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Showing posts with label bewitching book tours. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bewitching book tours. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

A Heart of Salt and Silver by Elexis Bell


A Heart of Salt and Silver
Elexis Bell

Genre: Dark supernatural high fantasy romance

Date of Publication: 11/3/2020

Cover Artist: Elexis Bell 

Tagline: With eternity on the line, is love worth the risk?

Book Description: 

Ness, a demi-demon with a conscience, just wanted a peaceful afternoon in the Forest of Immortals. But Elias, a reckless mortal, went and spoiled it. Not that he wanted to be chased by psychotic vampires.

After saving his life, Ness agrees to help him find his estranged father and his Pack. But that means facing Nolan, the werewolf ex that holds her heart.

Now, Ness must decide. Use Elias to forget Nolan at the cost of his soul or crawl back to her ex and hope he still wants her even though she broke his heart.

But in a world sprinkled with immortals, broken hearts might be the least of their worries.

Fans of gritty fiction, compelling romance, and imaginative takes on magic and the afterlife will love this dark supernatural high fantasy romance.


Excerpt 1:

“Unhand us, witch!” the vampire shouts.

The mortals, apparently far smarter than this vampire, remain silent. Even the vampire’s own pledge seals his lips shut. A wave of Nether wafts off him, marking him as a Nether witch.

But fury sparks within me, and a dark grin overtakes me. I lower my arm, setting the blades down gently in the middle of the clearing.

“What was that?” I ask, daring the vampire to repeat himself.

Stupidly enough, he does. “I said, ‘unhand us, witch!’ Let us go quickly, and I might not kill you.”

Arrogant fool.

I laugh quietly, and all the birds fly away, deserting their treetop perches. A dangerous glint shines in my eyes as I saunter within arm’s reach.

“Witch? You think me a witch?”

“How else could a pitiful, puny little woman like you do all this?” He jerks his head at the other two men, unable to move his arms. Cheeks flushed with anger, he draws back and spits in my face, dark eyes flashing, all the while.

Nearby animals sense my anger reverberating on the Nether, and the woods fall completely silent. Fury roils within me, and visions of blood fill my mind. Everything in me demands his evisceration.

Or perhaps the removal of some limbs…

With eyes narrowed, I lift one hand. He flinches, and I smile, baring my teeth. His spit floats into the air, leaping happily from my skin. My spine shivers with disgust and hatred as I force the spit to smear itself over the vampire’s face, over his eyes.

Slowly twirling one finger, I tighten his bonds. Air rushes from his lungs, and his soft face goes red as he struggles to breathe.

“You underestimate me. I don’t know a single witch who can do everything I’ve done without at least three days of spell and potion preparation. Not to mention the difficulty of lugging all those ingredients out here.”

Lifting one average looking fingernail to his face, I trace one of his cheekbones, then the other, splitting the skin wide. A line drawn down the center of his nose, from bridge to tip, releases still more blood.

My eyes flutter as the darkest parts of me savor the sight.

“As for spitting on me,” I whisper, knowing my voice will carry to the others, echoing in their bones despite its low volume, “that was a grave mistake. Most of my kind would have killed you on the spot, simply for the disturbance.”

Voice suddenly a hiss, I say, “You’re lucky I’ve learned patience.”

My soul riots for revenge, and my blood boils in my veins. I fight the damnable words, hating my own weakness before my rage, but still, I say, “But ignorance must not go to seed. Your family line will end with you. You will never again create, or prolong, life.”

And I shift the Nether to make it so.

“Your kind? What are you talking about? What makes you think you can curse me?” All bluff and bluster, the vampire tries to appear brave and defiant.

But I feel the fear leaking off him. I smell it in his blood, acrid and spoiled. I hear it in his sputtering heartbeat, slightly more erratic than those of the others.

Again, I say nothing. Drawing a deep breath, I close my eyes slowly.

Thunder roars through the clearing, rumbling in all our chests. I open my eyes, glittering gold sending light reflecting back at the vampire, and my skin grows paler. Fingernails become golden talons, embedded in black skin which reveals hues of purple as it fades to white just above my wrist. My eyelids are colored similarly, pulsing with the Nether that reaches out through my skin.

Black horns burst from my skull, sticking through locks of deepest red. My horns twist as they taper off, curling back over the top of my head.

The color drains from the vampire’s face, concealed as it is by his blood. Sick glee spikes through me.

“Did you know you would feel my revelation in your blood? Did you know the very air would tremble with it?” I ask, knowing the answer to be a resounding “no.”

“You’re a…” he trails off, unable to speak for lack of air.

“Demi-demon is, I believe, the word you’re looking for,” I say, smiling malevolently. “Now, I’m going to untether you, and you’re going to run. Before I change my mind.”


About the Author: 

Elexis Bell is a quiet nerd with too many hobbies, including everything from gaming to shower-singing and even archery, weather permitting. She specializes in sarcasm and writing stories that make people feel. She's made a home for herself with her husband, their dog, and a small army of cats.

She writes dark, gritty stories, sprinkling gut-wrenching emotions over high fantasy romance, thrillers, post-apocalyptic romance, and science fiction.

For further information, follow her on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook, or check out her blog on her website.

Website: www.elexisbell.com 

Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/gnTZwf   

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Elexis-Bell-877360839111331/   

Twitter: www.twitter.com/bell_elexis 

Blog: http://www.elexisbell.com/blog/

Instagram: www.instagram.com/elexis_bell 

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/elexis_bell/

Allauthor: https://allauthor.com/author/elexisbell/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17807452.Elexis_Bell

Nanowrimo: https://nanowrimo.org/participants/elexisbell

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Sunday, November 1, 2020

The Markings by Catherine Downen



The Markings
Book 1 
Catherine Downen

Genre: YA Fantasy
Date of Publication: 4/24/2020
ISBN: 9781087915173
ASIN: B085TPG5SV
Number of pages: 444
Word Count: 112K
Cover Artist: Bilal Haider

Book Description: 

DATHER IS AN ISLAND THAT WAS ONCE KNOWN AS OHAU. A nation that rose from the ashes after an asteroid shower has divided itself when people began to discover their unique powers. 

At sixteen-years-old Adaline sits in prison with her mother and younger brother, and today is Parting Day where more prisoners will be executed. After seven years of being spared, Adaline's luck has run out. 

But she won't go quietly or easily. Her life depends on her ability to escape the grasps of the King and find a place of freedom. Discovering her unique powers is the turning point Adaline needs to get a second chance at her freedom. 

In this thrilling novel of friendship, family, and secrets Adaline runs for her life and learns the truth of her past along the way. 

Amazon      BN



The new hardcover release is an exclusive edition of The Markings featuring 60+ pages of new content. These pages include bonus chapters from three main characters (Zavy, Alexander, and Derith), as well as the first chapter from book two. These exclusive hardcover editions are sold through Amazon.
 
You can also buy unique Signed Copies with Sprayed Edges 




About the Author

Catherine Downen is the author of The Markings. She recently graduated from Bradley University with a degree in Mechanical Engineering. She has always had a love for writing and a passion for telling stories. Currently, Catherine is working as a Sustaining Engineer in St. Louis, while writing books.












Book Two, Crowning Keys, Releases January 12, 2021




Saturday, October 31, 2020

Black Oak : The Loveless Chronicles Chapter 1 by Titus Murphy

 

Black Oak 
The Loveless Chronicles 
Chapter 1 
Titus Murphy 

Genre: Horror, Fantasy
Publication Date: October 31, 2020
Publisher: Cosby Media Production 
ASIN: B08KRQDCGY

WELCOME TO BLACK OAK!

In the town of Black Oak, nothing is ever what it seems. Besides the wrangling local country-types, the city is marred by a history of indiscretions, murders, and no-named civilians perpetrating as heroes. But beneath the surface of this "run of the mill," Midwestern locale lurks a pervasive past that is about to come full circle: like a blazing blood moon.

Mark is an unassuming trucker who has fallen for a beautiful clerk working at a “Mom & Pop” store named Sharon, and nothing else in the world matters more than stealing her heart. But after making a run into the Bayou to deliver a package, destiny steps in and serves him a plate of "the unexpected," which sparks the flames of wickedness that will set his hometown ablaze. And as the secrets buried in this town begin to unearth, the truth will fan those burning flames until there is nothing left but ashes and chaos.

In the end, the only mystery left to solve will be if this is isolated to one town or involve the fate of the entire world...

FOREWORD REVIEW: "...full of interesting characters who hold attention...the secrets of their home are a binding force that brings the tale together."

CLARION RATING: 4/5 "In the fantasy novel Black Oak, citizens across two ears reckon with strange creatures among them."


Excerpt:

“A what?” Sharon laughed.

“You know, a PITA. Pain in the ass?”

Sharon couldn’t contain her laughter. The conversation seemed to be leading to a much more relaxed place for Mark, and that had to be a good sign. Sharon playfully pushed Mark and prodded him on. “Tell me the story your mom told you, silly,” she said. ”What was it about?”

“Okay. Now I know this might sound kind of crazy to you, but she would tell me about these wild beasts in the Black Oaks.” 

“Are you serious?” asked Sharon.

Mark nodded. “Very.”

“Well, to be honest, I’ve heard that story over a million times too.”

“Word?”

“Yeah. What, you thought you were the only one it was told to? This is Wichita, Mark. Everyone here has heard that story before. My dad used to tell my cousin and me that story every weekend and virtually every day she was sleeping over during the summer. He said that the forest was run by wild animals with long fangs and claws that could rip a man to shreds with one swing. Said they’d harvest your heart for food and drink your blood like wine.”

“Word? Like werewolves?” Mark asked.

“Yeah. Sorta. I remember how my mom would lean against the threshold of my room, listening with a serious look on her face as if the story my dad was telling us was the truth. And no matter how many times it was told to me, it would always sound the same. Wild beasts, murderous rampages and mysterious sightings in Kansas, especially in the Black Oak Forest. I brushed it off as a myth because it always sounded like some werewolf story to me. But some people say the stories are real because they’ve been told for over a hundred years in Wichita. Who knows, maybe it all could be the truth. But I never have nor do I now give it too much thought. I tend to put my faith in what I can see, and I’ve never seen anything like what my father and others describe in those stories.”

“Me either,” said Mark.

“Well, I tend to live by one rule when it comes to wives’ tales. If it doesn’t happen to me, it’s not real. So since neither of us has ever seen one before, they don’t exist. And that means it was just a story. Something to tell unruly kids, like you and me, to keep us in line.”


About the Author:

Titus Murphy was born and raised on the streets of New Orleans, Louisiana.  From a small child, there was an overarching desire for Titus to do one thing: win. His drive and determination drove him to succeed. Armed with a strong mind, a quick wit, and a sharp tongue, he set out to emblaze his mark on everyone he would encounter. Unknown to him were the overwhelming obstacles and seemingly insurmountable tragedy he would have to endure. From this devastation came a resolve fueled by an uncompromising commitment that resonates through every aspect of his life. Forced from the city he knew and loved, Titus relocated to Atlanta, Georgia. It was there his desire and commitment came together resolutely to birth a dream that had long been held in his heart. Oblivious to detraction, and beyond all doubt, Titus would become an author. From the streets of New Orleans that marked his life, to the ink-graced pages upon which he now pours his soul, Titus Murphy has come to show the world that he is truly…something more. 







Friday, October 30, 2020

Queen’s Ascension Blood Prophecy 3 by Barb Jones




Halloween Recipes That Kids Love

Pizza Mummies

Ingredients
2 english muffins, cut in half
8 teaspoons pizza sauce
2 mozzarella cheese sticks
3 green olives with pimentos

**Preheat oven to 400℉.

Place the English muffin halves on a baking sheet and bake for 5 minutes.

Remove muffins from oven and spread 2 teaspoons of the pizza sauce onto each English muffin half.

Peel the mozzarella sticks into strings and decoratively arrange them on top of each English muffin. Slice the green olives into 1/4 inch thick rings and place them on top of the cheese to create eyes.*

Bake mummies for 3 more minutes, or until the cheese is melted.

Bloody Eyeballs

Ingredients

½ watermelon

1. Using a melon scooper, scoop the melon into balls, try to vary the size/shape for fun
2. Finish scooping out any excess watermelon and let it sit on the side
3. Take sprite or 7up and pour some into the watermelon for additional flavor.  Use your own judgment for that extra flavor.
4. Take the melon balls and put back into the watermelon and pour the excess watermelon on top for that “gooey appeal”
5. Serve.

Chocolate Pudding Guts

1. Take your favorite chocolate pudding or make your own and place in a large bowl.
2. You want this either room temperature or cold because what you add in it, should not melt.
3. Add marshmallows, gummy bears/worms, nuts, whipped cream (your choosing)
4. Mix so that it is blended and ready to serve in small bowls to the monster hunters and monsters.

Queen’s Ascension
Blood Prophecy
Book Three
Barb Jones

Genre: Paranormal
Publisher: World Castle
Date of Publication: August 17, 2020
Print ISBN:  9781953271013
eBook ISBN:  9781953271020
ASIN: B08DKK66PM
Number of pages: 236 pages
Word Count: 86107 words
Cover Artist: Steven J. Catizone

Tagline: Bloodshed. Heartbreak. Revelation.

Book Description:

When the darkness was compelling and the heart knew no bounds, was there really a right choice? With Michael’s life hanging in the balance, Amber had a choice: save her star-fated love or keep on the crusade to unite the magical community.

For Amber, her fate was sealed even before her birth and it was her destiny to fight the great battle ahead of her. But, when it came to her heart -- her friends, her great love -- Amber’s torn. Not only was she the Queen, but she was a human in every sense of the word. She was vulnerable. And so the very people -- Chloe and Michael -- that gave her strength, quickly became her weakness. It wasn’t her fault she loved too much, was it?

Nevertheless, the Tall Dark Man had set a plan in motion that could threaten the very existence of the Blood Prophecy. Would he gather his dark forces and succeed in destroying Amber once and for all? Or, would she assemble her powerful friends and save the world?

Amazon     BN


Excerpt:

 Malakai, Seattle, Present Day

With the betterment of both Michael and Rae, Malakai was glad that they were well and fine; nevertheless, he needed some time to decompress. All the magical commotions that had occurred were too overwhelming for him. He needed some sort of release.

He enjoyed the brisk jog in the park, as he cut through the sharp wind of the cold night. But this did nothing to lift his spirits. He was happy that Amber’s smile finally met her eyes. That was all he’d ever wanted for her: happiness, that’s it. There was nothing more he could ask for—she was his priority. Yet, in the back of his mind, as in his heart, he couldn’t help but believe the ancient legend that he’d heard so long ago was the certifiable truth, as it was written in Eschmun’s scroll.

…her fate is tied to the true alpha of the wolves. A blood drinker will stand formidable, but it is the nature of the child to call upon the true alpha and bring him to the queen’s inner heart.

Could this be the truth? he often wondered as he traveled the world collecting artifacts and evidence supporting this notion. Yes, he’d crafted a reliquary, quite accidentally, and people assumed it was to keep the magic insulated, away from the humans. But that wasn’t the case, at least not for him.  He so wanted to believe, just from the sheer fact that it was said in the scroll. But Malakai was a man of logic, driven by cold hard data. Although wanting to romanticize that his destiny was tied with Amber’s, he needed confirmation. He wanted validation for the strong emotions he was feeling. 

***

Zaraquel, Seattle, Present Day

Walking the cemetery grounds as she so often did without the knowledge of her parents, Zaraquel wandered at a leisurely pace. She whipped out her phone and checked the time, which read midnight. Her brow quirked in confusion, as she had expected Loquiel some time ago. With her long hair styled in two braids and her bright red coat to keep her warm, she sat down on a bench.

She was elated that her best friend, other than the one that was currently running late, was alive and breathing. Rae had given Zaraquel a terrible fright, for she had never known the death of someone close to her heart. She shook, not from the cold, but from remembering the tragic vision she had of Rae’s demise.

A throaty growl awoke her from her thoughts. She heard the fast footfalls of someone, something, running toward her, and she put her fight training to use. Zaraquel spun around, so much so that her wings unfurled. But that did not deter the undead man from attacking her. His decaying flesh was a sight she instantly wished she could unsee, but she had to fulfill her duty and protect the people, which meant ridding the world of this monster.

She punched him in the stomach as her father had taught her, but that did nothing to stop him from throwing his fists at her. She dodged his poor attempts at aiming for her and grabbed his arm, twisting him around so he fell to his knees. Her weight on his back caused the corpse to fall to the ground. It growled in anger, shaking its head savagely, as if it couldn’t wait to get back to its feet. Zaraquel, however, had plans of her own. She stood briefly to step on his neck to keep him from moving, and whispered a spell she’d learned from a book.

“Capite obtruncato intestinisque extractis.”

She heard the cracking of his bones, the stretching of his skin; with a pop! his head flew off, gore spattering in every direction. His body went limp, as it was before he had risen from the ground.

Zaraquel sighed in frustration as she walked off, disappointed from another unnecessary and unjustified kill. She continued to walk the grounds and felt a rush of warm wind, the kind she felt every time Loquiel was near. She turned and there he was, right behind her. 

About the Author:

Barb Jones is a paranormal thriller author, IT professional, and the mother of two fantastic children. She is known for her ability to create relatable characters and detailed settings without compromising her unique plots. When people have asked her who she is, she's been quoted saying, "It can be hard to write at times, but never give up on what you're passionate about." She's a mother, first and foremost, and an author and supernatural enthusiast after. She currently resides in Sarasota, FL, but is a Seattle native at heart. When she's not writing, she's traveling and looking for new inspiration for her books.













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The Fifth Horseman by Freida Kilmari



The Fifth Horseman
The Horseman’s Harem Saga 
Book One
Freida Kilmari

Genre: Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Kilmari Publishing
Date of Publication: October 31st 2020
ISBN: 978-1-9993472-3-9
ASIN: B08K83QXWX
Number of pages: 458
Word Count: 120,000 words

Cover Artist: Covered Creatively

Tagline: No name. No past. One giant future?

Book Description: 

The only thing worse than suddenly waking up in a magical house with the insanely gorgeous Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Being the Fifth.

With no memory of who I am, where I came from, or what I’m doing here, I’m thrust into a new life with four people who I might want more from than just friendship. But with no past, how can I possibly plan for a future?

The only clue as to who I am? Four different species' magic resides within me—Vampire, Fae, Shifter, and Witch—and between them, I might be the most powerful creature on the planet.

For fuck's sake.

Look out world, Horseman of Magic coming through!


       

Excerpt 3

The patience she’s using and the time she’s taking are killing me. I’m a bundle of nerves and heat and molten puddles, and I’m pretty sure I will have to take a cold shower after this.

She’s really going to kiss me. She leans closer to my face, but then she pulls back, looking down at me with a genuinely curious smile and whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

I can’t take my eyes off of her pink lips, wondering when they will reach mine. Impatience bubbles closer to the surface, and before I know it, the need to kiss this beautiful woman overtakes every rational thought, and I grab a fistful of her pajama top and yank her face to mine.

Our lips connect, and that tingling sensation her every touch has caused since I got here explodes throughout my body, making me want to feel every inch of her smooth skin against mine.

Her lips move slowly with mine, in tandem with my uncertainty, but that insecurity flies farther out the window as the seconds tick by, and her lips press harder against mine. I want more—more of her, of our lips together, of her breathes mingling with mine—and a frenzied urgency fills me as I crash harder into her, nipping her bottom lip open in a gasp.

She rips my hands off of her thighs and yanks them above my head, pinning me beneath her.

Her lips steel everything from me—my breath, my rationality, my worry over whether this is a good idea—and I meet her with equal fervor. Her hips shift against mine, and I can’t help but respond. I wiggle my fingers free from her grip, return them to her thighs, and inch my fingers closer to the edge of her shorts, feeling her skin cool against the heat of my touch.

She groans against my mouth and breaks away, gasping for breath, and whispers, “Fuck. I’ve wanted to do that since our moment in your closet.” 

About the Author:

Freida Kilmari is an author, writer, and editor residing in south-west England, who loves all things fiction. She has a passion for fantasy, romance, science-fiction, and poetry that runs her life, from her career to her passions. 




 

Thursday, October 29, 2020

Secret Spirit Guardians of Santa Fe by C.A. Masterson


Secret Spirit Guardians of Santa Fe
C.A. Masterson  

Genre:  Fantasy
Publisher: Wild Rose Press
Date of Publication:  October 5, 2020
ISBN:  978-1-5092-3351-9 Paperback
ISBN: 978-1-5092-3352-6 Digital
Number of pages:  330
Word Count:  82,600
Cover Artist:  Debbie Taylor

Tagline:  Most families have quirks, but not like Marissa’s.

Book Description:

After Marissa Tahy returns home to Santa Fe, she is haunted by visions and glimpses of danger no one else sees: the spirit of Old Man Gloom in his true form. 

For a hundred years, people have burned their troubles in the spirit’s effigy at the Zozobra festival, each year making the spirit angrier and more powerful.  This year, Old Man Gloom demands his due. The vengeful spirit targets those Marissa loves. 

Even when Marissa discovers the secret history binding her family to Zozobra, joining their forces may not be enough to prevent the furious spirit from burying Santa Fe beneath an avalanche of misery.

Book Trailer:  https://youtu.be/j3HVxC6azcQ 

Amazon     BN

Excerpt:

The crack between worlds happened before I decided to move home to Santa Fe. Had the thought occurred to me, I’d probably have laughed, a little. Until the memory pushed through, a half-remembered nightmare hidden in an undercurrent of emotion, but

always there, flowing beneath the surface of consciousness. Sometimes it’s better if those feelings stay buried, where they can’t pull you under.

After twenty-four years, here I was. Back in the City Different. Because sometimes, life makes hard choices for you. Otherwise, I’d still be in San Diego, not in my aunt’s house, trying hard to pretend I wasn’t a stranger to my own family. For the last half hour, I’d tried to shake off the odd sensation after Zelda made an impromptu, awkward stop at the site of my childhood home, whatever that was about. No longer commenting

on family social media posts from a distance, instead I was in the thick of things.

“How’s Javi been?” I asked Zelda. My aunt had answered my offer to help prepare dinner by handing me a glass of wine and telling me to relax, she had it under control. I had no doubt. Despite driving me from the airport, she was as cool as a freshly picked jalapeno, and as likely to burn you.

“Wonderful. But you can ask him yourself at dinner.” Her deep, distinctive voice was like smoke pouring across gravel.

“Cool, I can’t wait.” When I’d last spent time with my cousin, we’d been kids. Closer than most first cousins, we shared a family conspiracy, hoping none of our classmates would find out that we were not like any of them. No matter where we went, we didn’t belong.

Zelda’s silver bracelets jingled as she briskly arranged vegetables around haddock fillets. “Phoebe will be excited to see you again.”

“You still have her?”

“Of course. She’s as old as you, which makes her barely middle-aged. Phoebe, dear,” she called, “we have company.”

A squawk sounded from the other room, where sunshine poured across the floor in a welcoming sea of light.

I’d always loved my aunt’s house. From sunup to sundown, daylight flooded through the house’s tall windows. The wood-framed stucco structure was a typical style for Santa Fe, not much different from the others in the neighborhood. What had stood out in my

memory was the tall wooden fence that bordered the yard, painted a vivid shade of blue, with myriad crosses along the top of the front gate.

“Careful,” Zelda said. “She’s testy sometimes.”

“Aren’t we all?” I only half joked.

Before my aunt could answer, I made my way from the kitchen to the sunroom beside it. The glass enclosure looked out onto the back yard and faced the outdoor fireplace. On either side of the tall chimney, colorful painted angels decorated its white stucco surface.

The bird cage, as tall as me, occupied a corner. And as always, the door sat wide open so Phoebe could climb in if she wanted, which she almost never did unless she got hungry. A bamboo perch ran above the cage, between the two potted palm trees that provided shade. There Phoebe sat, eyeballing me. Sunlight caught the green and blue feathers, making their colors rich as jewels.

At my approach, the parrot bobbed its head and danced along the perch. Even a nip from Phoebe’s curved beak hurt like hell, so I kept a few feet between us and cooed my greeting.

Pans rattled in the kitchen. “Be nice, Phoebe girl.”

The bird gave no indication of recognizing me. I didn’t know why I’d expected a different reaction. Because I’d taught it more than fifty words, over two decades earlier? Moving home shouldn’t reduce me to childish notions.

So much for a reunion. I returned to the kitchen.

“Sure I can’t help with anything?”

“When do you start your new job?”

“Monday.” Fluttering in my belly reminded me it was coming up fast. Another long adjustment period awaited me, learning a new job, getting to know all the quirks and qualities of my coworkers. After I’d been hired as the new reporter at the Santa Fe Chronicle, I’d read the online edition every day. The stories helped give me a sense about the writers. Glimmers of their personalities shone through in their word choices, the nearly undetectable spin they gave topics.

“That doesn’t leave you much time for moving in.”

Spooning a marinade over the dish, Zelda flicked up her gaze.

The look hit me like lightning. The cogs were turning in my aunt’s head; I could practically see the rotation behind her eyes. If I didn’t put her off track, Zelda would start commandeering my daily life.

I folded my arms and shifted toward the island, a not-too-subtle body language indicating my need for a barrier between us. “The two guys I hired to bring my stuff are supposed to arrive tomorrow morning. I don’t have much, so they can get everything inside the apartment in a few hours. I prefer to take my time settling in.” All taken care of, my subtext said. No need for Zelda to worry. She could divert those black eyes elsewhere.

On cue, Zelda flashed her Mona Lisa smile and glanced away. “Too bad I gave my extra furniture to Javi.”

I watched my aunt with a mixture of wonder and frustration. All these years, and Zelda still pretended. Spoke with flawless Spanish enunciation, wore her long black hair in a bun at the back of her neck, decorated her house with painted ceramic geckos and metal sun faces, even named her son Javier to avoid question of our true nationality. My parents had committed the same sins of omission and pretense and expected us children to do the same.



About the Author 

Award-winning author C.A. Masterson loves stories of any genre. Multi-published in contemporary to historical, fantasy/dark fantasy to paranormal/speculative, she sometimes mashes genres. In 2010, The Pearl S. Buck Foundation awarded first place to her short literary story, Christmas Eve at the Diner on Rathole Street. Her short literary story, All is Calm, All is Bright, was awarded second place in the annual Pennwriters Short Story contest in 2005.

Visit her at http://paintingfirewithwords.blogspot.com or look for her romance stories as Cate Masters at http://catemasters.blogspot.com and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.




 

 


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Wednesday, October 28, 2020

The Curse of the Mountain by Tyler Cram


The Curse of the Mountain
Tyler Cram

Genre: Horror
Publisher: Darkstroke books
Date of Publication: October 27, 2020
ISBN:979-8684886829
ASIN: B08H5N4H1F
Number of pages:236
Word Count: 76K
Cover Artist:Laurence Patterson

Tagline: Death stalks a town. An ancient evil. A long-buried secret.

Book Description:

A young officer responding to a call in the middle of the night about chickens being slaughtered turns into a night of reckoning when a deadly creature emerges from the woods. 

Years later, while on a hike in the North Carolina wilderness, four friends discover an old book. When they open it, they black out – only to find on waking that they have released the evil things that live within the pages. 

As they fight to keep their neighbors from dying, they unravel a dark secret that the leaders of their town have held since their ancestors first settled. 

But can the boys really stop the devil?

Excerpt:

Roanville’s entire existence was archaic. Nothing was truly that modern there. The town was built on small businesses, a community full of people betting on themselves and their local companions. It was a logging community in the 1800s, it wasn’t a sweet place to live; it only existed to make a living. Slowly it crept its way up through time and modernity to be sustainable for all family types, but it still had trouble catching up. The locals joked that the slogan for their lonesome town should have been ‘The town that time forgot’. There were still pay phones in the city that were frequently used. The police and fire department shared a building because the cost of running both in separate buildings would’ve crippled the town. There were only four cops on the force, the Chief, Frank Gilmore alongside his deputies: Bradley Fine, a lazy native who was ready to retire at the age of forty. Garrett Brock, a stable and smart man around the same age as Brad. Brock was Frank’s right-hand man because of his dedication to the job. He served papers, and wasn’t afraid to give people he knew speeding tickets. The most important thing to Brock was that he needed to get paid. The police force worked off a ticket quota system. Brock held no prisoners. The newest addition to the team was Sarah Mann.

A few years ago, Sarah got a call from the outskirts of town. The trailer park, ‘Disneyland’, as it was called by the denizens, was the source of drugs in Roanville. It was constantly surveyed by the cops.

The caller said someone had been killing the chickens that the Quinn family owned, butchering them once a month since the beginning of the year. Sullivan Quinn didn’t even entertain the thought of someone else doing it. He knew it was his neighbor Ichabod Turner. Ichabod had a loose grasp on the English language. He was seventy-five and was skin and bone, Sarah thought he looked like a skeleton from a Halloween store. He had a yellow-stained beard and long grey frizzy hair. His eyes were sunken and his face was drawn.

He spoke as if there was a marble on his tongue. “Da… Sully… he, uh, he say it wah me ’cus I ain’t never wen to he granpappy fun’ral back een March. I say to Sully ‘daggom, boy, da’worl don’t stop for nobody granpappy, not even yours’ well… he don’t like dat much so he been plannin’ a war and dat boy, daggom, he try’na get me arrested… sheeeeit,” he explained to Officer Sarah Mann when she went down to mediate the situation.

It was night when she talked to them. She got called down because one of Sullivan’s chickens was shrieking, and when he went to go look on the side of his double-wide trailer where his coop was, its innards had been tossed around like dripping scarlet streamers. The fresh red blood hadn’t yet permeated the loose dirt.

He looked over across the street and saw the light inside Ichabod’s house flick off suddenly. Sullivan began to bang on the door, threatened to grab his .44 and shoot his way in. Ichabod called the Sheriff’s office. When Sarah arrived, Sully was pacing in front of Ichabod’s trailer with a revolver in his hand, Sarah jumped out of her patrol vehicle and yelled, “Put the goddamn gun down, Sullivan!”

“He killed my chickens! Every month, massacred! He did it, Sarah!” He was Standing in baggy jean shorts and a stained white tank top, pointing his gun at the house. Sullivan was a tall, skinny guy who had trouble with pills. He worked the lumberyard and a log fell off a pile and broke his leg, snapped like a twig, the bone protruded from his skin and was shattered in multiple places, nearly having to get it amputated. He got hooked on painkillers shortly thereafter. He was thirty, but the labor and drugs aged him. He used to be a hirsute young man, always kept his thick, golden hair shoulder length, and stayed clean shaven. Now he was nearly bald save for some patches, and had a scuzzy, holey black beard, speckled with blond and red strands that were so long off his chin he looked like a goat.

“Drop the gun, Sullivan, or I will be forced to pull mine out as well,” she yelled, her words weaved through the alleys between the trailers. She had her hand fixed on her Glock 17 attached to her hip.

Sullivan dropped the gun to his side. “Just get him out here so you can arrest him,” He said condescendingly.

Sarah walked to Ichabod’s front door, her eyes never leaving Sullivan. She was born and raised in Raleigh and ended up going to North Carolina State University. She had no extracurricular activities, no significant other. The idea of being a police officer took all of her time and thought. Frank found her by chance when he visited the Raleigh NCSU campus to meet with a friend that happened to be her Professor. She was in his office when Frank came in. He offered her a job by the end of the conversation. She was twenty-two years old, even in a small town she was making sixty thousand a year. Many scholarships through the state for women in policing gave her some extra bumps. Now she had been with the Chief for about four years and was sick of all the hick bullshit she had to deal with. A feud over killing chickens? What happened to my life? Now she was a cantankerous, young cop in a trailer park.

She banged on Ichabod’s door, the way only a cop can. He swung it open immediately. She led him into the middle of the trailer park’s road underneath a yellow-orange mercury streetlight. There was one every fifty feet, and in between each post was pitch darkness. As soon as someone would step out of the ten-foot diameter light beam, they would be completely gone.

Sarah asked, “Sullivan, what makes you think Ichabod did this?” She started writing in her notebook.

“He has had a vendetta against my family for some time now, Sarah. He didn’t go to my grandfather’s funeral a few months back and they were best friends,” he said politely, with a southern drawl.

“Now das just boolshit… Aaron hated my guts, boy, he tol me a few week back ‘fore he died dat he hated me for my, uh, demeanor or some shit. Dat I was jus too nasty and he didn’t wan to be seen wit me. But let me tell you bof dat he was nastier den a hooker lickin’ a frog to find her prince charmin’ ’cause he sexed he goddamn cousin… I caught him, too, in the back of his old pick-up back by route one-one-six, where da, uh, post office is. Dats why he hate me, boy.”

Sarah tried to understand what he was saying. She had never heard him uppity the few times she interacted with him. She stopped writing down what he was saying halfway through his aside.

“Don’t you fuckin’ slander my dead grandfather, you dirty shit,” Sullivan gritted through his words.

“Hey, Shut it, both of you,” Sarah said, looking up from her notebook, then back down again to write.

“How would I slaughter dem chickies, boy? I look like a serial killer to you?” Ichabod said, pulling on the length of his tarnished beard.

“Yeah, you really do. The guts were thrown out of them, Officer, and I think this man is sick enough to do it. I saw him standing and pissing off of Arthur Scott’s truck going seventy miles an hour on the highway coming into town,” Sullivan said, thinking that would be the final blow. She didn’t even look up and mumbled, “I expect nothing less from this town.”

“It’s a damn dog doin dis shit, I’m tellin’ ya’s. Couple miles down da road, that farmer, uh, I forget his name, two of his sheep, dead. I know it some damn big dog or wolf, you can quote me on dat one, lady,” Ichabod said.

“Officer,” she retorted, looking at him with fire in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Officer, but dis mother fucking boy, he—what the fuck?” He squinted past Sarah, three streetlights down the road—an animal.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Sullivan said.

Sarah turned, and her throat dried immediately when she saw it. It didn’t move. She pulled her pistol out of her holster with some difficulty, she never had to pull it before. She had never seen a dog this big. Even from this distance she could see every detail of it. On all fours, it was five feet tall with paws the size of baseball gloves. Its fur was long, dark brown. Sarah could tell that the head was over a foot long, its prodigiously large vulpine teeth hung out of its mouth, glittering by the dingy light. The streetlight gleamed in the beast’s eyes. It stared at her. Her breathing started to sputter, she couldn’t control it. She shook with her gun in her hand as she raised it. A tear built up in her eye. She felt a wave of cold throughout her body as gooseflesh raised on her skin.

The beast stood on its hind legs, the light painted onto the creature and revealing its oversized dog-like body. Ichabod and Sullivan both screamed and ran into their houses.

Full stretch, it stood at nine feet tall. Sarah didn’t move. She stood there waiting for it to start coming towards her, the moon was going to reach its apogee in the sky and that’s when their duel began.

 

About the Author:

Tyler is a horror aficionado. He has been obsessed with the genre since he was too young to be watching it. It started with An American Werewolf in Paris—the awful 90’s sequel to the original—and snowballed ever since. His influences stem from Stephen King, Joe Hill, Shirley Jackson, Algernon Blackwood, and countless others. He studied them almost academically, peering into their minds psychologically, pulling back the curtains to see what drove them to creating their stories. 

The answer is reality. Tyler loves the idea that all great horror writers use the real world to concoct monsters. At certain points, you don’t know whether it’s the real ones or the fake ones that are scarier. He decided he wanted to open that box for himself, create something that no one has read.

That’s when the ideas start.





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