Posts Tagged ‘review’

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I very much enjoyed this series and am thrilled to share it with you.

Scroll down to read my review.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

Title: Storm of Arranon
Author: R. E. Sheahan
Publisher: Rule of Three Press
Pages: 300
Genre: YA Science Fiction/Fantasy

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My Review

The story takes place in the future. The daughter of a famous general, Erynn is in training to be an interceptor fighter pilot. A sudden betrayal reveals an alien species has infiltrated the government at its highest levels. They want to harvest the planets of Korin and Arranon for their resources, which means total annihilation. With betrayal everywhere Erynn and her friends are not sure who to trust anymore.

Forced to flee Korin and seek safety on Arranon, Erynn learns about the mystery of her origins and her ability of Prophesy. She begins to understand her connection to the planet. A secret forced upon her since childhood may hold the key to saving both planet if only she can unlock it in time.

What an adventure! It is fantasy and science fiction all rolled up in one.

I really enjoyed reading Storm of Arranon. All of the characters are well-developed and understandable and the world building is almost visual without being too complicated and overshadowing the plot.

Erynn’s connection to the animals on Arranon was fun to read. I kept trying to envision what a Capora looked like – maybe a cross between a yak and a horse? And the Maejen, maybe a giant species of timber wolf?

R.E. Sheahan does a superb job of world building. She shows you the planets, their inhabitants and their cities, revealing an earnest desire for you to easily understand and enter these worlds.

If you have seen Avatar and remember how the flora and fauna all glowed with iridescent,brilliant colors, that is how I picture the Anim Blath.

They are alive, sentient, and they speak to Erynn, sing to her. Like the living voice of Arranon.

There is a budding romance between Jaer and Erynn, but the author kept it in its place. It was not the focal point of the plot but did add to my interest.

Storm of Arranon has magic, action, good and evil, friendship and romance, with an out of this world flavor. I think young readers and adults will enjoy this story. So well written, I was surprised that this was R.E. Sheahan’s debut novel. This story can stand alone and the ending is very satisfying. I am happy to hear there will be more. A great beginning to a series.

4 Stars

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Synopsis

 A forbidden birth. A remarkable young woman. A marauding alien society. The battle begins.

 A brutal alien society invades Korin and Arranon, intent on destroying the two worlds that make up Cadet Erynn Yager’s home. Forced to expose her strange abilities and reveal her forbidden birth, a guarded web of secrets unravels.

Stranded on an unfamiliar planet of eternal winter and predatory wildlife, the mysterious living consciousness of Arranon intervenes, leading Erynn on a mystical journey.

Aware of Erynn’s potential, the alien enemy pursues her. She struggles to gain control of her growing powers while in a constant race to elude the invaders, and join the forces preparing to fight a mounting occupation.

Erynn’s secret may be her worlds’ only hope, but at the cost of her life. Swept up in a chain reaction of events, Erynn’s dedication extends far beyond service and duty. She learns the true meaning of sacrifice.

Along with courage and hope, Erynn finds something unexpected on her journey of awareness and growth.

Love.

For More Information

  • Storm of Arranon is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

Enjoy The Excerpt

 TENDRILS OF BLUE STATIC POPPED and snapped around Lieutenant Erynn Yager’s fingers as she tapped the keypad. Black numbers and symbols streamed across the white screen of her monitor. She glanced up, checking the equation on the large overhead at the front of the cramped classroom and smiled, her answer correct.

Delicate blue currents reached out and wrapped around her hands with a faint tingling sensation. In a breath Erynn whispered, “Com avlash.” She brushed at dappled shadows that danced across the pool of sunlight at the edge of her desk, amused by the wispy blue filaments tracing her movements. They flowed like a lazy stream, trailing the path her fingertips traveled before the energy faded. As the static disappeared, she glanced around to make sure no one noticed.

No one ever had.

The buzz of winged centinents drifted in on a warm breeze through the open window next to her. She sighed and fingered the neck of her white uniform shirt, the stiff collar tight and irritating in the rising temperature.

From the front of the classroom the instructor, Major Kendal, his tan uniform meticulous, asked, “Does anyone need more time?” He scanned faces in the room. No one responded and he continued, “I trust you took into account gravitational pull, divided by trajectory angles, while factoring in speed given mass and friction before multiplying . . ..”

Erynn tried to listen, but his incessant droning soon matched the hum from outside.

Static crackled, and the air thickened with a sinking heaviness. The temperature plunged to an icy cold, chilling her moist skin. A sweet, spicy aroma replaced the electronic scent of computers and sour sweat of bodies pressed into a tight space for too long. She glanced out the window and frowned. What

Broad yellow, orange, and red leaves trembled in the breeze. Brown stone buildings melded with the blue sky and manicured green lawns. The colors ran, blurred, and morphed into dark oily shapes with faint outlines of long arms and legs. She stiffened and squeezed her eyes shut. Images played in her mind like a silent vid in fast-forward.

Flash—a brilliant jeweled city nestled in a deep green forest. Flash—majestic spires of trees surrounding a clearing, the woods tossed in a violent windstorm. Flash—mountain peaks covered by snow and ice.

More impressions swirled and sped by, eclipsing her thoughts, taking control.

Bright pinpoints of red and orange exploded, swarming under her closed lids. The high-pitched sound of a hundred musical instruments in discord screamed in her mind. The syrupy aroma intensified. She caught two words through the cacophony—a plea, and a warning.

“Cadjoo. Mabrath.”

Her chest constricted, unable to expand.

Help. Death.

The meaning of these two words, in a language she’d made up as a child, took her breath. She pushed recognition away, refusing the insistent vision that pried at the corners of her mind seeking purchase.

Prophecy.

The word slithered across her nerves like a dry whisper.

Heart thudding, her lids flew open. At the periphery of her vision, the sparkling colors blinked out, and the heavy atmosphere in the room lifted. Erynn’s ears popped and the shrieking voices died, sudden quiet making her believe the shrill proclamation left her deaf. She jumped up, chair legs screeching backward on polished tile as the desk banged into the seat in front of her. “No!” Her shout rang out in the small, quiet room.

Floor heaving like rolling waves, she leaned against the desk on unsteady legs. Startled students in her weapons-and-tactics class stared at her, most of them shaking their heads and smirking. Ridicule and resentment came as a barrage of stinging barbs digging under her skin. Concentrated emotions of pity, anger, concern, scorn, disgust and envy bombarded against her attempt to focus, to gain control.

In a practiced technique, Erynn envisioned a wide tunnel of white brightness spiraling into a tiny point of light. This method narrowed her exposure to the emotions of others. The reactions assailing her all but disappeared. She hissed quick breaths through clamped teeth and the nauseating sensation of motion stopped.

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Author R.E. Sheahan

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I have always been a reader. I love books. When I’m not able to read, I listen to audio books. I started writing while working as a Paramedic/Firefighter in Northern California. Trust me, it’s not like it appears on TV. There was plenty of time for books, mostly reading them. I didn’t seriously start writing until I moved to my ranch in Oregon. While waiting for lambs to be born in the middle of the night, I would head back to the house for an hour or two and sit down at the computer. Before I knew it, I had a manuscript. Not a good one, but a start.I joined critique groups and attended writer’s conferences. I was on the fast track to learning.

In 2013, I received an honorable mention in Writer’s Digest’s Self Published book awards for MG/YA. I guess I am learning something!

Ideas from dreams follow me into warm sunny days or the quiet of falling snow. “What ifs” feed a vivid imagination. Even mistyped phrases may lead to an “aha” moment. Brain storming sessions standing in windy, dark parking lots with fellow writers release thoughts that pry at the corners of my mind, grasping for purchase. Sometimes the ideas pursue me, with persistence.

For More Information

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R.E. Sheahan is giving away a paperback copy of Book Two (Storm Of Arranon Fire) and Book Three (Storm Of Arranon Allies And Enemies)!

Terms & Conditions:

  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive both books
  • This giveaway ends midnight October 28.
  • Winner will be contacted via email on October 29.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

Enter To Win!

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Other books in the series.

Click on the covers for my reviews.

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter

by C.A. Verstraete

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Publisher: Imajin Books

Date of Publication:  Sept. 13, 2016

ISBN: 978-1-77223-273-8 / ASIN: B01KISRS80

Number of pages: 232 / Word Count: 74,000 +

Cover Artist: Ryan Doan

Genre: Horror / Dark Fantasy / Paranormal / Zombie

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My Review

I’m sure a lot of you are fascinated by the legend of Lizzie Borden. Did she truly hack her parents to death with an axe and get away with it? And, if so, why such a violent killing method?

Well, this book will answer your question. Perhaps, they were zombies? Oh yes. They were in this tale. And Lizzie had no choice but to whack them multiple times to make sure they died, again.

This was a fast, entertaining tale. You’ll get the events, the trial, and what comes after.  The author follows much of the true story, adding in zombies and conspiracy to really make it thrilling. She did a fine job too. Many parts are recognizable, and when she weaves in the zombie aspect, she does it smoothly, making it darn near believable.

Lizzie goes to extraordinary limits to protect her beloved sister, Emma, and find out who’s behind the zombie epidemic. I enjoyed this version of Lizzie. She’s much in character with her strong love and protectiveness for her sister. She may start out timidly, but she soon becomes quite proficient at taking out the shufflers.

The conspiracy was good too. The zombies had to come from somewhere, right? The motive was as old as time. The mess was something else altogether.

As the zombie numbers continue to grow, so do the encounters. Some scenes are pretty hairy. Have you thinking the worst. As with all zombie stories, anything can happen. Characters you’ve become fond of can, and sometimes do, die.

I enjoyed how the author opened each new chapter with excerpts from Lizzie’s trial. Much of the story took place afterwards and the trial wasn’t the main focus, so these were especially interesting.

A thrilling read from the get go, with well fleshed out characters, which I’m sure the zombies appreciate!, and plenty of zombie action for all who love the genre.

4 Stars

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Synopsis

Every family has its secrets…

One hot August morning in 1892, Lizzie Borden picked up an axe and murdered her father and stepmother. Newspapers claim she did it for the oldest of reasons: family conflicts, jealousy and greed. But what if her parents were already dead? What if Lizzie slaughtered them because they’d become zombies?

Thrust into a horrific world where the walking dead are part of a shocking conspiracy to infect not only Fall River, Massachusetts, but also the world beyond, Lizzie battles to protect her sister, Emma, and her hometown from nightmarish ghouls and the evil forces controlling them.

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Chapter One

  1. Q. You saw his face covered with blood?
  2. A. Yes sir.
  3. Q. Did you see his eyeball hanging out?
  4. A. No sir.
  5. Q. Did you see the gashes where his face was laid open?
  6. A. No sir.

—Lizzie Borden at inquest, August 9-11, 1892, Fall River Courtroom

 

August 4, 1892

Lizzie Borden drained the rest of her tea, set down her cup, and listened to the sound of furniture moving upstairs. My, my, for only ten o’clock in the morning my stepmother is certainly energetic. Housecleaning, already?

THUMP.

For a moment, Lizzie forgot her plans to go shopping downtown. THUMP. There it went again. It sounded like her stepmother was rearranging the whole room. She paused at the bottom stair, her concern growing, when she heard another thump and then, the oddest of sounds—a moan. Uh-oh. What was that? Did she hurt herself?

“Mrs. Borden?” Lizzie called. “Are you all right?”

No answer.

She wondered if her stepmother had taken ill, yet the shuffling, moving, and other unusual noises continued. Lizzie hurried up the stairs and paused outside the partially opened door. The strange moans coming from the room sent a shiver up her back.

Lizzie pushed the door open wider and stared. Mrs. Abby Durfee Borden stood in front of the bureau mirror, clawing at her reflected image. And what a horrid image it was. The sixty-seven-year-old woman’s hair looked like it had never been combed and stuck out like porcupine quills. Her usually spotless housedress appeared wrinkled and torn. Yet, that wasn’t the worst. Dark red spots—Blood, Lizzie’s mind whispered—dotted the floor and streaked the sides of the older woman’s dress and sleeves.

Lizzie gazed about the room in alarm. The tips of Father’s slippers peeking out from beneath the bed also glistened with the same viscous red liquid. All that blood! What happened here? What happened?

She gasped, which got the attention of Mrs. Borden, who jerked her head and growled. Lizzie choked back a cry of alarm. Abby’s square, plain face now appeared twisted and ashen gray. Her eyes, once bright with interest, stared from under a milky covering as if she had cataracts. She resembled a female version of The Portrait of Dorian Gray. Another growl and a moan, and the older woman lunged, arms rigid, her stubby hands held out like claws.

“Mrs. Borden, Abby!” Lizzie yelled and stumbled backward as fast as she could. “Abby, do you hear me?”

Her stepmother shuffled forward, her steps slow but steady. She showed no emotion or sense of recognition. The only utterances she made were those strange low moans.

Lizzie moved back even further, trying to keep some distance between her and Mrs. Borden’s grasping fingers. Then her foot hit something. Lizzie quickly glanced down at the silver hairbrush that had fallen to the floor. Too late, she realized her error.

“No!” Lizzie cried out at the strange feeling of her stepmother’s clammy, cold hand around her wrist. “Abby, what happened? What’s wrong with you?”

Mrs. Borden said nothing and moved in closer. Her mouth opened and closed, revealing bloodstained teeth.

“No! Stay away!” Lizzie yelled. “Stop!”

She didn’t. Instead, Mrs. Borden scratched and clawed at her. Lizzie leaned back, barely escaping the snap of the madwoman’s teeth at her neck.

“Mrs. Bor—Abby! No, no! Stop!”

Lizzie’s slight advantage of a few inches in height offered no protection against her shorter stepmother’s almost demonic and inhuman strength. The older woman bit and snapped like a rabid dog. Lizzie struggled to fight her off, and shoved her away, yet Mrs. Borden attacked again and again, her hands grabbing, her teeth seeking the tender flesh covered by Lizzie’s long, full sleeves.

The two of them grappled and wrestled, bumping into the bedposts and banging into furniture. Lizzie yelped each time her soft flesh hit something hard. She felt her strength wane as the  crazed woman’s gnarled hands clawed at her. Lizzie wondered how much more she could endure.

Lizzie’s cries for help came out hoarse and weak. “Em-Emma!” She tried again. “Help! Help me!” She knew Emma had come in late last night from her trip out of town. But if Emma already woke and went downstairs, will she even hear me?

Lizzie reeled back, her panic growing as her spine pressed against the fireplace. She pushed and fought in an attempt to keep this monster away, yet Mrs. Borden’s ugly face and snapping teeth edged closer and closer.

Then Lizzie spotted it: the worn hatchet Father had left behind after he’d last brought in the newly chopped wood. No, no! Her mind filled with  horror,  but  when  her  stepmother  came  at  her  again,  Lizzie whispered a prayer for forgiveness and grabbed the handle. She lifted the hatchet high overhead and swung as hard as she could. It hit her stepmother’s skull with a sickening thud.

As impossible as it seemed, Mrs. Borden snarled and continued her attack.

Lizzie hit her again, and again, and again. The blows raked her stepmother’s face and scraped deep furrows into tender flesh. The metal hatchet head pounded her stepmother’s shoulders and arms, the bones giving way with sickening crunches. Mrs. Borden’s broken arms dangled, hanging limp and ugly at her sides… and yet, dear God, yet she continued her attack.

With the last bit of her strength, Lizzie raised the hatchet again and brought it down on Mrs. Borden’s head. Only then did her stepmother crumple and fall into a pile at Lizzie’s feet.

It took a few minutes for Lizzie to comprehend the horrible scene. It didn’t seem real, but it was. With a cry, she threw the bloodied hatchet aside. She gagged as the weapon caught in the braided artificial hairpiece hanging from the back of Mrs. Borden’s gore-encrusted scalp.

Retching, Lizzie ran to the other side of the bed, bent over, and vomited into the chamber pot. She crossed the room and leaned against the wall, her shoulders shaking with each heart-rending sob.

Her hands trembled so hard she could barely hold them still, but she managed to cover her eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the carnage. It didn’t stop the horrific images that flashed in her mind, or the many questions. And it certainly did nothing for the soul-crushing guilt that filled her.

Why? she cried. Why? Dear God, what have I done? What have I done?

~~~~~

Author Christine (C.A.) Verstraete

C.A. Verstraete

Christine (C.A.) Verstraete enjoys putting a bit of a “scare” in her writing. He stories have appeared in various anthologies and publications including Mystery Weekly, Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crime, Siren’s Call Magazine, and more. She also is the author of books on dollhouses and a YA novel, GIRL Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie.

Her latest novel is Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter.

Learn more at her website and her blog.

Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

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The Flip
By: Michael Phillip Cash

 


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Julie and Brad Evans are house flippers. They buy low, clean out the old occupants’ junk, and try to make a profit. Enter Hemmings House on Bedlam Street in scenic Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island. Too good a deal to pass up, but with an ominous secret. The old Victorian Mansion has dwellers that do not want to be dispossessed. As the house reveals it’s past, will the couple’s marriage survive The Flip?

From Publisher’s Weekly- The Flip

Michael Phillip Cash (Stillwell) again succeeds in setting an engaging supernatural thriller in the world of Long Island real estate, though he’s stronger at depicting human relationships than he is at generating scares. Julie and Brad Evans have hinged their hopes of financial security on house flipping, a work-intensive strategy that offers them few opportunities for relaxation. Brad has misgivings about their latest acquisition, a creepy Victorian mansion, ominously situated on Bedlam Street in Cold Spring Harbor. Those feelings are validated when he’s victimized by Tessa, a voracious female ghost with very carnal appetites. Cash is effective at creating his version of the afterlife, where ghosts like Tessa exist in fear of more powerful entities known as the Sentinels. His best work comes, however, in his plausible portrayal of a marriage under stress from the need to hustle to stay solvent. (BookLife)

My Review

I enjoy watching shows about flipping houses. It’s fun to watch the transformation from ugly to fantastic. If I had the money, I’d do some myself.

My luck I’d wind up in the same fix as Julie and Brad Evans.

They’re starting to get the hang of the flipping thing. Buy low, fix it up, sell for a nice profit. But Brad has his misgivings about the one Julie has her heart set on. It’s a monstrous undertaking and he’s getting bad vibes from the old mansion, Hemmings House.

Julie loves it, sees only the potential, and wants to turn it into a bed and breakfast. Brad caves and now he has to get his crew together and get the stinking trash hauled out of the place.

Weird things start happening. Doors open and shut on their own. Cold spots occur throughout the place. And Brad and the crew are being affected by the atmosphere. Something angry is rubbing off on them.

All the makings for a scary good haunted house story, right? The author delivers, giving you things that go bump in the night. You’ll meet these ghostly inhabitants and get to know their stories. I engaged with the ghosts as well as Julie and Brad and came to worry about all of them.

Welcome to Hemmings House. Where anything can happen, and does.

4 Stars

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Excerpt

Chapter Twenty

     I said I’m not going back there. That house is haunted. There, I’ve said it. It’s a haunted house.” “Julie!” Heather protested. “Stop that. You are so much better than this.”

     Brad sighed. “Look, I’ll call Sal. His girlfriend works or that medium you talked about. If she comes with us to the house, will you come home?”

     “It isn’t home, Brad. I thought you hated the house.”

     “I did. I do. Well, it’s been kind to us,” he said.

     “Are you nuts? What are you talking about?”

     “The crap we’ve pulled out of there. We stand to make a considerable amount of money. I feel like the house is sort of saving us. Come home with me, Julie.”

     Julie looked at his face, the lines of worry around his eyes. She put her hand in his, asking, “You’ll call the lady, Georgia?”

     Brad pulled out his phone and dialed Sal. “Hi. Yeah, fine. Listen, Sal, you think you can ask Molly if she can get the psychic out to Bedlam House? Just because. For Julie. OK, call me back.” He turned to his wife. “He’s calling. He said he’s sure he can get her out there. She was interested in the house when he had coffee with her last week.”

     “He had coffee with her?” Heather asked. “Small world.”

     “What should I do?” Julie asked her sister.

     “You know what you should do. You belong with Brad. Go home, Julie. Go confront your ghosts.”

     “You don’t believe me?”

     “I think you believe you’ve had a ghostly encounter. But, honestly, I think you’re just overtired.”

     “Come with us, Heather. Maybe if you’re there, you’ll see it, too.”

     “Just go with Brad. Call me.” Heather kissed her sister. “It will be fun—the psychic—go on.”

     Brad’s phone rang loudly. It was Sal. Georgia Oaken had agreed to visit them tomorrow morning. Everybody was looking forward to it. Sort of.

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PURCHASE

Amazon / B&N

 

 

Author InfoMPC_Photo_bethpage


Michael Phillip Cash is an award-winning novelist and screenwriter. His novels are best-sellers on Amazon under their genres – Young Adult, Thriller, Suspense, Ghost, Action Adventure, Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and Horror.

Michael writes full-time and lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wonderful wife and screaming children. You can follow him @michaelpcash.

 

Author Links: Website | Blog | Twitter |Facebook | Goodreads

 

 

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Other books I’ve read by Michael Phillip Cash.

Click on the covers for my reviews.

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You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

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Mummy’s Little Angel

by JW Lawson

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Genre: Psychological Thriller

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My Review

I tell you what. After reading this story about a family that could win The Most Dysfunctional Award, I don’t think either of these twin sisters could be tagged Mummy’s Little Angel.

What a tangled, ugly mess these girls are. And the mother isn’t much better. She’s popping pills left and right, and doing everything she can to avoid facing the big truth. One or both of her daughter’s is a psychopathic killer.

You get the story from three POVs. That of each sister, Annie and Maggie, and the mother, Joanne. It wasn’t hard to keep track of who was speaking as the author highlights each one in bold print. Otherwise, I think it would be hard to distinguish between them as all three are a mess.

This one really had me cranked up. If this were a movie, I’d be saying, “Come on mom, can’t you see they’re manipulating you?” By the end, I didn’t care who did what to who, I just wanted whoever deserved to pay for what they did, to pay.

Looking for something twisted? For character’s that have more baggage than an airport terminal? And enough suspense and mystery to keep your head spinning? Give this a go. It’ll mess with your head.

4 Stars

https://youtube.com/watch?v=iESDp6Wkvn8

Mummy’s Little Angel is the first place winner of World’s Best Story!

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Synopsis

Joanne didn’t believe that her life could become worse than it already was. She had lost everybody and everything she had loved. She was alone. Surely she had suffered enough? The press had called her identical twins psychopaths. Her Maggie. Her Annie. But she still loved them, even though one of them had killed her husband, Jeff. Joanne believed that his murder had been an accident. How could one of her girls be a murderer? She knew them better than anybody else. They were good girls really.

She just had to prove it.

The brutal murder of her god-daughter Laura had never been solved. Items were missing when Laura’s remains had been discovered: clues that could lead to the capture of her killer. One of them was Laura’s doll … the doll that Joanne later discovered in her home. Joanne is facing the most horrific dilemma of her life. Has the wrong woman been imprisoned? Could her child have used such brutality against her best friend? Or could both women be innocent after all?

She needs to find somebody for her daughter to confide in; somebody she will trust. She needs a miracle. There is only one person who can help. He is compassionate and caring, with an amazing ability to gain the trust of the most difficult patients. He is Joanne’s only hope. He is Jonathan Davies.

Buy the Book:

Amazon ~  Barnes & Noble ~ Friesen Press

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Author JW Lawson

jw-lawson

Award Winning Author, JW Lawson is already gaining recognition for her writing talents in the US and world-wide. The second of a trilogy of sensational thrillers,Mummy’s Little Angel is the winner of the highly acclaimed Worlds Best Story competition and has also received some outstanding reviews from the professional team of judges in the competition. She is currently writing her third thriller, Crossroads which will be available in 2017 and the final book of the current series, Hush Little Baby will be available in 2018.

Connect with the author: Website  ~  Twitter  ~  Facebook

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Follow The Tour

Sept 5 –   Mystery Suspense Reviews – book spotlight / guest post

Sept 6 –   Ali – The Dragon Slayer – review / guest post / giveaway

Sept 7 –   Cheryl’s Book Nook – review / author interview / giveaway

Sept 7 –   Fantastic Feathers – review

Sept 8 –   Book Crazy Scrapbook Mama – book spotlight / author interview / giveaway

Sept 8 –   Keenly Kristin – review

Sept 9 –   The Autistic Gamer – review

Sept 12 – Cover2Cover – book spotlight / giveaway

Sept 12 – The World As I See It – review / giveaway

Sept 13 – Books, Movies, Reviews. Oh my! – review / giveaway

Sept 13 – Celticlady’s Reviews – book spotlight / giveaway

Sept 14 – Musings Over Nothing – review / author interview

Sept 15 – T’s Stuff – review / author interview / giveaway

Sept 16 – The travelogue of a book addict – The Book Drealms – review / giveaway

Sept 19 – Readers Muse – review

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Sept 20 – The Silver Dagger Scriptorium – review / guest post / giveaway

Sept 21 – Lisa Loves Literature – book spotlight / author interview / giveaway

Sept 21 – Life as Leels – review

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Sept 26 – Sylv all about books and films – review / guest post

Sept 27 – The Best Books Ever – review

Sept 28 – Book and Ink – review

Sept 29 – The Cubicle Escapee – review

Sept 30 – Bookmyopia – review

Sept 30 – Room With Books – review / guest post / giveaway

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Title: Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island
Author: Michael Phillip Cash
Publisher: Chelshire, Inc.
Pages: 192
Genre: Paranormal/Horror

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My Review

I’m always in for a haunting tale. This was really good.

You have a man who has lost his wife to illness. He’s coping with grief and struggling to take care of his children.

Finally, he goes back to work, taking a listing for a mansion that’s purported to be haunted. He quickly discovers it is. And also finds out an evil entity is holding his wife’s spirit captive.

There’s also something strange happening with one of his children. The young one is being haunted in his dreams and awakens many nights terrified by horrific nightmares.

It’s all he can do to keep it together. So many demons to battle, real and otherwise, past and present.

Michael’s characters are always genuine. They could easily be someone you know. In Stillwell, I feel he dug real deep for these characters. You can’t help but empathize with some of them. Loath others. And hope you never meet some in a dark alley.

The author gives you a solid mystery, some eerie interludes, and enough creepy atmosphere to make your hairs stand on end and keep you looking over your shoulder at every tiny noise.

If you’re a fan of hauntings, this is one for you.

4 Stars

~~~~~

Synopsis

Paul Russo’s wife just died. While trying to get his family’s life back in order, Paul is being tormented by a demon who is holding his wife’s spirit hostage on the other side. His fate is intertwined with an old haunted mansion on the north shore of Long Island called Stillwell Manor. Paul must find clues dating back hundreds of years to set his wife’s soul free.

For More Information

Book Excerpt:

Paul turned from the dark window, twitching the drapes back in place. It was cold in the house; it had the dank feel of being unused. It had only been empty for a week, and yet it held a stale feeling of overripe food and decaying garbage.

The kids would be coming home tomorrow. He had sent them to his sister’s place for the past week. It was too hard to have to worry about their schedules when he was sitting by Allison’s side. The funeral was yesterday, and he asked his sister to keep them one more day. He needed to have some time to collect himself. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours sitting in the dark, staring at nothing, his mind too numb to think.

Lisa had taken over with the brisk efficiency of the nurse that she was trained to be. Stella was eating once again and Jesse and his twin, Veronica, were able to sleep at night. His sister’s was the safe house, and while he desperately missed his children, he couldn’t deal with their everyday drama while he stayed with Allison for her final weeks.

He played with the chain around his neck then placed the gold band that hung from it on his lips. He closed his eyes, feeling alone. It was his wife’s wedding band and it had never left her finger from the time he had placed it there almost fifteen years ago.

Everything happened so fast. Too fast. His mind replayed the last six months in a montage of colors flashing like an out-of-control merry-go-round. Only it wasn’t a happy ride. Well, he sighed, he had to admit that he did feel relief. It felt wrong to have this burden taken off his shoulders, but his wife didn’t have to suffer anymore. He admitted to himself that he was weary too. She had gone from bad to worse in such a short time. She had slipped into a coma. He held her skeletal hand for a solid week, watching hope die alongside his wife. His family had brought in food, but he felt no hunger. As he stayed by her side, nothing seemed important. Paul stared at her face, memorizing every curve, her deep dimple, the mole she hated above her upper lip. Every second counted, and he wouldn’t waste a minute on himself. His future yawned ahead in a great vastness of nothing that stretched endlessly before him. Alone, mute, and his thoughts jumbled in his head, he couldn’t find words to say what he needed. Did she know how happy she had made him? Did Allison understand how much she meant to him? Could she know that his heart was so numb, he felt as though he were a corpse? Though he sat caressing her hand, could his wife sense the man next to her was spent, empty? It was that burnt-out feeling like after drinking so much that the liquor loses its taste and cigarettes burn with dying fire.

The irony was that he was the smoker, even though he had stopped when the twins were born, thirteen years ago. Allison wouldn’t have it in the house. He cheated at work, chewing gum to disguise the smell on his breath. It had always been a huge fight, and while she painted all kinds of devastating scenarios if he continued to smoke, they never expected her to be the one to fall victim to cancer.

The twins were a rare handful for them. Married for just over a year, they were unprepared for the incessant work. He was building his reputation as a go-to guy for the McMansions that dotted Long Island’s North Shore. The pull of work and two newborns tested their marriage. Allison breast-fed until utter exhaustion—or as he liked to call it “udder” exhaustion—made her stop. She always laughed at that.

Jesse, his son, was all brooding intensity, while Veronica, the elder twin by six minutes, was sweet, faithful, and resilient. They were golden children, kissed by sunlight, with blond hair, freckles, and odd silver eyes, like their mother. They communicated in a strange language that worked only for the two of them. A silent collusion between the twins created a special insight, and they knew exactly what the other was thinking. When words finally arrived, they could finish each other’s sentences.

While he was happy with his family, Allison had wanted another child. Reluctantly, he agreed and was shocked at his devastation when she miscarried. His despair turned to relentless hope, and although they faced a period of secondary infertility, he pushed for seven years, and they became pregnant once again. He called her “Stella Luna,” because she was the stars and moon to him.

With Stella, he had time to play. She was a fey child, filled with whimsy and a touch of an old soul.

Brown-haired and brown-eyed, she was the image of his older sister. Shut out of the twin’s world, he made sure she never felt alone. When she turned two, her soulful brown eyes induced him to give up smoking once and for all. God, he wished he had a cigarette. Right now.

The house screamed with silence, its heavy pall smothering any sense of light. It closed over him. The acid ache in his gut he’d been experiencing since she got sick made its presence known. Padding to the kitchen, he went in search of milk to put out the fire. After he opened the refrigerator door, he stood for a minute staring at the empty shelves. He smelled the open carton of milk and recoiled at the odor. He never remembered buying it and could only guess how old it was. Well, the milk was plainly spoiled, as was the cheese. They had to be at least a month old. Maybe he should just eat the yogurt, let it kill him, and the kids would be done with mourning. Two for the price of one, he thought as he slammed the door. He’d have to go food shopping at some point. Yep, the kids were coming home tomorrow.

~~~~~

Author Michael Phillip Cash

MPC_Photo_bethpage


Michael Phillip Cash is an award-winning novelist and screenwriter. His novels are best-sellers on Amazon under their genres – Young Adult, Thriller, Suspense, Ghost, Action Adventure, Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and Horror.

Michael writes full-time and lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wonderful wife and screaming children. You can follow him @michaelpcash.

 

Author Links: Website | Blog | Twitter |Facebook | Goodreads

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Other books I’ve read by the author.

Click on the covers for my reviews.

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Is that cover something or what! So rich in color and so chilling at the same time. Perfect for the story contained inside the pages.

Check out my review. You might have found your next mystery suspense read!

Title: Touching Death
Author: Becky Johnson
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 209
Genre: Mystery/Suspense

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My Review

I’m huge on character driven stories and really enjoy a strong female protagonist. I got that in Touching Death, along with a fun mystery.

Rachel is down but not out for the count. Her rich boyfriend dumped her for some arm candy, and the creep stole her money, even though he’s got plenty of his own. She’s living in a box, a tiny flat, with a mattress on the floor and empty cupboards and fridge. She does have all of those designer clothes though. They come in handy for working as curator at the museum.

The author has a great character in Rachel. She doesn’t whine about her predicament. She’s not vindictive towards her ex, much. And she keeps her financial woes close to the vest. It was sad yet uplifting to meet such a wonderful character. Did I mention her sense of humor? She has plenty of that too.

It’s finally here, the biggest night of Rachel’s life. She set up the main exhibit for the museum and poured her heart and soul into it. Things don’t go as planned at the opening event. She stumbles upon a dead body, and it mysteriously disappears by the time she leads the police to its location.

Now she has a big red target on her back, and not much help forthcoming from the doubtful police. She’s going to have to use her “woowoo” to solve the case, or she might be put on display as: dead girl here.

 Rachel’s touch/know gift, her ability to touch objects and sense things, ramps up the suspense. There are some pretty dark scenes she’s witness to. I think the author gave this book a great title to represent her story.

There’s the potential for some romance too. I like how the author had her character’s become friends, with room for their relationship to develop into something more.

If you like a good paranormal mystery with some suspense and a touch of romance, I “sense” you’ll enjoy Touching Death.

4 Stars

~~~~~

Synopsis

Rachel Angeletti knows things. She always has. With one touch she sees secrets, emotions, lies. Her gift helps her to be the best museum curator in Chicago. It also makes her personal relationships difficult.
Her life is complicated enough when a run in with her ex and an unanticipated vision sends her reeling. One touch and she sees death. One touch and she is thrown into the midst of killer’s dark fantasy. Now Rachel is in a fight for her life against a killer she knows too little about.
With danger stalking her around every turn Rachel is in a thrilling race against the clock. Can she catch a killer before he catches her?
Touching Death will take you on a riveting, page-turning, journey into the mind of a killer and the heart of a survivor.

For More Information:

  • Touching Death is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

~~~~~

Book Excerpt

I was eleven the first time I saw someone die.

It was hot. The kind of hot where your shirt sticks to your back and every breath feels thick and heavy. The waistband of my plaid, pleated school uniform was itchy. It was always itchy, but in Chicago in early September with the temperature in the nineties, I could barely stand it.

“Look,” my best friend April gave my arm a sharp and eager tug, “I can’t believe he’s talking to her.”

I looked across the museum where she was pointing. Jonathan Adams. With his dark hair and blue eyes he was the cutest guy in our class. He was talking to Carol, the prettiest girl in our class and our sworn enemy. April had such an intense crush on Jonathan. She had already named their children and when we played the name game she always wanted to get him.

While April plotted revenge on her arch nemesis, I looked across the Ancients room in The Chicago Museum of Anthropology and Archeology to where Billy Masters stood by a glass display case. His hair was unruly and stuck up in odd peaks from his forehead in complete disregard of the rules. His white, button-down shirt hung out over his waistband. Technically, he was wearing the school tie; he just wore it tied around his belt loop, a bright red flag of rebellion. I never wanted to admit it, but when I daydreamed and played the name game, I was always looking for Billy Masters.

Our class slowly moved through the large room. My teacher, Ms. Daniels, stood at the front of our group lecturing on the Egyptian Empire. With her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, her stockings sagging around her skinny legs, and her soft and squeaky voice the lecture didn’t keep my attention. Her high-pitched voice faded to the background as I gazed at the surrounding exhibits. They were all so beautiful and fascinating. My imagination ran wild with stories and images. I imagined hands cupping a bowl or pulling a comb through a child’s hair. In my mind’s eye a thousand stories and possibilities ran wild.

We walked through the center aisle of a room, clustered with pottery and remnants of houses. I felt the strangest urge, the almost all consuming desire to touch. My fingertips itched. The power of it drew me. The crumbled edges of the pottery bowl almost begged me to touch them. Only a velvet rope and a few feet separated me from that tantalizing edge.

One touch. No one will know.

I didn’t even realize I’d stepped forward until the velvet rope stopped me from going any further. Vaguely, I heard my teacher discussing social structure and family groups, but the pounding of my own heart overpowered all other noise.

Rachel, the past whispered, “come. See. Life and death.”

I reached my hand out and my fingers brushed the edge of the bowl.

Laughter.

Raised voices.

Yelling.

Screams.

Crying.

The images bombarded me — a woman sat in front of a fire pit making dinner for her family. A dispute nearby grabbed her attention. Two men were fighting. The crowd surged and pulsed with the energy of the fight. Screamed words sounded foreign to my ears, but the emotion made perfect sense — fear, anger, uncertainty.

Only the woman with the bowl saw the little boy standing too close to the fighters. Only the woman with the bowl saw the danger. She screamed his name. Her screams went unheard in the din. The crowd moved with the fight, their bodies cutting off her view.

The bowl was clutched tight in her fingers as she struggled forward, pushing people aside. It grew eerily quiet. The crowd slowed, then paused responding to a different energy. Shoulders and heads slumped as they parted before her. The little boy was on the ground. A bloody rock lay near him. She dropped the bowl as she surged forward, screaming.

I awoke on the ground in front the display my face wet and my throat raw with the echo of the screams still ringing in my ears.

~~~~~

Author Becky Johnson

 becky-johnson

Books are Becky Johnson’s passion and always have been. She used to get in trouble in school for reading during class!
Becky has Master’s degrees in social work and history, and for her day job she is a social worker. In her writing she tries to answer a question that is important to both social work and history: Why? She always wants to know why people do the things they do or feel the way they feel.
When not reading or writing she enjoys yoga, photography, cooking, and makes a pretty mean chili!

Her latest book is the mystery/suspense, Touching Death.

For More Information:

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The Madonna of Notre Dame Banner

The Madonna Of Notre Dame

by Alexis Ragougneau

29363299

Release date: October 11, 2016
at New Vessel Press

ISBN: 978-1-939931-39-3
210 pages

Genre: Thriller

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My Review

This is a tangled thriller with a murder not easily solved.

A woman’s body is found in the ambulatory of the chapel, Our Lady Of Seven Sorrows. Seemingly, she’s been there for hours. No one realized she was dead.

Now, it’s a scramble to discover who killed her and what message they were sending by posing her body and leaving it at such a public venue.

I’m not familiar with the working of the Catholic faith so I found it fascinating to read a story that delves into the inner workings. And the translation to English was well done, the story flowed quickly.

This was unfamiliar territory, the church and the foreign setting, and I enjoyed the rich descriptions that helped me to visual and appreciate the beauty of such settings.

The intriguing cast of character’s, including the police and priests, made this a straight through read for me as I unraveled the clues and finally found out who killed the Madonna and why. I was surprised, yet not surprised. Surprised at who did it. Not so much as to why.

I’d recommend this to those who enjoy a tightly written thriller with a good dash of mystery.

4 Stars

~~~~~

Synopsis

Fifty thousand believers and photo-hungry tourists jam into Notre Dame Cathedral on August 15 to celebrate the Feast of the Assumption. The next morning, a stunningly beautiful young woman clothed all in white kneels at prayer in a cathedral side chapel. But when an American tourist accidentally bumps against her, her body collapses. She has been murdered: the autopsy reveals disturbing details. Police investigators and priests search for the killer as they discover other truths about guilt and redemption in this soaring Paris refuge for the lost, the damned, and the saved. The suspect is a disturbed young man obsessed with the Virgin Mary who spends his days hallucinating in front of a Madonna. But someone else knows the true killer of the white-clad daughter of Algerian immigrants. This thrilling novel illuminates shadowy corners of the world’s most famous cathedral, shedding light on good and evil with suspense, compassion and wry humor.

~~~~~

Excerpt

A little farther, he greeted two cleaning women who were

finishing sweeping the north transept, hushed a group of Chinese

tourists whose cackling echoed through the cathedral, which was

otherwise still quiet at that time, then, pushing his cart, set off

along the black and white tiled floor of the ambulatory. That’s

when his colleague, the guard, came to mind. Immediately, he

saw her. Or rather, in the half light, he just made her out.

The bombshell was indeed there, at the very end of the

ambulatory, perfectly still, alone, as though delicately placed on

the bench outside the chapel of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows.

Gérard approached and started emptying the nearest candle

rack. The few candles lit by the first visitors of the day spread

more shadow than light, so that what he was able to distinguish

was a form rather than a body, a profile rather than a face. She

was wearing a short white dress made of such sheer fabric it followed

closely every curve, every bend in her flesh. Her black

hair, shimmering in places, cascaded over her neck and shoulders

like a river of silk. Her hands, joined in prayer like those

of a child, rested on her bare thighs. On her feet, held demurely

together under the bench like those of a schoolgirl, she had a

pair of high-heeled pumps so white and varnished that it was

futile to resist a glance. They underlined her slender ankles and

the contours of her calves.

Gérard lost himself in the contemplation of this stunning

figure, forgetting for a moment his boxes of candles, his cart, his

hassles, and the monotony of his work as sacristan. However, he

was soon interrupted by the crackle of a radio, the one he wore

at his belt, emitting his name.

“Guard to sacristan … Gérard? … Gérard, do you read me?”

“Yes, I can hear you. What do you want?”

“Did you go look?”

“I’m right here.”

“Is she still there?”

“Yes. Good as gold.”

 “And?”

“Definitely explosive … You were right.”

He put back his walkie-talkie with the guard’s laughter still

resounding from it, then, somewhat reluctantly, finished cleaning

out the candle rack. Behind him, a handful of worshippers

were already entering the chancel, where the nine o’clock

Mass was about to begin. He had to get the necessary liturgical

accessories ready. Father Kern was officiating this morning, and

Father Kern did not tolerate delays.

A little later, he again had occasion to go through the ambulatory.

An automatic dispenser of medals stamped with Ave

Maria Gratia Plena had just become jammed and a tourist, a

corpulent American woman, was tormenting the refund button.

In the chancel, the Mass was following its course. Father

Kern was delivering the day’s homily in his metallic, authoritative

voice, plunging the cathedral into a respectful silence. As he

opened the cover of the medal dispenser and the jammed coins

fell one by one as though from a piggy bank, Gérard ventured

a glance at the young woman dressed in white. She was there,

she hadn’t budged, her hands still clasped together on her pale

thighs, her two pumps still united. Outside, the sun was rising

straight up in line with the chapel and, penetrating the stained

glass in the east, was starting to bathe the young woman’s translucent

face in a red and blue halo worthy of a Raphael Madonna.

Motionless on her bench reserved for prayer, protected by a rope

that isolated her from visitors and gave her the appearance of a

holy relic, she stared at the statue of the Virgin of Seven Sorrows

with an oddly vacant expression.

Gérard closed the medal dispenser and took a couple of steps

toward the young woman in white, but the American tourist was

already ahead of him. She took a bill from her handbag and

pushed it through the slit in the stand, then took four candles,

which she lined up on the nearby rack before lighting them one

by one. Their flickering light finally illuminated the girl’s face.

The tourist crossed herself and approached the bench. In a

heavily accented whisper, she asked the young woman in white if

she could sit next to her in order to pray. Still motionless, the girl

did not deign to reply, her eyes as though transfixed by the statue

of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows. After repeating her question

and still not obtaining an answer, the American deposited her

posterior on the bench, the wood groaning slightly beneath her

weight. Then, as if in slow motion, as if in a nightmare from the

dead of night, the white Madonna slowly nodded. Her chin came

down on her chest then, gently, almost gracefully, her whole body

toppled forward before collapsing on the checkered tiles.

That’s when the fat American woman started to scream.

~~~~~

Author Alexis Ragougneau

Alexis Ragougneau
is a playwright and
The Madonna of Notre Dame is his first novel.
He has worked in Notre Dame Cathedral
helping monitor tourist crowds
and knows well its infinite secrets
and the forgotten souls who linger in its darkest corners.

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Buy the book: on Amazon

~~~~~

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The History Major
By: Michael Phillip Cash

 

The History MajorBlurb

After a vicious fight with her boyfriend followed by a night of heavy partying, college freshman Amanda Greene wakes up in her dorm room to find things are not the same as they were yesterday. She can’t quite put her finger on it. She’s sharing her room with a peculiar stranger. Amanda discovers she’s registered for classes she would never choose with people that are oddly familiar. An ominous shadow is stalking her. Uncomfortable memories are bubbling dangerously close to her fracturing world, propelling her to an inevitable collision between fantasy and reality. Is this the mother of all hangovers or is something bigger happening?

 

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My Review

I tell ya, the author sure did a good job of putting me in his character’s shoes. I felt just as lost and confused as Amanda, right up until just before the very end. Got a feeling Michael planned it that way.

Ever had one of those mornings where you wake up after drinking too much the night before and a lot of those hours are missing or fuzzy? Or had one of those dreams where you are running and running, and the point you are running to keeps getting farther away, and you know you’re dreaming but can’t wake up?

That’s how Amanda felt after waking up to a roommate who wasn’t her roommate and college classes she didn’t sign up for. And that’s how I felt too as I followed her experiences. I mentioned feeling that way right up until before the end. I finally grasped some pieces of the story, and the author directed me to the rest.

I’ve read many of this author’s books, yet this felt so different from those others. More philosophical perhaps. Certainly a dark tale.

3 Stars

~~~~~

Excerpt

She walked slowly to the window and rested her hands on the filthy sill, her face pressed against the glass. It was so familiar, yet it had a strangeness, as if she’d never seen it before. It was different. Amanda let her eyes roam over the vista before her, trying to put her finger on the change. It seemed like yesterday that the landscape had been filled with lush, verdant leaves. The Indian summer refused to move on, the maples, hickories, and birches filling branches abundantly in varied shades of restful green, so that the school looked crisp, fresh, and inviting. Overnight, autumn painted a new picture, fading the landscape, ushering in the next season; the leaves withering, curling, setting the branches on fire with vivid oranges, yellows, and reds; the bases covered with the remains of dead leaves, shriveled and brown. It was too early; Amanda was puzzled by the change. A dark shape raced across the lawn, too fast for her to discern, but the feeling of unease returned. The shadow disappeared quickly behind one of the great gnarled tree trunks that Patrick had told her were the entrances for the goblins that terrorized the campus. She smiled, wishing Patrick were there so she could point it out to him. She squinted hard, trying to figure out what exactly had caught her attention, but the bleak landscape offered nothing. She laughed for the first time, her ribs protesting, missing Patrick so hard that it hurt more than her bones.

Amanda’s brow furrowed, and the hammer clanging behind her eyes filled her skull, but the memory of how she had gotten there eluded her.

Goodreads

PURCHASE

Amazon / B&N

 

Author InfoMPC_Photo_bethpage


Michael Phillip Cash is an award-winning novelist and screenwriter. His novels are best-sellers on Amazon under their genres – Young Adult, Thriller, Suspense, Ghost, Action Adventure, Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and Horror.

Michael writes full-time and lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wonderful wife and screaming children. You can follow him @michaelpcash.

 

.

Author Links: Website | Blog | Twitter |Facebook | Goodreads

 

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Other books I’ve read by Michael Phillip Cash.

Click on the covers for my reviews.

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 Scar Tissue
by MC Domovitch
Publisher: Lansen Publishing
Pages: 396
Genre: Romantic Suspense/Thriller/Paranormal

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My Review

How could I resist reading this after catching a glimpse of that cover and sampling the blurb. I do love a good mystery. Add in some thrills and suspense and it’s all good.

Ciara wakes up in intensive care with no memory of what happened to her. Why did someone attack her? Who did it? She doesn’t have a clue.

After getting over the shock, she explores her options. Then she begins her mission. Find out who did this. Exact revenge.

I simplified the story. So much happens. Saying anything more would be spoiling it and we can’t have that.

I love books like this. The author turns you inside out as you empathize with the heroine. And you love to hate the two-faced losers and those who should, but don’t, stand by her.

And when Ciara gets cranked up, it’s nonstop suspense until the very end. Lots of surprises in store for you. You can probably guess some of what will happen, but the author doesn’t make everything obvious. There are some really good twists too.

Once you begin this book, you’ll quickly be sucked in. It has a riveting plot. A great cast of characters. And plenty of mystery to keep you intrigued.

4 Stars

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Excerpt

It was the pain that pierced the fog in her brain. It seemed to come from all over her body, more intensely from her right leg, where it pulsated to the rhythm of her heart. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt…so…very…heavy. It was easier to fall back into the haze inside her mind. She floated there, vaguely aware of somebody calling her name.

“Ciara, it’s me.” The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Please wake up.”.”” She drifted off again.

Time had lost all meaning. She wandered in and out of a great void. She might have been sleeping for minutes or days. Occasionally her eyelids fluttered for a few seconds, only to grow still again. One day when she opened her eyes, the fog had lifted. The first thing she saw were old acoustic ceiling tiles. Puzzled, she blinked. A beeping caught her attention and she shifted her gaze to the side. Next to her was a monstrous machine. Tubes were running from it to her and back again. Where was she?

She tried to speak, but there was something in her mouth. She moaned, and then a woman was bending over her, her eyes full of tears.

“Ciara. Can you hear me?” Her sister? Deirdre was here? All the way from Seattle? She must be in a hospital. If she was sick, whatever she had was serious.

“If you can, squeeze my hand.” She strained to move, but her limbs were great weights. Her movements were sluggish. But she must have squeezed because suddenly Deirdre was yelling, “She’s awake. Ciara is awake.” But she was asleep again.

Over the next few days, there were more and more moments of awareness. The tube in her mouth was removed and she was given ice chips, and then water. She couldn’t seem to get enough.

“Good morning, young lady,” a doctor said.

It was morning? She’d had no idea. He shone a penlight in her eyes. She vaguely remembered him doing this before. She must have drifted off again, because she blinked and he was gone.

A different doctor came to visit. He wore surgical greens. He too peered into her eyes with a light and then asked her a number of questions, starting with her name.

“Ciara Kelly,” she said in a voice she barely recognized. From a corner of her room came an excited voice. “Oh, my God! She’s speaking. That means she’s fully out of the coma, doesn’t it?”

She hadn’t dreamed it. Her sister truly was right here in New York.

This is New York, isn’t it?

“It’s still too soon to be certain, but things look good so far.” The doctor continued with his questions. “Can you count backward from one hundred for me?”

She had to think hard. “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight.” Had she gotten that right?

“Very good.” After another half dozen questions, the doctor smiled at last. “Welcome back, Ciara. You’ve had a lot of people very worried for a long time. Do you remember what happened?”

“I was in an accident?” she guessed.

“That’s right. Do you remember it?”

She wrinkled her brow in concentration. “I was at a photo shoot for Prêt-a-Porter,” she said, naming a popular magazine. “Oh, my God. I was supposed to fly to Milan today. I’ve got to get out of here. My agent will kill me if I miss my flight.”

“You already missed that flight,” her sister said. “You’ve been in a coma for a while.”

“In a coma?” Ciara looked at her blankly. “How long of a while?”

There was a hesitation, until at last Deirdre said, “Seventeen days.”

“Seven…” That was impossible. Why, that photo shoot was only yesterday. She was sure of it. She’d been looking forward to her flight to Italy and auditioning for all the glamorous designer shows. Could that really have been over two weeks ago? She suddenly noticed her forearms. She hardly recognized them as her own. They were so thin. She must have lost a ton of weight. Her first reaction was one of joy. Even her agent would have to agree she was thin enough now. She imagined what she might say when she saw her. Why Ciara, you’re a perfect size two. Armani will adore you.

But from what her sister had just said, the collections were already half over. And come to think of it, she had no idea what kind of shape she was in. How badly was she hurt? Could she even walk? She flexed her toes and was relieved to see movement under the bedsheet. At least she wasn’t paralyzed.

“What’s wrong with me?” At the same time she became aware of a dull pain in her right leg. “Please tell me I don’t have a broken leg. I don’t have time for that. I have to get back to work.”

Deirdre came closer, placing a comforting hand over hers. “Work will have to wait. You have some healing to do first. You were pretty banged up when you were brought in. You had a compound fracture of the leg, not to mention a lot of cuts and bruises. But, didn’t I always tell you, you have a really hard head, Ciara Kelly, because with the blow you got you should have had a broken skull. Instead, all you got was a concussion.”

The doctor took over from there. “But as far as concussions go, yours was a beauty. Your leg will be fine. We had to put in a few screws, so from now on you might beep when you go through airport security. Your cuts are healing nicely. All in all, you are one very lucky young lady.”

He called this lucky?

“What about my head? Am I… Will I…” She could deal with all of that, but the thought of having a brain injury was too much.

“You did have a brain bleed when you came in. But we were able to treat it without surgery. You’ve had an MRI, and from what we can tell, except for a tiny bit of scar tissue in the posterior cingulate cortex, everything is fine. If you had lingering problems, they most likely would have shown up by now.”

“Posterior cingular…What does that area of the brain do?”

“The posterior cingulate cortex,” he repeated with a teasing smile. “That’s an area most people have never heard of. It’s one of the most metabolically active regions of the brain, but the simple truth is nobody really knows what its true cognitive role might be.”

“Are you telling me I might have brain damage, and you don’t know how it might affect me?”

The teasing glint was gone, but his tone was still light. “No idea whatsoever.” He picked her chart and scribbled a few words. “But we’ll keep an eye on you and if we notice anything, we’ll deal with it then.”

Her sister gave him a reproving look. “You’re fine, Ciara. Don’t worry about it. They’ve taken every possible test and everything looks perfectly normal.”

A nurse walked in at that moment, signaling for the doctor’s attention. “The police are sending somebody over to question the patient.”

“The police?” Ciara said. “Of course. The accident.” They’d want her version of what happened.  “Why can’t I remember anything between the photo shoot and waking up here?”

The room became quiet. “That’s not abnormal,” the doctor said at last. “You’ve only been fully awake for a few hours. It could take days, maybe even longer before everything comes back to you.” Ciara nodded, her eyes darting from the doctor to her sister. She had the feeling they were keeping something from her.

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Synopsis

When successful model Ciara Cain wakes up in hospital, remembering nothing of the weeks she has been missing, her only clues are the ugly words carved into her skin. According to the police she was a victim of the Cutter, a serial killer who has already murdered three women. For her protection the police and her doctors give a press conference, announcing that because her amnesia is organically caused, her memory loss is permanent. But, whether her memory returns or not is anybody’s guess.
Overnight, Ciara’s glamorous life is gone. Her scars have killed both her modelling career and her relationship with her rich boyfriend. With nothing to keep her in New York, she returns to her home town of Seattle, moves in with her sister and goes about building a new life. But when her sister lets it slip that Ciara’s memory is returning, the killer comes after her again. If Ciara is to stay alive, she must keep one step ahead of the Cutter.

For More Information

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About Author M C Domovitch

M C Domovitch is the author of nine novels, four of which were published under the name of Carol Ann Martin (by Penguin), another two under the name Monique Domovitch (by Carina Press) The other three are published as M C Domovitch, Scorpio Rising, The Sting of the Scorpio (Both now republished in one single tome) and Scar Tissue. The decision to use a different pen name was based on her departure from cozy mysteries and entering the Romance and Romantic Suspense genres.

Before becoming an author, Monique had multiple careers, beginning with modeling. She won a modeling contest in the 70s and became one of Canada’s top models. After retiring from the fashion industry, she studied finance and joined an investment company. This led to a new career as host of her own television show about investing, with the television network, WTN. Following her retirement from finance, she decided to pursue her true passion, writing. At a writing workshop at San Diego’s Writers’ Conference, one of her unpublished books caught the eye of a publisher and of an agent. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Domovitch lives with her physician husband and their dogs. They divide their time between homes in Victoria and Toronto Canada and Key Largo Florida.

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Cold, Cold Heart
A Short Story

by Karin Slaughter

Release Date: August 23, 2016

Publisher: Witness Impulse

Genre: Thriller/Suspense

Format: Ebook

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Genre: Thriller / Suspense

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My Review

Never has that saying, ” hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” echoed more loudly. Dumped by her husband for a newer, younger model, Pam is reluctant to oblige her ex-husbands death bed request to come visit him.

She rethinks this when she realizes it’s the perfect opportunity to dish out a little of the cold dish called revenge.

Ah, what a sordid, deliciously evil tale of what goes around comes around.  Yeah, I know. A lot of cliches here. But they fit this little tale so well.

When Fatal Attraction first aired at the cinema. I bet a whole lot of men thought twice about incurring a woman’s wrath. Too bad Pam’s ex didn’t. How this all plays out is so dark and dirty, yet it had me rubbing my hands in glee. I’m team Pam!

For all of you fans of Karin’s books and in need of a fix, I highly recommend you treat yourself to this short, wicked morsel.

4 Stars

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Synopsis

First comes love.

Then comes marriage.

Then comes revenge.

In this sensational short story from the bestselling author of The Kept Woman and Pretty Girls, fifty-two-year-old Pam has done her utmost as a loyal wife to her now ex-husband John. He dropped her cruelly . . . but with a terminal illness about to claim his life, Pam now sees an opportunity to settle the score, in a way that no one—not their children, not her ex, and certainly not the reader—will see coming . . .

Surprising, suspenseful, and diabolically clever, Cold, Cold Heart offers old fans and new readers alike a taste of the writer Gillian Flynn calls “one of the finest crime novelists at work today.”

amazon  barnes and noble

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Author Karen Slaughter

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Karin Slaughter is the #1 internationally bestselling author of more than a dozen novels, including the Will Trent and Grant County series and the instant New York Times bestselling standalones, Cop Town and Pretty Girls. There are more than 35 million copies of her books in print around the world.

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Follow the tour

Monday, August 22 – Book featured at What is That Book About

Tuesday, August 23 – Book reviewed at Stormy Nights Reviewing

Wednesday, August 24 – Book featured at Celticlady’s Reviews

Thursday, August 25 – Book reviewed at The Book Bag

Friday, August 26 – Book featured at Harmonious Publicity

Monday, August 29 – Book featured at Cover2Cover

Tuesday, August 30 – Book featured at Literal Exposure

Wednesday, August 31 – Book featured at Write and Take Flight

Thursday, September 1 – Book featured at The Review From Here

Friday, September 2 – Book featured at The Writer’s Life

Monday, September 5 – Book reviewed at I’m Shelf-ish

Tuesday, September 6 – Book featured at The Dark Phantom

Wednesday, September 7 – Book featured at Voodoo Princess

Thursday, September 8 – Book featured at The Literary Nook

Friday, September 9 – Book featured at A Title Wave

Monday, September 12 – Book reviewed at fuonlyknew

Tuesday, September 13 -Book featured at  Authors and Readers Book Corner

Wednesday, September 14 – Book reviewed at Fallen Over Book Reviews

Book featured at CBY Book Club

Book featured at Mello and June

Book reviewed at Fundinmental

Thursday, September 15 – Book featured at Paranormal and Romantic Suspense Reviews

Book featured at The Bookworm Lodge

Book featured at Deal Sharing Aunt

Friday, September 16 – Book reviewed at Freda’s Voice

Saturday, September 17 – Book reviewed at Cheekypee Reads and Reviews

Sunday, September 18 – Book reviewed at Ali the Dragonslayer

Monday, September 19 – Book reviewed at Pretty Little Book Reviews

Book reviewed at The Book Tree

Book featured at Tez Says

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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