Maymee Bell has whisked a confection of mystery in her debut novel that will have readers savoring every word. ~Bibliophile Reviews
This cozy mystery has a little bit of everything that makes this book genre one of my favorites: Humor, mystery, romance, and likable characters. ~Ms. Cat’s Honest World
When reading anything written by this author, there are a few things you can be certain of exceptional characters, a homey setting, humor, and a great mystery. And of course, all of those things are found in this book. ~MJB Reviewers
Delightful characters, delectable southern banter, I guarantee you’ll pick up a few new phrases for your own use, and an unpredictable future for Sophia are all on the menu. ~Laura’s Interests
~~~~~
Cake and Punishment: A Southern Cake Baker Mystery Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Setting – Kentucky Crooked Lane Books (May 8, 2018) Hardcover 257 Pages ISBN-13: 978-1683315711 Digital ASIN: B075QJM2W8
My Review
I’m a big cozy fan and, being, a southern gal, I enjoy books set in my neck of the woods. The icing on the cake for me was. literally, the dessert. The author described some sweet concoctions that had me craving something sweet. And there’s more than one kind. The possible romance between Sophia and Sherriff Carter of the adorable dimples added to the flavor.
I like a story about starting over too. Been there. Done that. And with loads of humorous scenes and eccentric character’s I couldn’t help but laugh and relate. Sophie might have begun the story in emotional shock from a cheating boyfriend, but after returning to her roots, her sassy mother shows her she’s tough and smart enough to begin anew and her friends lend charming and funny support.
The mystery wasn’t easy to solve either. I couldn’t pick any obvious suspects. And the thing with the new frying pan kept me especially intrigued.
The author mixed together all the right ingredients for a fun cozy mystery.
~~~~~
Synopsis
In the first of a delectable new Southern-set baking cozy series, Sophia Cummings, pastry chef extraordinaire, must craft the perfect cake for an old friend’s wedding while sifting through the suspects in a murder.
Bucolic Rumford, Kentucky has glowing fields of bluegrass, a fine selection of bourbons, and now a professional pastry chef. Broken-hearted Sophia Cummings has come home from New York City. She’s not there a minute before she’s charmed into making her high school friend Charlotte’s wedding cake. The kitchen at the Rumford Country Club seems perfect until Chef Emile’s body is discovered, sprawled near the stove, a cast iron skillet on the floor close by.
With one look at the shiny, new frying pan, Sophia knows it’s not Emile’s. She offers her knowledge to Sheriff Carter and her talents to Evelyn, the manager, who needs an interim chef. The mood in the country club is grim: Emile’s peppery personality had burned members and staff alike. Sophia wonders which one of them burned him?
~~~~~
Author Maymee Bell
.
Maymee Bell is the pen name of USA Today Bestselling author Tonya Kappes. She lives in Kentucky with her family and her two schnauzers. She likes strong coffee, slow-country days, and fresh-baked cookies – but she like telling stores best of all. This is her first SOUTHERN BAKER MYSTERY.
I’m always in when Jeff releases a new book. Gypsy Blood sounds thrilling. Due to a mix up, I didn’t receive the book in time to get it read. I will be sharing my review as soon as possible.
Check out Gypsy Blood.
And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!
~~~~~
Gypsy Blood Jeff Gunhus
Publication date: May 1st 2018
Genres: Adult, Horror
Synopsis
When Corbin Stewart, a down-on-his-luck writer living in Paris, witnesses the brutal attack of an old gypsy, he rushes to help. He chases off the attackers, three albinos wearing porcelain tragedy masks, but not before they stab the old man repeatedly. While Corbin tries to keep the man alive until help arrives, blood gets on his skin, in his eyes, into his mouth. The old man dies, but Corbin soon discovers that death isn’t the end for the powerful gypsy, and that the blood in his body carries part of the man’s tortured soul with it.
A pang of guilt worked its way into the dread he felt in his gut. This was just some old man who’d seen better days. Probably a panhandler whose greatest threat to them was to ask to relieve them of their loose change.
“C’mon, we’re almost there,” he said.
But she was planted in place. “Let’s go back,” she said, a tremble in her voice. “I don’t like––”
“Chey,” the old man called out, his voice stronger than Corbin had imagined it would be. Deep and resonant with an accent he didn’t recognize. “So keres, Chey?”
Corbin searched his limited command of French for the words but found nothing. The way the man said Chey made him think it was a name. “Does he think he knows you?”
She pulled his arm backward. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Does he think you’re someone else maybe?” he said.
“Don’t go,” the man said, still looking only at Margot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you here. Tell this gaujo to leave so we can talk.”
The man’s English was perfect, but still laced with an accent he couldn’t place. Still, the inherent bias of human nature worked its magic and hearing English made Corbin relax. As if the shared language somehow made them part of the same tribe. “He’s harmless,” Corbin said, digging into his pocket. “He just wants some money.”
Margot turned and looked behind them. Corbin knew exactly what she was looking at. The alley curved in a half-moon shape and they were at the apex of the arc. The busier streets at either end were cut off from sight. Good place for a mugging. But the man had to be eighty years old. Hell, he could have been a hundred. Then again, if he had a gun, it wouldn’t matter how old he was.
The man turned to Corbin as he approached and smiled. It wasn’t the most genuine smile he’d ever seen. In fact, it looked like the effort pained him, as if Corbin were a thing to be barely tolerated. The man licked his lips, and Corbin could have sworn his tongue was purple, although he reasoned it was just the shadows and odd light in the alley.
“C’mon, it’s fine,” he said, hearing the uncertainty in his own voice.
~~~~~
Author Jeff Gunhus
Jeff Gunhus is the USA TODAY bestselling author of thriller and horror novels for adults and the middle grade/YA series, The Templar Chronicles. The first book, Jack Templar Monster Hunter, was written in an effort to get his reluctant reader eleven-year-old son excited about reading. It worked and a new series was born. His books for adults have reached the Top 30 on Amazon, have been recognized as Foreword Reviews Book of the Year Finalists and reached the USA TODAY bestseller list.
After his experience with his son, he is passionate about helping parents reach young reluctant readers and is active in child literacy issues. As a father of five, he leads an active life in Maryland with his wife Nicole by trying to constantly keep up with their kids. In rare moments of quiet, he can be found in the back of the City Dock Cafe in Annapolis working on his next novel or on JeffGunhus.com.
Everyone has read the tale of Little Red Riding Hood… Such a carefree, naïve
girl who fell victim to the wolf and had to be saved by the Huntsman.
I’d like to set that story straight. It all began with a girl, a
curse, and wolf. We all have a hero inside. All it takes is to
believe. Cara knew the legends of her village but she never thought
she’d become one.
Hi all, I’m JessiMcpherson.
I live in a small town in Iowa right on the banks of The Mighty
Mississippi. I started writing when I was about 10 years old. Almost
every girl has a journal but I not only had fun stories of the day
but poems and short stories that popped in my head. I love fantasy
and romance novels and read almost daily. I like to find my
inspiration in everyday life. That’s one of my goals is to find one
thing every day that inspires me. I grew up an army brats so I have
traveled to a few places over the years. I have two amazing children
and a very amazing husband. They thankfully put up with crazy work
schedules because being a mom and a writer isn’t enough but I am also
the general manager of Sidelines Sports bar in my home town. No
matter how busy I find time for it all. I do hope you enjoy my books
and I look forward to writing more.
After Monsterland has been destroyed, the entire world is thrown into chaos. Wyatt Baldwin and his friends must go beyond the boundaries of their small town to reestablish contact with the outside world. During their journey they discover a new threat released from the bowels of the defunct theme park. The danger of werewolves, vampires and zombies pale in comparison to an army of relentless mummies, Vincent Conrad’s reanimated monster and the menace of a life-sucking ooze they call The Glob. Wil Wyatt and his friends survive when they reenter the scariest place on earth?
Welcome to Monsterland, the scariest place on earth.
When world markets are decimated by a crippling plague, philanthropist, and billionaire businessman, Vincent Konrad decides to place monsters in a theme park setting to promote education and tolerance. Copper Valley is chosen as the primary site for the park in the United States.
Wyatt Baldwin, a high school senior is dying to go to the opening and when he lands special passes to the park, he and his friends are expecting the experience of a lifetime.
After all, in a theme park where real zombies, werewolves, and vampires are the main attractions, what could possibly go wrong?
~~~~~
Monsterland Reanimated Book Trailer
~~~~~
Enjoy this glimpse inside Monsterland Reanimated:
Front page of the Copper Valley Sun
President of the US, World Leaders,and Thousands Dead
Many still missing as the world reels from the impact
of the Monsterland disaster
Multitudes are still unaccounted for and presumed dead. Escaping werewolves, vampires, and zombies of Dr. Vincent Konrad’s theme parks inexplicably escaped en masse and massacred unwitting parkgoers … Massive government shutdowns as the world teeters on the brink of chaos.
Chapter 1
The Night After the Monsterland Catastrophe
A bright moon painted the desert’s surface pewter. Here and there, dark spots soiled the landscape like oil spills. Most of the bodies had been taken before the troops were ordered to leave. They carted away the corpses, bulldozing the zombies into mass graves, until radios chirped with urgent orders deploying the soldiers to the bigger threats that erupted in the main cities like a chain of angry volcanos.
Monsterland was extinguished, its carcass left for the vultures to pick, the exhibits silent as a tomb.
The dead president and his equally dead entourage were whisked away on Air Force One, along with the dark-clad special operatives that came and left like the brisk desert wind that now howled through the empty streets.
A gate screamed in the silence, slamming with a reverberating smash. The uneven gait of someone with a physical challenge filled the void. The scrape and plod of his limp echoed against the wall of mountains framing the theme park. His labored breathing huffed as he made his way down the streets.
A door creaked loudly as it was blown by the wind. He stopped, his distorted figure silhouetted in the pale moonlight, his body turning silver. He looked at the broken glass littering the pavement like diamonds, then up to the still, pre-dawn sky. He considered the sun peeking over the jagged horizon in the east, its golden light painting the dips and hollows of the hills. Soon the coming day would chase the darkness away.
Time was the enemy now. He had to move faster, or it would be too late. He picked up his pace, lurching along the winding road. A keening howl ricocheted through the streets, bouncing off the walls. It sounded like a … no, he thought, it couldn’t be. The werewolves were all dead. Destroyed by Vincent Konrad when he made their heads explode.
The old man paused, listening for it again, and was not disappointed when the animal whimpered. He gauged it to be inside the defunct vampire exhibit. He moved toward the entrance. The storefronts had been destroyed. A few body parts lay on the pavement, as if people had discarded them in a rush. He heard the scraping of paws on the street and a shiver went down his crooked spine.
He knew the werewolves were dead; he had seen it with his own eyes. A figure detached from the shadows. Igor flattened himself against the wall. He watched it move stealthily down the street, stopping when it scavenged a morsel of rotting flesh. It looked up to stare at Igor, its eyes glowing in the darkness.
A coyote? He waved a hand, dismissing it. It had to be a coyote; it was too small to be a wolf, too big to be a dog. The beast twitched its ears, then resumed its meal.
Igor knew the coyote was not a threat, and he continued his mission. His lame foot hit a can, sending a cacophony of sound like an explosion in the deserted park. The beast dropped the bone it was gnawing on, sniffing the area. Its iridescent eyes searched the streets.
It could be a baby wolf, Igor thought, keeping himself as still as possible. He felt it watching him, even from this distance. It was not a threat, yet.
Igor skittered away, hugging the walls of Monsterland, putting as much distance as he could between them. Not an easy feat, considering his distorted hips. He muttered to himself about carrion and the wind. His eyes darted nervously, scouring the hills, not exactly sure what he was looking for. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. His heart pounded so loudly he was certain that the creature watching him could hear it too.
His feet stumbling to a halt, he bent over, gasping for air, cursing Vincent and those meddlesome teenagers, as well as the rest of the world.
The beast gave another mournful howl that went right through him. Igor glanced at his empty hands, berating himself for not bringing a weapon. He searched his surroundings for anything to protect himself.
Then he saw it, one of the axes they had on almost every corner. All of them had been pulled from their protective cases. One was lying in a pool of coagulating blood, the blade long gone. He picked up the broken axe handle, turning in a semicircle. He was ready for an attacker.
A new, larger outline made his heart quiver with fear. It crouched in a corner, its snout covered with blood. This one was bigger, not a coyote, a wild wolf. Wait, he thought. Weren’t the gray wolves of California all but extinct?
Igor narrowed his eyes. The beast was a light reddish brown and not the silver gray of a wolf ’s pelt. A chain hung from its neck, the pendant of a werewolf ’s head dangling, emerald eyes flashing. What was it? Was it a mutant coyote? A wolf ? Some weird hybrid, he wondered for a minute, his breath harsh in his ears. They watched each other soundlessly.
A hybrid then. He’d heard about them, a rare mixture of wolf and coyote. What did they call them? Coywolves …? or was it Woyotes? He shrugged indifferently. Perhaps someone’s pet, he decided. Igor’s mirthless laugh came out like a snort.
The coywolf stood still, its ears alert, its head cocked as if it was observing him.
Igor dropped the makeshift weapon, calling out, “Eat the rest of your meal, you dumb beast.”
The animal continued to watch him, its two front paws on the remains of a zombie’s chest.
Igor wiped his forehead, waiting, his eyes coming back to search the village, confirming it was empty, except for the carrion eaters like the coyotes and vultures. He looked up, noting the circling predators waiting for him to move on.
“Interrupted your meal,” he chuckled. Just the local scavengers looking for food. That was all; the shadows revealed nothing else. Satisfied he was alone, he moved on. He had work to do.
A paper flew past him, hitting a kiosk as the wind plastered it against its surface. It flapped like a dying bird. Igor reached over, taking the fluttering paper, peering at the map of the park, the one they gave people as they entered Monsterland. A bark of laughter escaped his mouth.
He looked up at the giant monolith that was once the Werewolf River Run, its hulking shape obscuring the horizon. “You are here,” he giggled, pointing a grimy finger on the paper’s surface. He dragged his deformed body further down the pavement. The storefronts that used to be Monsterland’s Main Street yawned vacantly, the wind whistling through the narrow alleyways. “Now, you are here,” he laughed. Shouting, he listened to the sound of his voice bouncing off the blood-splattered walls.
He made his way to the back end of the zombie village, feeling like the last man on earth. He glanced around at the desolate landscape. His home, the beautiful theme park, was little more than ruins destroyed by the army.
His nose twitched from the fetid smell of rot. The US Army had massacred the zombies. The troops came like a force of nature wiping out everything in its path, every last one of them blown away by the troops.
They were black ops, special forces, he knew from their uniforms. He wondered if things were indeed going as planned. He shrugged, knowing right now nothing mattered except for what he had to do. The irony that he was just about the most important man on earth brought more amusement to his smile.
The local police force was gone, as were the leaders of most countries in the world. He knew all was chaos outside, perhaps even war, each nation blaming the next for the loss of their leadership. Not to worry, he thought. Vincent left America in capable hands.
Dreams do come true, he snickered. Nightmares too, he finished the thought. A long line of drool pulled at his lower lip. He paused at a pothole in the road, decomposing body parts glistening, the disappearing moon turning the bits of bone and brains pearly.
Anxiety bloomed in his chest as he passed the opaque windows of Vincent’s derelict Monsterland hotel, the Copper Valley Inn. He hated that place. Abandoned construction vehicles were frozen in their spots, testimony to the hotel’s unfinished business.
Despite the pastel colors of its exterior, it sat like an ominous crypt to the part of the theme park that Vincent could never control. Told Vincent it was a money pit. Crews couldn’t work because … well, it didn’t matter anymore. The help was all dead. He thought he saw a light flicker in the window, but when he turned, he realized it was nothing more than a sputtering gas lamp that had never been disconnected.
He stood for a while, staring for more activity, and then jerked with the realization that he waited too long and wasted precious time. Surely no one expected him to go searching during the heat of battle.
Vincent said it was enough time to set up the timetable. Vincent knew everything, and Igor felt his panic ebb. It had been barely twenty-four hours since the attack. For all he knew, he could be on a fool’s errand.
He pressed his hand on his hip, his back screaming with resentment at so much movement. He was not used to any exercise. He sighed, wiping his brow with the ragged end of his costume, the lace scratching his skin. He caught the cuff, snagging the material with his teeth, tugging it free from his velvet jacket. He loathed the show and was glad he’d never have to endure the humiliation of performing again, especially with the vamps. Those condescending, blood-sucking parasites. He wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore, he thought with satisfaction. Vincent had promised he’d not have to endure them for long, living up to his part of the bargain quite nicely. They were gone, torn apart by the werewolves or transformed into a tasty dinner by the zombies. Either way, they wouldn’t be bullying him with their nasty insults. Something buzzed around him, and he swiped at it.
It felt as though he walked to the other side of the earth. Why Vincent had to pick Zombieville to make his last stand, he’d never know. The Werewolf River Run would have been much more convenient. It was getting lighter now, and he could easily make out the smoking devastation.
He searched the horizon, his eyes resting on the burnt wreckage of a golf cart, the torched skeleton listing at an odd angle.
Pulling his lame foot, he pushed himself as fast as his body could travel, his breath hitching with the effort.
The corpse was gone. He knew they would have taken that for DNA testing, proof that the enemy was vanquished. The only things left were the putrid carcasses from Monsterland, the decaying zombies, massacred vampires, and what was left of the werewolves after Vincent had exterminated them.
He climbed a small hill, his bad leg screaming with pain. Igor crowed with triumph when he saw it, the discarded lump of flesh, lying forgotten in a ditch, face down. He shivered as the desert wind stirred and eddied around him. Damn, but it was desolate here.
He hunkered down, forcing himself to skitter on the hardpacked earth. He wondered what his son, the vice president—no, he corrected himself, the new president of the United States, Mr. Nate Owens—would think of his father now, scrambling like a dung beetle in the dirt.
He cursed. The drool was back, dripping from his mouth like a sparkling spider web. Instead of rising—it was beyond him at this point—he shimmied over to the severed head, reaching forward, reverently, grabbing it by the matted hair, and grasping it to his chest.
The black eyes stared back dully, the dark depths reflecting the hunchback’s twisted smile.
Vincent Konrad’s lifeless face lay in his hands, the pale lips open in a soundless scream.
“I’m so happy I could kiss you, Vincent!” he told the decapitated head. He cradled the face of his friend. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
The moon bathed the face a pale blue. The hunchback jiggled the dead weight, cackling with delight as the one papery eyelid drooped as if it were winking.
In the distance, that coywolf howled, making Igor suck in his breath with fear. He tucked the head under his arm as he struggled back up the small hill, mumbling something about Plan B.
~~~~~
About Michael:
Michael Okon is an award-winning and best-selling author of multiple genres including paranormal, thriller, horror, action/adventure and self-help. He graduated from Long Island University with a degree in English, and then later received his MBA in business and finance. Coming from a family of writers, he has storytelling in his DNA. Michael has been writing from as far back as he can remember, his inspiration being his love for films and their impact on his life. From the time he saw The Goonies, he was hooked on the idea of entertaining people through unforgettable characters.
Michael is a lifelong movie buff, a music playlist aficionado, and a sucker for self-help books. He lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.
The brutal murder of a business tycoon leaves Afton Tangler and the Twin Cities reeling, but that’s just the beginning of a gruesome crime spree…
Leland Odin made his fortune launching a home shopping network, but his millions can’t save his life. On the list for a transplant, the ailing businessman sees all hope lost when the helicopter carrying his donor heart is shot out of the sky.
Now with two pilots dead and dozens injured, Afton Tangler, family liaison officer for the Minneapolis Police Department, is drawn into the case. As she and her partner investigate family members and business associates, whoever wants Leland dead strikes again—and succeeds—in a brazen hospital room attack.
The supposedly squeaky clean millionaire has crossed the wrong person—and she’s not finished exacting her revenge. The case explodes into an international conspiracy of unbridled greed and violence. And as Afton gets closer to unearthing the mastermind behind it, she gets closer to becoming collateral damage…
~~~~~
About Author Gerry Schmitt
Gerry Schmitt is the author of the Afton Tangler Thrillers, and, writing under the pseudonym Laura Childs, the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty-five novels, the Tea Shop, Scrapbooking, and Cackleberry Club Mysteries. She is the former CEO of her own marketing firm, has won TV and radio awards, and produced two reality TV shows. She and her professor husband enjoy collecting art, travel, and their two Shar-Pei dogs.
I enjoyed the characters a lot. Max and Afton seem to play off of each other well as far as figuring things out. ~Valerie’s Musings
This is one of those books where the bad men are really bad, and everyone in the case is hiding something to have a money profit… ~Varietats
Afton was a likable character for me. She seemed in tune with some of the other characters. She is good at her job. ~A. Holland Reads
Shadow Girl by Gerry Schmitt is one of the most gripping and chilling books I’ve read this year. ~Back Porchervations
The mystery and suspense aspect of this book was great. This was a definite page-turner. ~Bookworm Cafe
Can I just say Wow! It’s been awhile since I sat and read a book that terrified me with precision action that intrigued me so much it was impossible to put the book down. ~Texas Book-aholic
It starts off with a bang (literally) and the suspense never lets up. I love stories that grip you right from the start and this thriller fits the bill. ~Brooke Blogs
This is a serious thriller with a lot going on. There’s surface to air missiles, conspiracies to kill no matter who gets hurt and what has to be done, and characters with some seriously shady backstories. ~I Wish I Lived In a Library
From page 1 I was engaged in a thrilling and suspenseful ride! ~My Reading Journeys
As the chapters unfold we get a good look at things from both the good guys’ and the bad guys’ perspectives. This gives you a first-hand understanding of the killer’s motives, but in no way takes away from the suspense or the desire to see Afton and Max bring her to justice. ~The Book’s the Thing
A page turner like you never read before, Shadow Girl is a deeply rooted thriller in the art of murder, mystery, and revenge. ~Bibliophile Reviews
Richard Goodman is the caretaker of a unique institution that trains disabled
youth in the art of watchmaking. But he is no ordinary administrator.
He possesses extra sensory powers he does not fully understand and
cannot control. But an innocent outing to Coney Island results in him
obtaining a more disturbing ability, along with a terrifying prophecy
that he will die in less than three days. As the clock of his life
counts down, a still greater threat emerges. An uncanny assassin who
will destroy everyone he knows and loves. Unless he can discover who
the killer is. And stop him in time.
“VISIONS THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY” has won the READERS VIEWS 2016 LITERARY
AWARD (Best Adult Fiction – Classics)
and
the 2017 GLOBAL EBOOKS AWARD (Bronze – Horror Category)
and
was a FINALIST in the 2016
FORWARD REVIEWS EDITOR’S CHOICE AWARDS (Horror Category)
“My hands feel peculiar. I attempt to lift them from the steering wheel and find there is an odd adhesion; they yield with an audible smack. I take my eyes off the road for a moment.
I look down.
Blood. My hands are covered in blood.
The clock ticks again. It is 5:54 a.m.
Oh yes; I remember now…
In four minutes, I will be dead.”
So begins Visions Through a Glass, Darkly, my attempt to create something completely different in the genre of psychological horror.
Although this tale of suspense, terror and other-worldly events is fictional, many of its characters existed in one form or another. Some of the events described – even those supernatural – actually occurred. The school described in the novel was quite real.
This is unusual, complex literary fiction and designed to be unconventional. In all honesty, it should carry a warning label. The novel starts slowly, lulling you with back story then grabbing you by the throat. It may disappoint an impatient reader looking for a quick fix or a formulaic approach. At times, the story line may seem to be just a background for the real tale: the horror in the mind of the main character, Richard Goodman.
But there is a story, of course, and it centers on Mr. Goodman, an administrator for a school that instructs disabled people in the art of watchmaking. There is a stark glimpse not only into the Lilliputian world of the watchmaker, but also into the lives of people with physical disabilities.
Goodman can be described as a psychic being driven mad by his own inimitable gifts over which he has no control. Demons come to him at night and invade his nightmares. The dead may stop over to pay him a visit at any time, but each time conveying a message that something or someone believes he must hear.
But Goodman is to acquire one more unique ability, along with a terrifying prophecy delivered by a Coney Island fortune teller that he has less than three days to live.
As the clock of his life counts down, a still greater threat emerges: An uncanny assassin who will destroy everyone he knows and loves. Unless he can discover who the killer is. And stop him in time.
Richard Goodman is a conflicted character, as so many of the characters in this novel are. He is tortured not only by the result of his unique abilities, but by the memory of an event that occurred when he was nine, and by his failure to reconcile with a father who committed suicide. He believes his life is a runaway freight train he is not in control of. But at the same time he holds out hope. A part of him believes that he can control his destiny and that a higher power may be watching over him.
Ultimately, Visions Through a Glass, Darkly is a parable with intense philosophies to relate. Nonetheless, I don’t suggest all the answers, and as to many things, I leave a blank space for the readers to fill in for themselves. As such, this novel may mean different things to different people and it was intended to be perceived that way.
It was my wish that some of this would scare just about anyone and that I might write words capable of bringing the hardest hearts to tears. By writing Visions I tried to convey what, to me, is the essence, the center, the core of true horror: To be alone.
I hope you find that Visions contains a passage or two like nothing you’ve ever read. I hope you find that some of it is beautifully written. I believe in the power of ideas and of words and I will try to make them beautiful when I can. Maybe this is because I also believe that their power to reach us lies in their beauty.
One more thing… As to the ending of this novel – as you may find in the ones to follow – nothing is as it appears to be.
Regards,
Dave Aboulafia
.
~~~~~
.
DAVID I. ABOULAFIA is an attorney with a practice in the heart of New York
City. He spends the wee hours of the morning writing books that
terrify and amuse. His days are spent in the courts and among the
skyscrapers, and his evenings with the trees, the stars, his wife and
his dog in a suburb north of the City.
Spring is the perfect time to grab a good romance read.
Check out Abigail Drake’s The Enchanted Garden Cafe.
And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!
The Enchanted Garden Cafe Abigail Drake
(South Side Stories, #1)
Publication date: May 1st 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
For her sixth birthday, Fiona Campbell’s mother, Claire, made her a peace sign piñata filled with wishes for a better planet instead of candy. When she got her period, her mother held a womanhood ceremony at their café and invited the neighborhood. On her sixteenth birthday, they celebrated with a drum circle.
Fiona grew up trying to keep the impulsive Claire in check, and their struggling café afloat. She plans to move out, but first must find a way to stop a big corporation from tearing down their business and destroying her mother’s livelihood.
Claire thinks karma will solve their financial and legal problems. Fiona prefers a spreadsheet and a solid business plan. The last thing she has time for is Matthew Monroe, a handsome complication who walks through their door with a guitar on his back and a naughty gleam in his eye. But when disaster strikes, and Fiona’s forced to turn to him for help, will she learn to open her heart and find she can believe in something magical after all?
The cab let me off right in front of the café. People sat at the small tables we’d set up on the sidewalk, and others hovered near the door, listening. It was quite a crowd, and as soon as the sound of the music reached my ears, I understood why.
Matthew sat on a barstool, strumming his guitar. Mom softly kept the beat with a set of bongos she had tucked between her legs. Moses played his saxophone, the sound twisting and winding though Matthew’s music like an intricate quilt. A young woman with braided hair and skin that glowed in the candlelight belted out a soulful melody about love and loss and hope.
I stopped, as enthralled by the music as the others. The woman had a lovely voice, and Moses was a genius, but Matthew grabbed my attention and held it. His black shirt and jeans accentuated his sleek, muscular body.A necklace with a yin and yang symbol carved in wood hung on a leather cord around his neck. His dark hair brushed his shoulders, as soft and smooth as silk, and his elegant fingers flew skillfully over the guitar, making it moan and sing and cry with a hauntingly beautiful sound. I’d never heard anything like it, and Matthew was as mesmerizing as his music.
As soon as the song finished, Matthew’s eyes met mine. I’d been caught watching him but couldn’t look away. This time he didn’t smile. He stared back at me, his expression as haunted and sad and beautiful as the song he’d played.
Mom came up and touched my arm. “Isn’t he amazing?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Author Abigail Drake
Award winning author Abigail Drake has spent her life traveling the world, and collecting stories wherever she visited. She majored in Japanese and International Economics in college and worked in import/export and as an ESL teacher before she committed herself full time to writing. She writes in several romance genres, and her books are quirky, light, fun, and sexy. Abigail is a trekkie, a book hoarder, the master of the Nespresso machine, a red wine addict, and the mother of three boys (probably the main reason for her red wine addiction). A puppy named Capone is the most recent addition to her family, and she blogs about him as a way of maintaining what little sanity she has left.
Abigail, who also writes young adult fiction under the name Wende Dikec, is the winner of the prestigious 2017 Prism Award for her book Traveller, and the International Digital Award for her young adult book, Tiger Lily. In addition, she was a finalist in the Golden Pen, the Golden Leaf, the Dante Rossetti Book Award, and the Cygnus Award for Science Fiction and Speculative Fiction.
For more information about Abigail, visit her website at www.abigaildrake.com.
On the remnants of oil platforms in the Gulf of Mexico and Dauphin Island, Joe is a typical Nob Platform teenager, except that her Mom left a year ago for a more social Platform, and her Dad sometimes forgets she exists. But she knows she wants a career in Communications, so her high school senior project “See-Saw” focuses on long-distance underwater connections. Drayton, Joe’s best friend, discovers lights moving on Land at the same time Joe picks up SOS signals with her See-Saw.
Though Land has been silent since technology was destroyed during the Moralist Revolution, Joe and Drayton discover that the Platform Planning Commission (PPC) seems to be ultimately responsible for the Bone Virus that precipitated the Revolution. They enlist the help of Flox, a debunked scientist, to take them to Land to investigate the remnants of human Land society—before the PPC can stop them. What they find on Land will forever change the course of their lives and the lives of all Platform Dwellers.
~~~~~
Enjoy this glimpse inside:
Are those—what are those?”
“This is tidal for her,” Drayton says and picks up a cake. “Twinkie. Still in the plastic from when great-grandfather brought them over from Land. She only breaks these out for special guests.”
I feel warm inside. I like Mrs. Coleman. “She’s so generous. And sweet.”
“Yep. She must have big plans. She’ll show you great-grandma’s wedding dress next. Maybe her preserved flowers coupled with the story of how she had the first Platform wedding. No officiant or Council. Just an ‘I do’ and done. It’s one of her favorite topics of conversation lately.”
Mom liked to tell stories, too. I wish I had paid more attention during our mother-daughter dates. Especially when she told me about how she met Dad and when I was born. What her grandmother had told her Land was like.
“It’s nice how she talks to you,” I say softly. Drayton hands me the Twinkie ceremoniously. “Thank you.”
“You do have good manners, Joe,” Drayton says and opens his Twinkie. He holds it like a glass and toasts. “To the power of preservatives.”
I open mine carefully. It smells sweet and ripe, like some of the flowering vegetable plants that Lisette grows. I put a small bite in my mouth, and I revel in the flavor. “Tastes like sunshine.”
Drayton finishes the last bite of his. “On a cloudless day. Come on, eat up. It’s almost time.”
I shake my head and take another small bite. “I want to enjoy this. Savor each bite. I don’t have these every day.”
“Neither do I. But what’s the point in drawing the pleasure out? It’s there, then it’s gone. Great while it lasts.”
“I hope that isn’t how you feel about people, Drayton.”
“Some of them.”
“Stop teasing.” I take the last bite of Twinkie and swallow it. “Delicious. Let’s go see these lights.”
~~~~~
About Author Katarina Boudreaux
Katarina Boudreaux is a writer, musician, composer, tango dancer, and teacher—a shaper of word, sound, and mind. She returned to New Orleans after circuitous journeying.
Her chapbook “Anatomy Lessons” is available from Flutter Press. Her play “Awake at 4:30” is a finalist in the 2016 Tennessee Williams Festival. Her novel “Still Tides” is a semi-finalist in the 2016 Faulkner-Wisdom competition.
I’m such a pushover for anything unicorns. And just look at that fun cover. This sounds like loads of fun!
Check it out.
And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!
The Trouble with Unicorns D.T. Dyllin
(Team Unicorn Talia, #1)
Publication date: April 30th 2018
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Paranormal, Romance
Part-time demon tracker, full-time optimist …
Talia White does what comes naturally to a unicorn: Balances the scales between light and dark with hefty doses of love and joy.
Faced with a string of high profile demon possessions, Talia is determined to do her job, despite the fact that she finds herself strapped with a brooding dragon warrior as her new guardian.
That’s the trouble with unicorns … they’ll accomplish their goal one way or another, even if they have to get a little stabby to do it.
D.T. Dyllin is a bestselling author who writes paranormal, sci-fi, and contemporary romance. Basically, anything with a love story is her kryptonite. Her obsession with affairs-of-the-heart is what first drove her to begin twisting her own tales of scorching romance.
D.T. was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (Black & Gold for life, baby!) She now lives in Raleigh, North Carolina with her husband, and two spoiled German Shepherds.
Hatchet Hollow Amanda McKinney
(Black Rose Mystery Series, #2)
Publication date: April 24th 2018
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Thriller
After an afternoon of mind-numbingly boring surveillance in the woods, Private Investigator Raven Cane goes for a twilight jog to clear her head, only to discover a gruesome murder in the town’s most notorious cave, Hatchet Hollow. Minutes later, the impossibly handsome Lieutenant Zander Stone arrives at the scene to take over, but Raven has a hard time letting the case go. Why did the killer cut off the victim’s fingers? More importantly, who would do such a thing?
After a failed attempt at tracking down the elusive Marden Balik, aka, the legendary witch of the Great Shadow Mountains, Zander dives headfirst into Devil’s Den’s most recent murder, only to uncover twists and turns at every step—including a secret book of curses that may, or may not, exist. As the list of suspects grows, Zander does his best to keep Raven at arm’s length. But Raven is persistent, nosing her way into his case, making it increasingly difficult to keep his concentration on the task at hand, and off of her sultry body.
And when another woman is found brutally murdered, Zander worries that Raven has gotten too close to the investigation… close enough to put her directly in the killer’s sights.
A BLACK CROW swooped down from a decaying pine tree beside her, it’s cringing caw piercing the silence of the woods. She shuddered and zipped up her windbreaker.
Abby never liked crows, or birds for that matter. Not since her parents brought her back a rare, extremely expensive—their words, not hers—parrot from Honduras when she was twelve years old. It was one of the many vacations they’d taken without her—needing a break, they’d say—and leaving her with her nanny, Fran, whose hair always looked, ironically, like a bird’s nest, and whose breath could stop a clock. The same nanny who’d tattled on her for leaving a window open, allowing the precious parrot to fly away.
Her father didn’t speak to her for a week, and her mother, only when he wasn’t looking.
But that was a long time ago. That was then, and this was now. She was a woman now, freshly turned twenty-one with her whole life ahead of her. She didn’t need her parents or the shallow gifts they’d showered her with, replacing their inability to show affection. She didn’t need them anymore, just like they didn’t need her. That’s how they always made her feel, anyway.
A cool gust of wind carrying the sour scent of moldy earth swept past her. She glanced up at the cloud-covered sky. Another dreary day. Another stupid, dull day in this small, suffocating, godforsaken town—just like the day before.
But not anymore.
She could make her own decisions now, out from under their financial thumb. Go her own way in life.
And she was.
And her parents would kill her for it.
She stepped onto the jogging trail that snaked through the woods and stumbled on a rock. She looked down at her new black running shoes laced tightly over black ankle socks. Black leggings and a black T-shirt.
Black.
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
She’d always been fascinated with the mystical, creepy folktales that were whispered through the Great Shadow Mountains. Spirits, ghosts… witches. Hundreds of stories told during dark nights with no electricity, bonfires with too many drinks, Halloween, or just about any scenario shrouded in darkness. The stories were told with glances over the shoulder and hushed voices laced with fear, and if you listened carefully enough, respect. Respect for the evil forces that could snatch you up in the middle of the night, turn you into a lizard, or worse, curse you and everyone you loved.
Witches who could raise the dead from the earth.
Witches who could take your life.
Respect, power. Those were the two things she was promised when she’d been approached about “turning over a new leaf”. Taking control of her own life—and others if needed. Yes, she would be a part of something now, of something big, she was told.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes.
Was she apprehensive? Absolutely. But what they’d promised her had been too great to ignore. She’d been a fool to walk away.
Right?
She smoothed her black windbreaker.
Black really wasn’t her color, but they had been wearing it—head-to-toe—so she figured she’d better get used to it. There would be so much to learn, they’d explained, and embracing black was a good start, she guessed.
But dammit, it really washed her out. Her pale complexion and light blonde hair—a gift from her mother—looked even more lifeless against the unforgiving color.
Maybe she would take baby steps into the change.
Yes, baby steps.
Maybe it would be okay if she wore her red silk blouse and white Louboutin six-inch heels on her date next week.
Butterflies tickled her stomach.
A date!
She couldn’t believe it. Yes, she had been asked out by a good-looking, accomplished man, nonetheless. It was completely out of left field… and only hours after she’d officially committed to “turning over a new leaf.” Coincidence?
Yes, things were going to change for her. Things were going to go her way, for the first freaking time in her life.
She was going to be powerful, respected. Feared.
With an extra pep in her step, she rounded a corner in the trail and spotted her new jogging partner anxiously waiting ahead.
“Hey.”
“Hey, there. You ready?”
She snorted. “As ready as I can be, I guess.”
“First mile’s always the hardest. I’ll take it easy on you. Might want to stick those keys in your pocket, though. Uneven terrain.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah.” She nodded, looked down, and as she unzipped her pocket—
WHACK!
Her head snapped back as a fist slammed into her jaw.
Pain rocketed through her skull. Bright lights flashed in her eyes. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she stumbled backward. The world spun around her, sending a wave of nausea through her body as she tried to process what was happening.
What the hell?
She opened her eyes to fuzziness and tried to focus on the movement in front of her. But before she could come to, the next brutal force knocked her out cold.
Author Amanda McKinney
Award-winning author of sexy murder mysteries, Amanda McKinney wrote her debut novel, LETHAL LEGACY, after walking away from her career to become a writer and stay-at-home mom. Her books include the BERRY SPRINGS SERIES and the BLACK ROSE MYSTERY SERIES, with many more to come. Set in small, Southern towns, Amanda’s books are page-turning whodunits peppered with steamy romance. Amanda is a member of Romance Writers of America, International Thriller Writers and Sisters in Crime, and lives in Arkansas with her handsome husband, two beautiful boys, and three obnoxious dogs. Visit her website atwww.amandamckinneyauthor.com
