Archive for the ‘Excerpt’ Category

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What Happens in Denver

by Liz Crowe

Genre: Humorous Contemporary Romance

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Meet Andi Rigby. She and her husband own a famous bar. Andi can mix a cocktail, change a beer keg, soothe ruffled customers, and drink you under the table. Life is good until the day she finds herself divorced and unemployed. After a suitable period of ice-cream and whiskey infused mourning, she heads to a beer conference in Denver on a mission to rediscover her joy and find a new job.

Between fielding gossip, saving a drunk woman from herself, and dodging a hot but ill-advised boozy hookup, the weekend leads to a few surprises. She ends up employed with an unexpected bonus—a new friend. Oh, and the guy she kissed? Turns out her new job includes selling his brewery’s beer. No big deal. Except the bit about him being practically perfect for her at a moment she’s determined to focus on her own success.

A story of new friends, fresh starts, and a side order of romance served up with a nice cold pint.

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While delivering a mental lecture about this being not my business and I needed to get some sleep anyway, I saw his lips move but couldn’t hear a damn thing over the din of the place. When his female companion jumped up and threw her napkin down on the table, she almost plowed backward right into me. She wobbled on her teetering high heels, then lurched away and straight into a waiter, whose tray was loaded with salads heavy on kale and entrees heavy on marrow.

I reached out and caught her arm. She was blotto, that much was clear at this close distance. Little Burke Brother—Michael, I recalled—stayed seated, his expression blank during this whole exercise.

Jerk.

A bizarre surge of protectiveness came over me. I took her arm and guided her down the steps. Once we hit the fresh air, she revived enough to peel away from me, drop to her hands and knees, and puke on the sidewalk.

As I held her hair back like some kind of sorority sister, the substantial foot traffic gave us a wide berth, most of them without comment. It was Craft Beer Convention time in Denver. Puking humans were more common than weed stores, at least for a day or two.

While I waited for her to wrap up her worship at the cement altar, I summoned a ride on my phone app, realizing too late I had no idea where she was staying. She probably had a two-star room with a DNA soaked bed and a lovely view of the dumpster, like me. I got a warm, sisterly feeling about her.

I waited while she spit, then rose to her feet.

“Take those off already,” I said, pointing to the black patent leather heels. She did. Her eyes rolled around in their sockets. Her lollipop of a head didn’t want to stay upright. I plunked us down on a conveniently placed sidewalk bench—gotta love Denver—and waited, not sure which would come first, the ride or the second round of the happy hurls.

Luckily, it was the ride.

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Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville living in Central Illinois. She’s spent her time as a three-continent expat trailing spouse, mom of three, real estate agent, brewery owner and bar manager, and is currently a social media consultant and humane society development director, in addition to being an award-winning author. With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, inside fictional television stations and successful real estate offices, and even in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are compelling and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, at times frustrate, and always linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Reel To Reel organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Isla Grey will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.  Don’t forget to enter.

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Reel To Reel

by Isla Grey

Reel to Reel: Movie Mistakes from Hollywood's Favorite Films by [Isla Grey]

Synopsis

Lights, Camera, Action! From the very beginning, the world of cinema has captivated us. We have found ourselves laughing at our favorite comedies, crying when love finally comes to fruition, being beamed to other worlds or battling in the midst of action sequences. While movies might be the perfect entertainment, most have slight imperfections, mistakes, which go unseen, until they’re released and caught by the movie audience. These mistakes don’t detract from the film, and finding them are just as fun as watching the movie. For the past several years, Isla Grey has written a “Movie Mistakes” column for Bellaonline. “Reel to Reel” is a collection of some of those columns, spotlighting the fun goofs found in some of our favorite movies. Can you spot them? Grab the popcorn, sit back, and happy movie watching!

 Enjoy this peek inside

The Notebook

There’s no question–Noah and Allie are in love. Set in two different time periods, the beginning of the pair’s relationship is shown via a notebook an older Noah reads to Allie who is suffering the effects of dementia. Can true love ever be forgotten? Here are a few movie mistakes to look for while watching “The Notebook”.

Near the beginning of the movie, the younger Allie and Noah are at a carnival. After their first encounter, Allie and another man get on the Ferris wheel. The man is holding cotton candy in his right hand. This is noticeable throughout the scene. After Noah has climbed aboard and gets Allie to go out with him, the cotton candy the man was holding is now gone.

After Noah and Allie have watched the movie in the theater, they decide to go for a walk. When they get to the traffic light, Noah tells her how he used to lie in the road and demonstrates for her. At first, Noah is closer to the center of the lane to his left. (This is noticeable in the overhead view.) During the close-up, Noah is now closer to the double lines that run down the middle of the road. This happens again when Allie joins him. At first, they are closer to the center of the lane to their left, but the next view shows them near the double lines.

About Author Isla Grey

Isla Grey is from Central Virginia and at an early age developed a love of movies. She shared many Sunday afternoons watching old favorites with her grandmother that included everything from “Gone with the Wind” and “Rio Bravo” to “Titanic” and “The Mummy”. (Her grandmother may or may not have made fun of her when she covered her eyes during “Anaconda”.)

Working as Bellaonline’s Movie Mistakes editor since 2012 has given Isla the opportunity to indulge in two of her passions—movies and writing.

When Isla isn’t writing or watching movies, most of her time is spent with her ever active daughter and her band of cats. She also enjoys good music, reading biographies and ghost stories and taking quiet strolls.

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The Scent of Leaves

by Kathryn Trattner

Publication date: January 15th 2021
Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Retelling

Synopsis

Janet has always dreamed about leaving her small town behind and starting over somewhere fresh. The only thing keeping her going is a photography obsession and her film camera. For her, life is a series of late nights spent working at a local gas station and days earning a final college credit before graduation. But she’s been putting it off for so long she’s starting to feel like it might not happen.

One night Tom appears, charming and handsome, and going out of his way to get to know her. Suddenly he’s everywhere in her small town, appearing and disappearing at odd moments, creeping in on her days and nights. As they spend time together, Janet falling more under his spell each day, she begins to realize that reality is different around Tom. Small things begin to happen, odd occurrences turning into strange events, as Janet is pulled deeper into the mystery surrounding him.

In this modern retelling of the classic Ballad of Tam Lin the world is brought into sharp focus through the lens of a camera. The line between what is and is not real blurs, nature stealing in around the edges, and Janet comes to understand that there is more at stake than just a broken heart.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Another night came and went, smelling like coffee and glass cleaner as she turned the convenience store over to Gary in early morning. The sun had yet to come up, a thin yellow line growing on the horizon, diffusing, and she eyed it as she walked toward her car, wondering what kind of day it would turn out to be.

“Where will you go now?”

She jumped, turning to see Tom leaning against the building.

“How long have you been here?”

“A minute or two. Ryan dropped me off. I was just behind Gary but didn’t want to come in and give you away. I was worried he’d tell your boss you have company every night.”

“Not every night,” she said, shrugging.

“Close enough.” Tom stepped forward, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, shoulders coming forward. “Where will you go?”

“Home.”

He smiled, “Would you like to do something besides go home?”

She could not help it, she smiled too, a creeping delight curling her toes. “Like what?”

“You drive. I’ll navigate.” He moved to the passenger side of her car, hand on the door, waiting for her.

Janet unlocked the car and got in, aware of him sliding in beside her, taking up more air and space than the little car had to spare. She turned it on and rolled down the windows, shooting him a look before backing out of the space. At the edge of the lot, where the street met the gas station, and all roads led away, she paused, waiting for the first direction.

“Left.”

She put the blinker on and turned.

Tom half turned to her, already smiling. “So, tell me what you want to be when you grow up.”

“What?” She laughed, glancing at him and away. The town rolled by, flat background to his intense stare.

“What’re you going to school for? I don’t think you’ve told me.”

“Graphic design.”

“And photography is part of that?”

“It can be but mostly I just stumbled into it.”

“And you love it?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

“So what’s your end goal then? In a year where do you want to be?”

“Not here.” The answer came out so fast, she hadn’t thought about it, just opened her mouth and there it was, hard and solid truth.

“This place isn’t so bad,” he said.

“You didn’t grow up here.”

“I think I would have liked it if I had.”

“You say that.”

“No really, I think it would have been nice.”

“Everyone here is still talking about how my mom left. It’s been twenty years and they’re still asking if I miss her. They still ask my dad if he’s heard from her. It’s like it happened yesterday for them, still gossiping about it. They don’t have anything better to do. To be fair though they’re also still talking about the one year the pickles exploded at the state fair.”

“She left?”

“Yep, when I was one.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounded like he meant it, but she did not look at him, not wanting to see pity in his eyes. She stopped at a four-way intersection, looking each direction. “Which way?”

“Left,” he said without hesitation. He did not tell her where they were going. The sun touched her rear-view mirror, throwing light in her eyes, filling the car with reflections. The seen and unseen, the shadows and light dancing over their faces, hiding expressions and masking fears.

After a pause she asked, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, in a year where do you want to be?”

“Somewhere with a stage.”

She laughed, “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I grew up in a big town with plays and movies rolling around in my head. I was in all the school plays and a few after high school in local venues. I did performance art in college.”

“You’ve graduated?” she asked.

“No. I’ve got a semester left.”

“Why’d you leave when you were almost finished?” She darted a look at him, watching his face shut down and close up, light shifting over his features.

“I had an offer I couldn’t refuse. It was too good.”

“But it wasn’t?”

He shook his head, turning to look out his window, silence growing between them like lichen, slow and spreading. She drove in it, skin prickling, head buzzing. The sun, though rising, seemed suspended above the horizon and they had crossed the town limits a few miles back. He had chosen farm fields and grassy valleys, open areas, instead of the dark closeness of the trees, the Nantahala National Forest in the other direction. Janet was not sure what else was out here, besides fields and woods, and eventually the next town.

“Here!” Tom shouted, pointing to the right.

“Where?” Janet looked around, fields and low hills rolling past, a few trees but mostly knee-high grass and rocks. But she caught sight of a narrow track leading away from the road, overgrown and faded.

“That dirt track there.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to get my car down that.”

The track was more of a path, overgrown and rutted, twisting out of sight.

“You can park on the verge and we’ll walk.”

She pulled over, checking the mirrors for traffic, the engine ticking as she rolled the car windows back up. The road belonged to them, the countryside full of bird song and morning light. She wished she had brought her camera last night, so she would have it now, so she would be able to capture the physical warmth shimmering and thrown up by the dewy grass. She held her breath for an instant, pulling it all inside, keeping it tight against her heart.

He looked at her, understanding, and the smile he gave her was swift but sweet.

“Come on.”

He swung out of the car and she followed, smoothing her shirt as she got out. She felt tired and greasy, the scent of stale coffee on her skin. In the already hot morning, sweat prickled along her hairline. She wished she had known he would be waiting, that she had worn a less faded work shirt and not the baggy jeans she reserved for days she did not care.

But he had not shown up the night before and she had wondered if she would see him again. Or if he would be gone just as suddenly as he had arrived, and realizing that, knowing it, made her realize she was hoping he would show up.

He took her hand as they left the paved road behind, twining their fingers together, pulling her toward the track with long sure strides.

“I come here a lot,” he said, looking down at her. “It’s quiet. I don’t get a lot of alone time generally.”

“No?”

She realized she did not know very much about him. As much as they had talked and he had talked, there was not much about his current situation that he shared. But she felt like she knew parts of him, accepting his presence beside her, wanting him with her.

A shake of his head, lips twisting into ruefulness.

They came around the curve, around the hill, and Janet stopped.

“I didn’t know this was here.”

Shielded from the road a clear pond sparkled in the hollow between hills. Water lilies floated on the surface, dark green leaves and brilliant white blooms. The grass was greener, the blue morning sky above the pond clearer.

“It’s spring fed. You can see where it bubbles up from the rocks in the deeper parts.”

“How did you find it?”

“Someone showed me. I had the same reaction you did. My mouth fell open and I just stood there.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“So are you.”

He smiled, pleasure pouring from him, washing over her. In that moment she would have jumped off a bridge with him. And with that feeling deep down inside she knew she would have flown.

Then he pulled her, jogging for the water, without pausing. She let herself go, following, until they ran into the pond, fully clothed, shoes and all, between waving blossoms and rippling lily pads. Janet laughed, throwing back her head, the sound of it bouncing back. It was cold and water up past her knees, chasing away the sweat from the hot morning. The sun felt different in the little hollow, like liquid gold, soft against her skin.

He kissed her, quick like a habit she never wanted him to break, the pressure of his mouth there and gone. He took her laugh with him, releasing it with his own, leaving her breathless and aware of their bodies, so close, and the quiet of the hollow around them.

“I think this place is magic,” she said.

“It must be. Give me your hands.”

She did and he held her at arm’s length, their arms stretched taut. “At the count of three fall back.”

“We’ll get soaked.”

“We’re already soaked,” he laughed, squeezing her hands tight. “Ready?”

She shook her head no but said, “Ready.”

“One, two–”

He fell back, away from her, his smiling face falling. She let herself go, surrendering to gravity, feeling weight and then water rushing in, filling ears and nose. The bottom of the pond was sandy beneath her hands, a little rocky, and not at all slimy like other ponds she had jumped into as a kid. She squeezed her eyes tight, holding her breath, floundering up. She wiped water from her eyes, pushed hair out of her face. She gasped and laughed.

Opening her eyes, expecting Tom and not seeing him, she turned, sloshing, searching her surroundings. The water rippled, like a stone had been tossed in, like a grown man had cannon balled into it. She waited, expecting him to pop up, gasping for air, slicking his hair back. Birds trilled, making her realize how quiet the hollow had been since they had first stepped into it. The water continued to ripple and move.

“Tom?”

She turned, scanning, brows coming together. The birdsong grew louder, grating, filling her head like a buzz saw. She sloshed forward, hands in the water, moving as if she could part it, feeling for Tom. It was so clear she could see the sandy bottom, the rocks, the water lilies.

The pond was empty.

 

Author Bio:

Kathryn Trattner has loved fairy tales, folk stories, and mythology all of her life. Her hands down favorites have always been East of the Sun, West of the Moon and the story of Persephone and Hades. When not writing or reading she’s traveling as much as possible and taking thousands of photos that probably won’t get edited later. She lives in Oklahoma with her wonderful partner, two very busy children, one of the friendliest dogs ever, and an extremely grumpy cat who doesn’t like anyone at all.

Want to hear about the latest release? Sign up for my newsletter Magical Mundane Madness at kathryn.substack.com

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Silent River
by C.M. Weaver
Genre: Psychological Thriller
 
A gripping psychological thriller inspired by true events.
Robert Collins is Portland’s best investigative detective. When the
Stevens family goes missing, he goes to work. As he uncovers clues
the family may have been targeted for a professional hit by organized
crime, it gets personal.
Too personal. Can he face down his inner demons before he loses
himself?
He confronts the mob and police bureaucracy to find the missing family.
Jake, partner and friend, thinks he’s spiraling into obsession, when
Robert’s taken off the case but refuses to give up the investigation.
Can he get past this shameless tragedy and his own past to move on with
his life?
Silent River is a fictionalized version of a real investigation in the late 1950s in
Portland, Oregon, a time when money and power ruled the city. This
story will appeal to fans of true crime and detective fiction alike.
Readers who enjoy Ann Rule, Rex Stout, and Mary Higgins Clark will
love CM Weaver.
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I live and work in the
Pacific Northwest. I’m married and take care of a challenged rescue
dog, Ariel. I love writing, but don’t write in one particular
genre. I do gravitate more to mysteries as I’m always asking “What if?”
 
 
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 
 
 

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The Wedding Crasher

A Sam Tate Mystery

by Nikki Stern

On Tour June 1st thru 30th.

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Genre: Mystery Published by: Ruthenia Press Publication Date: May 8, 2019 Number of Pages: 340 ISBN: 978-0-9995487-3-8 Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Synopsis

 

A brunette in a bridal gown turns up in Pickett County, Tennessee, throat slit and ring finger missing. She’s the latest victim of the Wedding Crasher, a serial killer who murders women just weeks before their weddings.

Samantha Tate is Picket County’s yoga-loving, poker-playing new sheriff, a former Nashville homicide detective who struggles with her inner demons. To catch the meticulous murderer, Sam will have to follow her instincts and ignore her worst impulses. Can she stop the Wedding Crasher before another bride-to-be dies?

Read an excerpt:

The dead woman lay in the clearing like a macabre version of Sleeping Beauty. She was dressed in a long-sleeved, high-necked ivory gown, set off by luminescent pearl drop earrings and a matching necklace that almost hid the dried blood around her throat. Her head rested on a satin pillow, her silky walnut hair spread behind her like a fan. The right hand held a bouquet of wilted flowers and rested on her chest underneath the left, absent the fourth finger. The ring finger. Sheriff Sam Tate stood to one side of the grim tableau, arms folded, and took it all in: the victim; the tall white-haired man who knelt by the body; the deputy who walked the scene in throwaway boots, snapping pictures; the pale young man in running gear sitting on a rock, head almost to his knees; the uniformed officer who squatted beside him. Sam had dressed in her standard uniform of pressed black slacks and a spotless white shirt. A shaft of early-morning sun bounced off the polished badge at her left breast pocket. On her right wrist, she wore a utilitarian watch. Three small studs twinkled along one earlobe, her single visible concession to a rebellious streak. She’d pulled her unruly dark locks into a tight braid. Ray-Bans shielded her green eyes, though not the line that formed between her brows. One of the victim’s low-heeled white pumps had dropped off to reveal a slim ankle in hosiery. Stockings, not pantyhose, held up by an old-fashioned garter. Sam didn’t need to look. He’s back, she thought, adding a curse for good measure. *** Excerpt from The Wedding Crasher by Nikki Stern. Copyright 2019 by Nikki Stern. Reproduced with permission from Nikki Stern. All rights reserved.
 

Author Nikki Stern

Nikki Stern

 

Nikki Stern is the author of the inspirational HOPE IN SMALL DOSES, a 2015 Eric Hoffer Montaigne Medal finalist, and the thriller THE FORMER ASSASSIN, a 2018 Kindle Book Review category finalist. Her essays are included in three anthologies and she co-authored the interactive Café Noir murder mystery series, published by Samuel French. Eight of her short stories have been published in various online journals and she was a Mark Twain Royal Nonesuch finalist for her short story “Long Away and Far Ago.” Nikki is a member of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America.

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Catch Up With Nikki Stern On: nikkistern.com, Goodreads, BookBub, Twitter, & Facebook!

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This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Nikki Stern. There will be 2 winners of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card each. The giveaway begins on June 1, 2019 and runs through July 2, 2019. Void where prohibited.

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Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours

Click here to view the The Wedding Crasher by Nikki Stern Participants

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blackwell seize ban

Seize
by Alexandrea Weis & Lucas Astor
(A Magnus Blackwell Novel, #3)
Published by: Vesuvian Books
Publication date: March 26th 2019
Genres: Adult, Supernatural

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Synopsis

Lexie Arden has a loving husband, a thriving business, and consults with the New Orleans Police Dept on murder cases. Kalfu has given her everything she desires, but challengers to her authority are closing in.

Her dark secret remains hidden from everyone except Magnus. He sees the evil growing stronger, changing her, and hurting her marriage. If Lexie doesn’t rid herself of Kalfu’s influence soon, the consequences will be irreversible.

When she unexpectedly inherits a cottage in the swamp, she uncovers a library of rare books on voodoo. Their spells can reverse the dark lord’s hold and set right the balance between darkness and light. But such magic requires a great sacrifice; one Lexie isn’t willing to make.

With the shadow spirits and raging voodoo gods vying for her attention, Lexie is on the verge of losing everything—her husband, her power, Magnus, and possibly, her life.

The battle for control of the mambo’s soul is about to begin.

Goodreads

Book website

Purchase Links: Amazon / B&N / iBooks

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Check out the excerpt!

The dead were everywhere.
Bathed in late afternoon rays of sunlight, Magnus stood on a patch of land surrounded by algae-covered swamp and cursed. Why had he and Lexie been dragged to the godforsaken hellhole again? The songs of cicadas welcoming the coming twilight played in the background while the black eyes of the dead stared at him from the water.
Scarred, bruised, with fresh gaping wounds, the ghosts of men, women, and children lingered above the water. Some missing limbs and even heads, the apparitions glared at him. He preferred things the way they had been before when he’d depended on Lexie to tell him what the dead wanted. He feared her gift firmly entrenched in his center.
Lexie spoke in hushed tones to Detective Emile Glapion. Emile understood Lexie’s gift having been raised by a voodoo priestess. Several officers from the St. John The Baptist Parish Sheriff’s Department waited around them, peering into the water at the naked victim.
“Otis Landry was a good man.” Emile’s voice carried in the humid, sticky air. “I know how hard this must be for you, but can you think of any reason why anyone would cut up your landlord like that?”
Otis’s bloated corpse had strange symbols carved across his torso and arms. Magnus recognized the geometric shapes and wavy lines of the devouring spell used on Renee. Her murder, as well as others’ in the city covered with the same carvings, remained unsolved. By the rate the bodies were piling up, Magnus doubted the police would ever get a handle on the killings.
He floated closer to Lexie, unseen by the others, eager to eavesdrop on more of her conversation. These days, Magnus found his charge hard to read. It was as if the black inside her blocked him. He used to be able to glean her every thought, sense her feelings, and guess her next move, but now, she was a mystery—much like other women he’d known.
An image of the lovely Frances floated across his mind. But as soon as he pictured her delicate face and honey-blonde hair, he remembered the way she screamed as he pushed her over the cliff behind his family home.
He didn’t like reliving that moment. It was one of many he wished to forget.

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About the authors

blackwell authors

Alexandrea Weis, RN-CS, PhD, is a multi-award-winning author of over twenty-seven novels, a screenwriter, ICU Nurse, and historian who was born and raised in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Having grown up in the motion picture industry as the daughter of a director, she learned to tell stories from a different perspective and began writing at the age of eight. Infusing the rich tapestry of her hometown into her novels, she believes that creating vivid characters makes a story moving and memorable. A member of the Horror Writers Association and International Thriller Writers Association, Weis writes mystery, suspense, thrillers, horror, crime fiction, and romance. She lives with her husband and pets in New Orleans where she is a permitted/certified wildlife rehabber with the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries and rescues orphaned and injured animals.
Author links: Website / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram
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Lucas Astor is from New York, has resided in Central America and the Middle East, and traveled through Europe. He lives a very private, virtually reclusive lifestyle, preferring to spend time with a close-knit group of friends than be in the spotlight.

He is an author and poet with a penchant for telling stories that delve into the dark side of the human psyche. He likes to explore the evil that exists, not just in the world, but right next door behind a smiling face.

Photography, making wine, and helping endangered species are just some of his interests. Lucas is an expert archer and enjoys jazz, blues, and classical music.

One of his favorite quotes is:  “It’s better to be silent than be a fool.”  ~Harper Lee (To Kill a Mockingbird)

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Revelations
by Robert Sells
Genre: Science Fiction
 
Aster Worthington spearheads the First Contact Team to unravel a message
from an alien race. “The Lambdons” promise free energy if
humanity builds a few special robots and downloads their message into
a super computer to direct construction of the fusion reactor. An
excited world agrees and builds a massive structure called the Dome
to house the alien enterprise.
Seven years later, there’s no “free energy” and strange things happen
in and around the Dome. Aster and her colleagues mount an expedition
under the protection of Army Rangers to investigate the interior.
Instead of friendly aliens, they discover hordes of deadly
intelligent humanoids with insect-like characteristics.
When the military team is brutally murdered by the Lambdons, the
scientists scatter. It’s soon apparent that the Lambdons intend to
take over the planet using biological warfare. The only hope for
humanity lies with a two-thousand year old scroll hidden by the
church. The question is, can Aster and her team unravel the scroll’s
mystery in time to save the planet?
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revelations excerpt
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While Aster’s body was near collapse, her mind continued its ruminations like a mouse on a treadmill. Fear takes away energy. Interesting. She grunted. Interesting that you still think analytically, you idiot. Her eyes snapped back to the floor. No centipedes. Okay, rest a bit. Don’t exhaust yourself, girl. Aster slid down on the floor again and covered her face with her hands. We never should have entered this damned place. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The Dome had sent them one subtle warning after another and, like so many other clues, they ignored them. Humans, she reflected, were particularly adept at twenty-twenty hindsight. Her eyes snapped open and wide-eyed, searched the area close to her. She scooted back up. Any of those damn centipedes around? None. She was safe. At least from those creepy, crawly things.
Then a clacking sound. Those horrible feet, ending with hooves, not feet, the tapping sound on cement. She let out a gurgle of hysterical laughter. Here come the bad guys again! She pinched herself hard to try to get control and took a shaky breath. Don’t lose it now. You’ve made it this far. She got up and moved lightly along the wall and, at the junction, steered away from the clacks. Don’t know where in hell I am. She hummed lightly under her breath, repeating it several times, then giggled. No, but I do know that I’m in Hell, don’t I? How about that, Daddy? You were right all along. Your scientist daughter is rotting in Hell, just like you said I would.
She walked for about an hour, winding her way through the corridors, hugging a wall and trying not to be seen, carefully stepping over the gray cauliflower-fungi peppering the ground. Always steering away from those clacking sounds. Looking for centipedes and either killing them or walking away from the larger ones. They didn’t seem to have eyes, but somehow the centipedes could detect her. Smell? Sound?
Finally, bowing to her fatigue, Aster Worthington, famed astronomer, sagged down and sat with her knees pulled up to her chest. She just couldn’t go any farther. Exhausted, all she could do was keep watching left and right.
If they came down the corridor, she probably couldn’t outrun them but maybe she might get lucky with a shot. She knew she had to hit the head. Of course, it would help if she knew how to work the damn gun. She fiddled with a latch around the trigger. Was this the safety? Off. On. Off? On? Off? She didn’t know how long she had been playing with the gun when she was jerked out of her reverie by a sound.
Instantly, standing up, her head snapped around toward the corner of the alley, and she tightly gripped her gun. Alert. A new sound. Padding sounds. What the hell was that?
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I attended college at Ohio Wesleyan where I struggled with physics.
Having made so many mistakes in college with physics, there weren’t
too many left to make and I did quite well at graduate school at Purdue.
I worked for nearly twenty years at Choate Rosemary Hall, an exclusive boarding school in
the heart of Connecticut. More often than not, students arrived in
limousines. There was a wooded area by the upper athletic fields
where I would take my children for a walk. There, under a large oak
tree, stories about the elves would be weaved into the surrounding forest.
Returning to my home town to help with a father struggling with Alzheimer’s, the only
job open was at a prison. There I taught an entirely different
clientele whose only interaction with limousines was stealing them. A
year later Alfred State College hired me to teach physics. I happily
taught there for over ten years. A rural, low income high school
needed a physics teacher and the superintendent, a friend, begged me
to help out. So, I am finishing my teaching career in a most
fulfilling way… helping kids who would otherwise not have access to
a qualified physics (and math) teacher.
My wife pestered me about putting to “pen” some of the stories which I had created
for the children and other relatives. I started thinking about a
young boy and a white deer, connected, yet apart. Ideas were shuffled
together, characters created and the result was the Return of the
White Deer. This book was published by the Martin Sisters.
Years ago I gave a lecture on evolution. What, I wondered, would be the next step? Right
away I realized that silicon ‘life’ had considerable advantages
over mortal man. Later this idea emerged as the exciting and
disturbing story called Reap the Whirlwind, my most recent novel.
I have many other stories inside my mind, fermenting, patiently waiting for the pen to
give them breath. Perhaps someday I will even write about those elves
which still inhabit the woods in the heart of Connecticut.
 
 
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basement banner

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for The Basement organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

I don’t know about you, but the cover art gives me delicious shivers!!!

Dianne Hartsock will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter at the bottom of the post

And be sure to click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

43610685

Alex is haunted by visions of the dying, but now it seems the ghosts he’s seeing are real as well.

In this sequel to ALEX and THE SHED, Alex wonders if he’s seeing ghosts. His friend Justin has bought the Fulton place, a beautiful old mansion on the edge of Oakton. But something’s wrong in the house. Alex has visions of a small boy, trapped in the basement, and a man at the top of the stairs who won’t let him leave.

And Logan Fulton has come to town, Helen Kramer’s cousin, a psychic medium who wants something from Helen, whatever the cost. He and Helen had spent time in the Fulton house as children and Alex suspects Logan has something to do with the spirits now awakening in the old mansion. But whether Logan is calling them forth or if something else is controlling them, Alex can’t be sure.

The child’s spirit calls to Alex, as do others trapped in the house. There is a dark entity holding them there, keeping the child forever in the basement, the others for his amusement. But Alex has never believed in ghosts, so what is really going on? As he strives to learn the boy’s secret, his friends are one by one pulled to the Fulton place and put in danger while Logan works against Alex, having an agenda of his own. Will Alex be able to solve the haunting of the old house, or will he and his friends be taken one by one, doomed to walk the dark hallways forever?

 Enjoy this peek inside:

Something tugged his coat sleeve. Startled, he looked down. Nothing. Goddammit.

“Either help me or get away from me,” he muttered, nerves pulled taut. He moved into the room and gasped as the light on the walls disappeared, the candle’s flame the only illumination. It flickered on the surface of the inkblack liquid in the basin, drawing his eye. Without thought, he crossed the room and crouched opposite Logan, but instead of looking into the bowl, he searched the slack continence across from him.

Logan kept his gaze focused on the bowl as if unaware of Christopher’s presence. He appeared pale, hollow-cheeked, haggard, a death mask, and Christopher sucked in a breath.

“Logan? Are you okay?”

No reaction. Logan remained frozen in place. A slow shiver traveled through Christopher. What did he see in those dark depths? The water stirred, radiated outward as if a breath had touched the surface. The candle’s flame flashed, light splintering through the liquid. Christopher bent closer to the bowl. Had something moved in there? He parted his lips on a hiss of dawning horror as eyes, dark as pitch, appeared, the image of a terrible face taking shape.

He pulled away, his limbs unaccountably heavy as he struggled to his feet, the terrible face breaking the surface, continuing upward, a dark figure climbing into the world. The room grew cold, ice forming where the creature stepped out onto the wooden floor. The air seemed sucked from the room. Unable to scream, Christopher stumbled back until he came up against the wall. The specter moved closer, and Christopher’s chest heaved, fear holding him immobile.

About Author Dianne Hartsock

Dianne grew up in one of the older homes in the middle of Los Angeles, a place of hardwood floors and secret closets and back staircases. A house where ghosts lurk in the basement and the faces in the paintings watch you walk up the front stairs. Rooms where you keep the closet doors closed tight at night. It’s where her love of the mysterious and wonderful came from. Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind.

She now lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. Dianne says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee in her hands, which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads / Amazon / Facebook Author Page

Buy Links: Amazon / B&N / Solstice Publishing

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Trifles and Folly
A Deadly Curiosities Collection
by Gail Z. Martin
Genre: Urban Fantasy
 
A collection of nine adventures: Buttons, The Restless Dead,
Retribution, Coffin Box, Wicked Dreams, Collector, Bad Memories,
Shadow Garden, and Spook House. 
Cassidy Kincaide runs Trifles & Folly in modern-day Charleston, an
antiques and curios shop with a dangerous secret. Cassidy can read
the history of objects by touching them and along with her business
partners Teag, who has Weaver magic and Sorren, a 600 year-old
vampire, they get rid of cursed objects and keep Charleston and the
world safe from supernatural threats. An extension of the Deadly
Curiosities book series.
Revised Edition 2, 2018. Includes an updated cover, minor edits
and the BONUS section with three stories chronicling Sorren’s early days:
Vanities, The Wild Hunt, and Dark Legacy.
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folly excerpt
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Coffin Box

“I don’t know why, but I’ve really got a bad feeling about that house.” I sat in the car parked at the curb near the big house on the Battery.
“Bad feeling like they won’t pay their bill, or bad feeling like there’s a hungry demon inside?” Teag Logan asked.
I shook my head. “Not sure, but if I had to put money on it, I’d go with the demon.”
Most people would be kidding. Teag knew I wasn’t. I’m Cassidy Kincaide, owner of Trifles and Folly, an antique and curio shop in historic, haunted Charleston, SC. Neither Teag nor I are entirely what we seem, and that holds true for the shop as well.
I’m a psychometric, which means I can often read the history of objects by touching them. Teag has Weaver magic, an ability to weave spells into cloth and to weave data streams—like the Internet—making him an awesome hacker. He’s my best friend, sometime bodyguard and assistant store manager. I’m the latest in a very long line of relatives to manage Trifles and Folly in the 350 years the store has existed, but we’ve all had the same silent partner, a nearly six-hundred-year-old vampire named Sorren, and the same mission: to get dangerous magical items off the market and out of the wrong hands. Most of the time, we succeed. When we fail, people die and really bad things happen.
“How do you want to handle this?” Teag asked.
I drew a deep breath. “We go in, and see what’s what. Then we figure it out from there.” My magic is touch-psychic, not clairvoyance, so I can’t see the future, much as I would sometimes like to.
The house was large, old, and expensive. Most of the homes on the Battery hailed from before the Civil War. Many of the houses are painted in the muted pastels most people associate with places like Bermuda and Nassau. Some of the families who owned these homes had been here since the mansions were built. The houses are beautiful, and tourists flock to see them. But as much as I admire their beauty, I try not to spend a lot of time down at the Battery for the simple reason that it creeps me out.

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Trifles and Folly 2
A Deadly Curiosities Collection 
 
Cassidy Kincaide runs Trifles & Folly in modern-day Charleston, an
antiques and curios shop with a dangerous secret. Cassidy can read
the history of objects by touching them and together with Teag (a
hacker and weaver witch) and Sorren, a 600 year-old vampire, they get
rid of cursed objects and keep Charleston and the world safe from
supernatural threats.
An extension of the Deadly Curiosities urban fantasy novel series, this
collection contains three full novellas and four short stories: The
Final Death, Predator, Fair Game, Fatal Invitation, Redcap,
Bloodlines, plus three bonus stories: Among the Shoals Forever, The
Low Road, and Steer a Pale Course.
 
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folly excerpt
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Fatal Invitation

I reached into the shipping crate. My hand closed around a newspaper-wrapped piece from a china dish set, probably a gravy boat from its contours. The warning tingle from my psychic gift was too little, too late. By the time I realized the danger, I was already immersed in a vision of tragedy and terror.
Images strobed in my mind, searingly clear for an instant and then suddenly dark. A dining room table set with holiday finery for a Thanksgiving feast. Eight people—no, nine—but the one person’s face was hidden. Dinner began with high spirits. The person whose memories I was experiencing was a man, the father of the family gathered for the feast, happy that he was surrounded by loved ones—and a guest.
Despite the high spirits, a warning tingled at the edge of my host’s senses. It had been a mistake to invite the stranger, he was thinking. They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
The stranger didn’t say much as the meal began. Everyone else laughed and talked as silverware rattled and food was passed around the table. His son, the youngest at the table, was the first one affected. He complained about his stomach, folded his arms across his midsection, and fell forward onto his plate. I saw the man’s hand set the gravy boat down on the table as he stood.
Everyone rose in alarm—everyone except the stranger. I couldn’t get a clear look at the guest’s face. The others were in sharp focus, but the one I knew was the stranger had blurred features, and the baggy clothing made it impossible to tell gender. The stranger stepped back as everyone rushed to the boy, who fell back, eyes staring blankly, unresponsive, into his mother’s arms as she screamed.
The others began to stagger, hands going to their heads or abdomens, faces frightened and worried. The boy’s mother collapsed across his body. Others crumpled to the floor or sagged from their chairs.
The person whose memories I shared tried to go to them, but his legs failed him. His heart raced but it was hard to breathe, and his mouth had gone dry. Vision blurred, and despite his panic, he was so utterly tired. Still, he dragged himself toward his family, but halfway across the room, his body no longer responded to his mind’s commands. He reached out to the stranger, one hand raised in a plea for help. The stranger only smiled.

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Gail Z. Martin discovered her passion for science fiction, fantasy and
ghost stories in elementary school. The first story she wroteat age
fivewas about a vampire. Her favorite TV show as a preschooler was
Dark Shadows. At age 14, she decided to become a writer. She enjoys
attending science fiction/fantasy conventions, Renaissance fairs and
living history sites. She is married and has three children, a
Himalayan cat, a Maltese and a golden retriever.
 
 
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Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 
 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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next to last banner

Thanks for visiting my stop on the virtual book tour The Next To Last Mistake organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Amalie Jahn will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

And don’t forget to enter, the giveaway!

The Next To Last Mistake

by Amalie Jahn

9781611532647-Cover.indd

Synopsis

Tess Goodwin’s life in rural Iowa is sheltered and uncomplicated. Although she chooses to spend most of her free time playing chess with her best friend Zander, the farm-boy from next door, her skills as a bovine midwife and tractor mechanic ensure that she fits in with the other kids at East Chester High. But when her veteran father reenlists in the Army, moving her family halfway across the country to North Carolina, Tess is forced out of her comfort zone into a world she knows nothing about.

Tess approaches the move as she would a new game of chess, plotting her course through the unfamiliar reality of her new life. While heeding Zander’s long-distance advice for making new friends and strategizing a means to endure her dad’s imminent deployment to the Middle East, she quickly discovers how ill-equipped she is to navigate the societal challenges she encounters and becomes convinced she’ll never fit in with the students at her new school.

When Leonetta Jackson is assigned as her mentor, she becomes Tess’s unexpected guide through the winding labyrinth of cultural disparities between them, sparking a tentative friendship and challenging Tess to confront her reluctant nature. As the pieces move across the board of her upended life, will Tess find the acceptance she so desperately desires?

Check out this peek inside:

I’m almost asleep, barely conscious of drifting off, when I’m startled by a noise outside my window. Before I have a chance to turn on the light and investigate, the sash slides open and someone steps into my room.

I hope beyond all hope I’m not dreaming.

“Zander?” I ask, not wondering if it’s him but why he’s here.

He’s all the way in the room now, standing at the foot of my bed. “Did I wake you?” he whispers.

“No,” I tell him. He blows into his hands, and I lift my blankets, inviting him under the covers to warm up.

“It’s colder than a polar bear’s butt out there.” He snuggles against me in my tiny twin bed like we’re still six-year-olds, camping outside in each other’s backyards. I wrap my arms around him, and he settles against my shoulder. “You left your own party.”

“It wasn’t really my party,” I say. “More New Year’s than anything else.”

“The cake was good. Red velvet. You would’ve liked it.”

There’s so much I want to say. Apologies I want to give. Promises I want to make. But the words are jumbled around in my head, and I’m afraid if I speak everything will come out all wrong.

“I didn’t have anyone to kiss at the ball drop,” he says eventually, and I wonder if whatever was in his Solo cup has gone to his head.

“Tina and Claire were there.”

He chuckles grimly and his voice turns serious. “We’ve been together every New Year’s since we were babies, you know that?” His words settle over me, and I strain under the weight of them. Heavier still is the burden of what he doesn’t say: And this might have been our last.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the need to explain, “but it was so cold and I knew my dad was gonna need help with the herd and…”

He rolls over to face me, placing a finger over my lips. “It’s okay, Tess. I get it. It’s been hard being around each other for the past few weeks. I didn’t realize the anticipation of you leaving was gonna suck so bad. I didn’t know how horrible I was at long goodbyes.” Now he’s the one who’s apologizing. “I guess I didn’t know what else to do. I figured this day might be easier for both of us…”

“If you left me before I had the chance to leave you?”

“Something like that.” He sighs. “It wasn’t intentional. I guess I’ve been sorta messed up in my own head, thinking about not having you around. You’re the best part of my days.”

I blink back tears I don’t realize are already spilling down my cheeks. His admission is true for me as well—something we’ve always taken for granted.

“It’s only eighteen months, then we’ll both graduate and head to college together like we always planned. You and me. It’s not that long, right?”

“It’s not that long,” he agrees. “But it’ll never be the same, not having you right next door.”

His body is relaxed against mine, and I’m reminded of all the nights we spent together growing up, head to foot and back to back, me teasing him for his stinky feet and him making fun of my retainer. “Maybe someone better will move in here,” I laugh between sniffles. “Some Victoria’s Secret supermodel, schlepping around manure in waders and a thong.”

He chuckles, too, and I imagine him smiling in the darkness. “As tempting as she sounds, I still wouldn’t willingly trade you for her.”

There’s something unspoken in his words, a tiny invitation across a boundary we’ve never crossed. But I can’t cross it now. I won’t. There’s no reason to take something painful and make it complicated as well.

“I should go to sleep,” I tell him. “We’re leaving after the morning milking, and I gotta be alert enough to drive.”

He stirs under the covers and his warmth leaves my side. As he stands over me, silhouetted in the moonlight cascading through my window, I hear him sigh. Then, he leans down to place a kiss on my forehead like a father tucking in his child.

“Bye,” I say.

“Bye.”

“Love ya.”

“Love ya back.”

And then he’s gone, back through the window out into the night. I assume, in the wake of our farewell, it’s going to take me hours to fall asleep, but the next thing I know my alarm is going off, and it’s time to slide the chessboard of my past life on to the shelf and begin another match.

About Author Amalie Jahn

Amalie Jahn is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than 8 young adult novels, including The Next To Last Mistake, her latest release (Light Messages Publishing 2019).

Amalie is the recipient of the Literary Classics Seal of Approval and the Readers’ Favorite Gold Medal for her debut novel, The Clay Lion. She is a contributing blogger with the Huffington Post and Southern Writers Magazine, as well as a TED speaker, human rights advocate, and active promoter of kindness. She lives in the United States with her husband, two children, and three overfed cats.

When she’s not at the computer coaxing characters into submission, you can find Amalie swimming laps, cycling, or running on the treadmill, probably training for her next triathlon. She hates pairing socks and loves avocados. She is also very happy time travel does not yet exist. Connect with her right here in the present day at these social media sites:

Websiteshttp://www.amaliejahn.com and lightmessages.com/amalie-jahn
Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

Visit http://www.amaliejahn.com to join Amalie’s FREE Readers Group and in addition to receiving promotional discounts, sneak peeks, and monthly newsletters, your membership will now grant you exclusive access to bonus material (shorts and novelettes) delivered right to your inbox!

Amazon / B&N / Apple / Kobo

Goodreads

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