a motive without an identity of the victim.
The who, what and why were slowly revealed and I enjoyed having no clue how it would all end. Another fun addition to the series.
The air above the blacktop rippled as Sheriff Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers drove west. The tiny town of Collier struggled under a heatwave that had swept through Washington State and turned the last week of June unexpectedly brutal. The sun, barely over the tops of the mountains surrounding the community, already beat down hard. By midday, it would be merciless on the traveling Carnival Roma where they’d set up on the hardpacked dirt at the far end of the valley. Bet parked the SUV in the makeshift visitor lot and eyed the temporary fencing around the fairgrounds. It didn’t encircle the entire footprint, tempting reckless souls to take a shot at getting in through the back for free. She sauntered up to the empty ticket booth where Robert Collier Junior stood with an unreadable expression on his face. He cocked an eyebrow. “Mornin’, Sheriff.” His voice was warm and low, teasing her with his formality. Pretending deference, she tipped the brown campaign hat that covered her auburn curls. “Mr. Collier.” At thirty-seven, Rob had more than a few care lines etched into his tanned face, and the dark, neatly trimmed beard had begun to show hints of gray. He held out his arm. “Shall we?” “We shall.” Bet wrapped her fingers around the crook of his elbow, enjoying the tingle that always arrived when she touched him. They had stopped and restarted seeing each other so many times since they’d met last September that her head spun, but the physical attraction was always there—at least for her. Rob played his feelings close to the vest. Recently, there had been phone calls and texts that he ignored in her presence, or left the room to answer, giving Bet the impression she wasn’t the only woman in his life. She worried that they had missed their chance at something wonderful and would fall into the awkward role of “friends.” It surprised her how much that hurt. Following Rob through the turnstile, she kept her fingers tucked against his arm. “I feel special getting in before opening day.” “It’s my role as the person renting the land to do a walkthrough, and as the head of local law enforcement, you should confirm that everything meets your approval.” “And as a bonus, you get to show off your newfound status as feudal lord of the manor.” She meant it as a joke about his recently expanded fortune but caught Rob’s grimace from the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” “It’s OK.” He stopped and pulled her around to face him. “It’s not your fault that I’m uncomfortable owning an entire town.” Not to mention international corporations and properties across the US. His sudden riches had regularly taken him away from their remote high elevation valley, interrupting their progress as a couple and turning him into someone else. Toe-to-toe, she got a better look at the dark circles under his eyes. There was a toll to all the travel his new position forced on him. Rob had left the Collier family responsibilities behind years before to pursue a career with the FBI, but his father’s death had sucked him back in. As the sole heir, he felt obligated to the people his father’s businesses employed and responsible to various organizations. He tugged her closer, and she closed her eyes, the heat of his body seeping through their clothing in direct competition with the weather. Standing together, the world felt right, even with a heat dome hovering over their heads. All too soon, Rob stepped back with a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I wanted to join the circus once.” The brim of his hat cast a shadow across his face and for the briefest of moments, he looked like a stranger. Bet wasn’t sure if he was joking. “Because you wanted to run away?” “Because I wanted to be Buffalo Bill.” “And star in a Wild West show.” Bet could picture him on his big Morgan horse, shooting targets at a full gallop. “Something like that.” The two continued their walk, and with no one around to see them, Bet kept her grip on his elbow, touching the soft blue denim of his shirt. It made them feel like a real couple. She’d never wanted that until now, when it wasn’t clear if they would ever be committed. The midway split the meadow in half. Food stalls filled one side while games of skill and chance filled the other, with rides scattered in between. The big blue and white striped tent at the far end promised trick horses and acrobats, shimmering in the heat like a mirage. Carnival Roma combined the food, rides, and fun of a carnival with the live performances of a circus, guaranteeing tourist dollars for her often-overlooked town and spectacle under the big top. As they made their way along the empty “street,” Bet imagined Rob in a fringed coat, performing with the big horse he’d brought with him to Collier almost a year ago. “You still got to carry a gun to work for the FBI. That’s almost like Buffalo Bill.” “Does that make you Annie Oakley?” They reached the first of the games—multi-colored balloons to pop with darts, metal targets to hit with little peashooters, heavy white milk cans stacked into pyramids waiting to be knocked into the dirt by an oversized softball. Memories of the past filled her, the view of those games from a child’s eye level. Her father always waving off trying his hand at hitting the targets. A crack shot, he didn’t believe guns should be used as toys. The stalls were unattended, but a tall, gangly man stood not far away watching them—his blue polo shirt had GUS stitched in gold letters on the left side and a patch with the carnival’s logo on the right. Rob gestured toward the shooting gallery like a game show host pointing out the grand prize. “Care to prove your gunslinger skills, Sheriff?” “Only if Gus’ll let us use the dart game.” Bet didn’t hold the same belief as her father, toy guns didn’t bother her, but she refused to fail at hitting the targets with the carnival rifles because the sights were bad. Gus started his singsong patter as he climbed over the knee wall in front of the games. “Hit a balloon and win a prize.” Hefting a dart, Bet readied her shot. The pink balloon popped as the point found its target, but before they could finish the high five she aimed Rob’s way, a sharp crack rebounded down the valley. “That was—” She caught Rob’s startled expression, and they finished with eyes locked together, “—a gunshot.” Bet’s hand went instinctively for the gun in her holster. But before she drew, she reached down to her backup weapon and held the Smith & Wesson Shield Plus out to him. Planning a fun morning off, his weapons were all back home in his gun safe. Rob gave her a nod, the micro-compact looking tiny but lethal in his hand. They started toward the far end of the carnival grounds, their steps in sync. Carnival workers streamed toward them, away from the blast at the north end of the midway. With the carnival opening in two days, performers and other staff had likely been at their various tasks and rehearsals. Now they formed a mob, racing toward the entrance, their voices loud and frightened. Bet grabbed the arm of a young woman running by, wearing a glittery costume. Her silver tights and gold leotard were draped in spangled scarves and netting, which sparkled in the bright sunlight. “What did you see?” Bet asked her. “Nothing.” Her wild eyes focused and she took in Bet’s sheriff uniform. “I was inside the big top when I heard the gunshot. It sounded close, like it came from out back where the trucks are parked.” Bet let the woman go and she slipped into the crowd as Bet picked up speed in the other direction. She caught up to Rob, who had paused a short distance away. “Could have come from behind the tent,” she said. His expression was grim, his body taut as they jogged toward the far end of the midway. “At least there haven’t been any more shots,” he said. If this had been a spree, the report wouldn’t have stopped at one. But Bet wasn’t taking any chances. Kane Stand, her sole full-time deputy, answered his cell on the first ring. “We may have an active shooter at the carnival,” Bet said before he could get a word out. “Call Clayton and get him back here now.” She hoped her part-time deputy was still in the area, his night shift had only recently ended. Kane’s calm voice came through. “Will do. He just left, so he hasn’t gotten far.” Kane grounded her as she fought to steady her breathing. “Do we need Addy?” he asked. Addy Jamisen was an EMT who owned the only ambulance to serve the rural valley. “Yes, please. Call her too. But wait with her and Clayton at the front entrance while Rob and I determine if someone has been injured or there’s still a threat.” “OK, but if I hear gunshots, I’m coming to back you up.” Kane’s voice said not to argue with him doing his job. “Keep me posted on your location.” “We’re heading past the southeast corner of the tent to get behind it. I’ll be in touch.” She made eye contact with Rob, and they moved faster in tandem again, weapons drawn. The tent blocked their view of all the travel trailers for the crew and performers parked behind it, along with transport vehicles for rides and booths and animals. As they came around the side of the tent, the forest of vehicles and trailers threw angular shadows onto the ground. Danger could hide in the fractured light. Fifty feet away, a man lay face down in the dirt near the back of the tent—as if the gunman had already hit the bull’s-eye, only to slip away in the crowd. *** Excerpt from KILL TO KEEP by Elena Taylor. Copyright 2026 by Elena Taylor. Reproduced with permission from Elena Taylor. All rights reserved.
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About Author Elena Taylor:
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Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to fiction. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo. She is also the author of the standalone suspense novel, The Haunting of Emily Grace. With the Sheriff Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers much more serious and atmospheric novels. Located in Washington State, Elena produces tense and suspenseful investigations for a lone sheriff in an isolated community. Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she and her hubby own south of Spokane, Washington. They live with their equines, dogs, and cats.
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Lucy is an apathetic young woman who is hired to assist eccentric private detective Tristan Beaufort, a man whose wildness, endless optimism, and occasional naiveté seem at odds with his chosen career. Her job is to keep a written account of his cases, to play the Watson to his Holmes.
They are hired by a woman who suspects her wife, Professor Jennifer Darvis, is having an affair. What begins as a simple investigation of adultery soon spirals into a case of conspiracy, arson, and murder.
Professor Darvis is a delusionally self-assured academic whose writings regarding the existence of a shadowy organization known only as The Quadrette have failed to find an audience outside of her students, for whom she has made her book assigned reading. However, an FBI agent shows up on her doorstep, insisting that her theories have spawned a series of murders, and requesting her help in preventing further deaths.
Soon, Tristan and Lucy find themselves unravelling a plot surrounding Darvis which seems as though it could not exist, despite the evidence they encounter at every turn. Their adventures will bring them up against the police, the enigmatic FBI Agent, and the leader of The Quadrette herself.
The following is not a tale for the faint-hearted.
I wish I could say we all made it out alive, but this is not the case. Some languish behind prison bars and some rest beneath the dirt. Others have returned to the comforts of home.
I escaped with my life, though you have likely guessed as much.
What follows is a humble account of my time with Tristan Beaufort. Looking back, I would say he is best described as a man who would place himself among the Philip Marlowes and Sam Spades of the world, but was far too kindhearted to be hardboiled, and too distinct to be discreet.
The rest must be read to be believed.
I was in my twenty-seventh year, when I first met Tristan Beaufort. My life had been shaping up to be less than ideal, though perhaps of some interest to one of the more burned-out existentialists. While others settled into their careers and families, I passed from one temporary job to the next, never in one workplace for long.
I had resigned myself to this fate: this life of endless, stalling distraction. I accepted my lot with the kind of stoicism Marcus Aurelius himself would envy. At least, this is what I told the few who asked.
I am aware that a clinician might have known my distraction by another name, but that is neither here nor there. Out of respect for the reader, I shall elaborate no further.
My practiced resignation experienced a subtle shift when, one day, I received a phone call. The woman on the line thought she had a job that would suit me well. She recalled my interest in the written word, and thought I might make good use of it in this position.
Her voice droned through the finer details, barraging my ears with her anesthetic. From amidst the tide of useless words and mundane utterances, I picked up the heart of the message towards which she uneconomically wandered: I would become the assistant to a famed private detective, Tristan Beaufort.
Famed. If the name sounded familiar, the reason escaped me.
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About Author Lila Fogle:
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Lila Fogle lives in Connecticut, where she writes humour.
When Ivy Leigh’s mom dies, her life turns upside down. Another year has passed, and she wants to remain the girl she once was, mucking in the mud, hiking in the woods, chasing after frogs and butterflies, all the little girl things she did when Mom sometimes came along with her. Now, Ivy is eleven turning twelve. The past year was marked with an awful set of nightmares and a huge hole she can’t quite find a way to fill.
Even greater trouble arrives when Ivy finds out her arch nemesis, Winona, starts bullying her. Soon, Ivy will learn that like her mom had told her, even bullies have backstories too.
With a family and friends-Ivy is surrounded by a small circle of people who love her. She remembers what her mom always taught her-to spread that love, to be kind and compassionate above all else, no matter what challenges in life arise.
Enjoy this peek Inside:
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Chapter One: The Package
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“She’s coming for you, Peachy.”
He leaped off the bed and scrambled toward me. Together, we stood at the window, watching. I’d heard the roar of that muffler. The sound of the crash. It all spelled trouble. Up until now, Peachy was unknown to her. But I knew it would never stay that way. Dad was at work. She always knew the perfect time to strike.
“That was Mom’s gnome!” Nat’s shriek pierced the air, and I knew this was going to be bad. I took the stairs two at a time, in boxers and a tank top, with Peachy trailing behind. It was early on a Saturday, Viv was still in bed, and I hadn’t even brushed my teeth. But that never mattered to Grandma. This was a surprise attack; we were in her sights, and she had a total takeover in mind. I tucked Peachy away in his crate and latched him in tight before heading out to the front porch to see what was going on.
And there she was. Bulb shaped and full of bluster, Grandma stood with Nat at her side, staring down at the smashed garden gnome. He was pink-faced with a green hat and a little red jacket. Mom named him ‘Happy.’ He made her laugh just to look at him in the midst of her treatments and trips to and from the hospital. But now Happy was here all smashed up in the garden, and Mom had been gone for almost a whole awful year.
“That is the tackiest thing! People will question the sort of people who live in a house with a thing like that out front!”
Things went quiet for a moment, I don’t think Nat even knew what to say to that.
But I knew this wasn’t going to be about the garden gnome. She’d come about Peachy who we’d hidden from her for a whole two weeks. But I’d had a funny feeling about that lately, Grandma had eyes and ears everywhere.
A minute later, I heard the squeak of metal behind me. And then, to my shock and surprise, the screen door flew open. Within seconds, Peachy bolted out, lunged at Grandma and nearly knocked her off her feet. How on earth did he get out of there, I thought.
“This! she bellowed. “This is exactly why I’m here!” Her face was wrinkled, powdered and puffed, with a coat of bright red lipstick smeared across her lips. Cruella had nothing on her. A true animal hater, she shrieked again at the sight of him.
I came running down the sidewalk then and scooped Peachy up in my arms. “It’s okay, boy,” I said, rubbing his peach-colored fur and holding him close.
“It is not okay! That dog has accosted the neighbors and now he’s attacked me! Always on the loose, with no training and no hope of it at all. Why was I not told about him?”
About Author Gael Lynch:
Gael Lynch is a writer and storyteller who traces her roots back to her dad’s carefully crafted bedtime stories of fairy queens and villains, beggars of old, the rags to riches sagas of the ancients, always set in the rich green tones of the Irish countryside. Her own greatest ideas, though, are not those of far away and long ago, but ones that exist right under her nose. In what seems to be the ordinary, Gael loves nothing more than a chance encounter while waiting on a line at the grocery store. Perfect strangers offer a world of little gems, experiences she might never have had herself.
The Newbury Award winning author, Patricia Reilly Giff, mentored Gael for many of her writing years. Always a person of pure encouragement, it was Pat’s gentle wisdom that kept her writing and believing in herself for many years.
Her debut novel, IVY LEIGH EVER AFTER, is the story of an eleven, almost twelve-year-old girl whose mom has died and whose life is in a swirl of change. With a mix of humor and heart-rending moments, Ivy will learn that by extending a hand to others, she can also help herself.
If Gael is not at her desk writing, she’s off riding waves, tossing balls in the air for her large golden retriever, Wrigley, or listening to live music under a starlit sky alongside her longtime husband, Tom. She lives in coastal North Carolina with its warm nights and soft ocean breezes. But Newtown, with its pastoral beauty and its warm-hearted people, will always be the place she calls home.
Victorian mystery fiction as you’ve never read it before
from well below stairs.
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The Belgravia Phantom
The Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries Book 1
by Ellis Blackwood
Genre: Historical Victorian Mystery
How do you prove you
didn’t scare Lady Pemberton to death with a phantom?
Such is Kate Quill’s quandary. The faked séance went horribly wrong, and now
Inspector Hartwell of Scotland Yard has her in his sights.
Kate’s poor. Seamstress poor. But what she lacks in the pocket, she makes up
for in allies.
There are her siblings. Daisy, the actress. Ned and Vi… There’s no way around
this – they’re petty thieves.
There’s Mrs McGinty, their formidable Irish landlady. There are Vi’s
Whitechapel Worthies, Little Till (adorable) and the Twins (quite odd).
And there is Frederick Page, former gentleman’s gentleman, chess aficionado,
lover of puzzles, and now reluctant partner in an unlikely Victorian detective
duo. Please, do not refer to him as Freddie, or he’ll be grasping for the
smelling salts.
Can this glorious rabble somehow band together to investigate all those lofty
lords and ladies who attended the séance?
And discover who really murdered Lady Dorothea Pemberton?
The Belgravia Phantom is the first in a series of irresistible Victorian murder
mysteries from the acclaimed author of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries. Expect
fiendish whodunits, singular characters and vivid history. Step into London’s
gaslit and swirling pea-soupers, and hear those click-clack footsteps
approach…
Ned and Vi belong to the evening, when the
naphtha lamps of the costermongers’ stalls hiss and flare, and all between is
subsumed in shadow. When the streets still throng with shoppers, and the trams
and cabs and omnibuses are lit by oil – white light, oncoming; red light,
receding – and Whitechapel Road feels interesting to know. When the cries of
the chestnut roasters, the fried-fish sellers and the pie-men create a
cacophony of distraction.
This is when they thrive.
They have their stomachs set on the hawker
of baked potatoes, with his lovingly polished can on four legs, its brass
plaque proclaiming: “Old Original Baked Potatoes”. The old man who ran the
stand for many a year lately died; his errant son has the business now, and
shows rather less aptitude for vigilance.
While Ned lurks in the background, Vi
sidles up. Her head tilts this way and that, apparently undecided. She plays
with an unseen coin in her hand. The bait.
Glowing charcoal lights the lad’s face
orange. He narrows eyes at her. Steam rises from his burner, and the earthy
aroma of the treasure within.
“What can I have for a ha’penny?” she asks.
It is all she could spare, but it should suffice if she plays it right.
He snorts. “On your way, missy. My prices
start at a penny and no less.”
She glances up and down the road, where the
sellers either side, of ham sandwiches, hot green peas and eels, have patrons
queueing.
He kicks a heel. It has not been easy,
taking over his father’s trade. The baker who roasts his hundredweights
recently upped his fee, and the locals whose custom the old man relied upon
have found new flavours elsewhere. Many deserted him for that other potato
hawker in Spitalfields.
As his gaze follows Vi’s, he licks his
lips. “S’pose I might be able to find a small one.”
He opens the wide half-lid, peers inside
debating, and picks out the smallest spud he can find.
“Butter and salt?” she asks innocently.
“For a ha’penny? Don’t push yer luck.”
As he hands over the plain fare, she
fumbles the coin. The tiniest flick of her thumb sends it skittering into a
gutter, his attention trapped on its progress. By the time he has retrieved it,
mumbling sourly, Ned has pounced and vanished, melting into the crowd. He moves
slickly for a big lad, even one cradling stolen potatoes in an untucked shirt.
“Sorry. Butterfingers.” Vi smiles,
savouring the spud’s warmth as she heads home.
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Ellis Blackwood writes very British historical mysteries:
fiendish whodunits packed with singular characters, vivid period detail and
plenty of wit. His completed nine-book Samuel Pepys Mysteries series is set in
17th century London. He is currently working on the Quill & Page Victorian
Mysteries, featuring a found family of East End misfits investigating the
crimes of the upper classes who cast them out.
A former journalist, Ellis wrote features for the UK’s most
popular national newspapers and magazines before escaping to Cornwall with his
wife, two daughters and Spike the dog. He holds an MA in Comedy Writing, which
explains a lot.
He grew up on The Hardy Boys and Three Investigators,
graduated to Sherlock Holmes, and has never quite recovered from Columbo. He
prefers writing female sleuths, with the odd chap thrown in, and is firmly
convinced that historical settings are simply more fascinating.
“Absolutely fabulous, reek of authenticity, full of
intrigue and fun” – Amazon review of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries
For fans of Louise Penny and Robert Dugoni, Illusionist is a
contemporary crime thriller where PI McPherson must choose between killing an
author at a writing retreat in the Pacific Northwest or letting a college
student die.
When an illusionist joins the Pines & Quill writing retreat, one of the
owners vanishes without a trace in the middle of everyone, but the surrounding
would-be witnesses don’t see or hear a thing. That’s when crime
boss Georgio Gambino makes a checkmate move against his nemesis, Sean
McPherson. He forces a writer in residence to kill another writer and frame
McPherson. In a video call, Gambino warns the writer, “If you
don’t follow orders, your daughter will die.” Then, he pans the
camera to prove access to her college dorm room.
McPherson discovers that Carmine Fiore, Gambino’s second in command,
covets his boss role and is staging a coup. As Gambino’s soldiers
traffic drugs, weapons, and humans, Fiore plants incriminating evidence
against the notorious Sureños gang. Can McPherson leverage that
knowledge for a temporary truce and the gang’s help?
The writers in residence—a former NASCAR driver, a professional
triathlete, an architect turned house flipper, and a world-renowned magician
who may not be who she appears to be—band together with McPherson to
create the illusion of a lifetime.
Enjoy this peek inside:
Gambino picks up his cell phone and makes another call. His heart races with
anticipation. When the recipient answers, he says, “If you hang up,
I’ll kill your child. Do you understand?”
“Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“I assure you this is no joke. When I disconnect, you’ll receive a video
call from my associate. He’s visiting your child’s class—Market
Power in the New Economy. If you don’t do what I say, it will cost the
life of the person you love most.”
“Who is this? What do you want from me?”
“I’m the person who’s going to kill your child if you don’t
do what I say. In two days, you’re heading to Pines & Quill writing
retreat. While there, you will frame Sean McPherson for murder.”
“Frame someone for murder? What do you mean?”
“No, not just someone. You’re going to frame Sean McPherson.
You’re going to kill one of the other writers in residence. I
don’t care which one, nor do I care how you do it. You’re a crime
writer. Figure it out. You arrive at Pines & Quill on October first and
leave on the twenty-first. You have three weeks to accomplish the task.”
About Author Laurie Buchanan:
A blend of Dr. Doolittle, Nanny McPhee, and a type-A Buddhist, Laurie
Buchanan is an active listener, observer of details, payer of attention,
reader and writer of books, kindness enthusiast, red licorice aficionado, and
lover of the Oxford comma.
As a novelist, photographer, and voracious reader, she never travels without
three essentials—a laptop, a camera, and a book.
Growing up, she dreamed of being a magician, an international spy, and a mad
scientist. There’s still time!
Her writing studio is the hayloft of a historic carriage house in the Pacific
Northwest, where creativity thrives. Her husband, Len, a private pilot, and
Henry, their not-so-standard Standard Poodle, join her on daily walks. She
always carries a camera because sometimes, the best word choice is a picture.
A journey that left an indelible imprint on her was a 20-day, 211-mile trek
across the majestic landscapes of Scotland. She, her husband, and their son
hiked from the North Sea to the Atlantic Ocean, with the pinnacle being the
climb of Ben Nevis at the midpoint of their adventure, the highest point in
the British Isles.
“My writing goal is simple: to leave you wanting more.” —Laurie Buchanan
When injuries cut short the figure skating career of Angie Fernandez
Parnell, she joins the Peace Corps. She is assigned to Tunis where she finds
her soulmate, U.S. diplomat James Whitcomb. At the conclusion of their tours
of duty, they marry, and within weeks of the wedding, he is taken captive in
the Iranian Hostage Crisis of 1979-81.
James, held hostage at the U.S. Embassy in Teheran, endures the same demons
that afflicted the real-life hostages during the actual crisis 45 years ago.
Deprivation, bad treatment, political manipulation, and above all the
uncertainty of whether or when it would all end.
Angie, biting her nails at home, endures her own demons. How can she support
him? Should she join efforts that pressure the president to negotiate a
release? Or even a rescue? A take-charge person by nature, she follows a path
that will reap huge benefits if it works. Or destroy her life if it fails.
Goodbye Demons is a visceral, emotionally charged exploration of resilience in
the face of adversity. It is the story of a man and a woman struggling to
overcome demons beyond their control.
Enjoy this peek insideL
This was the chance of a lifetime, and Angie swore she wouldn’t
blow it. She did elaborate stretching exercises and weight training. She
followed a dietician’s meal plan and skated five days a week under the
guidance of her coach. Angie concocted a brilliant plan to capture the Gold at
Nationals and guarantee her a slot on the Olympic team.
Her coach objected. “No woman has ever done a triple axel, and
you’re not ready.”
“I did it in practice. You saw me.”
“You fell. A perfect double axel that you’re capable of doing
trumps a triple axel that you screw up.”
Angie was determined to do the triple without falling. She doubled down on her
training regime. Bruising falls came each day. It wasn’t until a week
before the competitions that she completed a triple. She grinned triumphantly
at her surprised coach. Then on the next try she took a nasty fall that left
her limping when she rose from the ice. Her coach sped over to her. After
making sure Angie had broken no bones, she again warned her to stop trying the
triple axel.
“You’re not ready. It’s a riverboat gamble.”
“I have to take the gamble when I’ve got the chance.”
“You’ll have a chance next year. You’ll be stronger and more
experienced. That’ll be the time to do it.”
“In the meantime, some other girl might do it first, and nobody will
ever hear about me. Even if I do one the next day. Can you tell me who was the
second woman to fly across the Atlantic?”
About Author JJ Harrigan:
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Historical thriller author JJ Harrigan is a former US Service Officer
and political science professor. He scribbles his tales of intrigue on the
banks of the St. Croix River in Minnesota, where he lives with his wife,
Sandy.
