Giveaway – Hungry Business Maria DeBlassie @EnchantmentLL @RoxanneRhoads

 
 
The Terrible Delights of Spooky Stories
 
I love scary stories. I’m also a total chicken. I grew up telling stories on the playground, huddled around trees or crawling into quiet places with friends to to listen to urban legends and frightening tales, from La Llorona to to Bloody Mary, to strange tales of a woman with the ribbon around her throat that literally held her head on to creepy dolls come to life the moment you closed your eyes to sleep at night…I couldn’t help myself. I devoured them!  
 
In class, we learned more about La Llorona (a figure that inspired my novella, Weep, Woman, Weep), Baba Yaga, and all sorts of spooky stories that gave me a good chill but were rather less terrifying than what I heard on the playground.
Of course, there was no better time to tell and listen to these stories than the fall, as the season slowly ripened into Halloween, the days got shorter, and the cool evenings and turning leaves were the perfect backdrop for stories that reminded us that there is more to this world than meets the eye.
 
I would come home from school filled up on those terrible tales and, after playing in piles of leaves in my backyard, would feel a growing sense of unease as the sun began to set and darkness took over. I was certainly grateful for the comforting presence of my dogs when darkness stole across the sky. The feelings were pushed away with dinner, in the cozy brightness of the kitchen and the warmth of family, but readily came back when I was tuckedin bed later that night.
 
Every creek, howl of wind, or cricket chirp sounded like aghostly footstep, theweeping woman, or all manner of supernatural threats. Mirrors were not to be looked in, when the sun went down. Windows must be closed at night, lest La Llorona find a way in. Blankets were to be tucked around you up to your chin to protect you from whatever might be lurking under the bed.
 
I felt would never fall asleep!
 
But, of course, I did. And with the coming sun, came the confidence of youth that there was nothing truly scary in this world and I went right back to the playground ready to consume more lurid and horrible tales. 
 
They were terrifying. They were also thrilling.  I couldn’t help myself—even when they gave me nightmares and my mom tried to get me to stop listening to these stories—they had this allure to me, pulling me into a world of the strange and gothic.
 
The feeling didn’t go away as I got older. Take, for example, the time I went trick o’ treating with a friend in middle school, one of the last times I would venture out on that childhood ritual. I was no stranger to haunted houses—there were plenty in my neighborhood. I livednext door to one and there was another a few blocks away that looked like something out of a gothic novel: big, dark, looming, and a story about a murder so strange and unexpected it devolved into its own neighborhood legend with everyone having a slightly different explanation for why the house just felt…off.
 
My friend and I were alone on the street and were doing our best to casually walk past the house, feeling very brave and very adult in our fairy costumes, proud of the fact that we could trick-or-treating unchaperoned. But once we neared that house, suddenly home felt so very far away, the other groups of Halloween revelers so very far away.  There was only the darkness surround us and the specter of that gina those before us. 
 
Then we heard something—a yip, a yell, from someone in the distance—and we screamed, running for the safety of my home.Gone were the bold, brave adults and in their place were two frightened children who wanted nothing more than the warm lights and safety of home. As it turns out, the noise we heard was from a bunch of wildpartiers, but it became so much morefrightening when it was disembodied and the shadows fed my imagination, as did all the terrible tales I’d been coming that season.
 
As scary as that was, and as silly as my friend and I felt in retrospect, there was no denying the fun we had, nor the deep sense of comfort we felt in returning to my house. That’s what scary stories do for us. They bring us home. We find catharsis in facing the darkness and making it out the other side. We appreciate the light where and when we can find it.  
 
Here I am now—still loving scary stories. Still a total chicken. Still ready for a good tale of terror…in the daylight. Still not looking in mirrors and closing all my windows at night. And I speed up whenever I have to walk by that haunted house, indeed any haunted house, less the specters inside think to invite me in.
 
That’s the beauty of these early childhood frights. They gave me a solid appreciate of the thrills of a good scary story and a healthy respect for the unseen worlds or even vibes I get that tell me a person or situation is more than meets the eye. 
 
This is why I tell spooky stories today. They reveal so much more about ourselves and the world around us than many an ordinary tale. From writing horror comedy about the terrors of dating in Hungry Business to the haunting wails of La Llorona in Weep, Woman, Weep, all my tales are inspired by the ordinary gothic all around us, pairing catharsis as we face the dark and find the light.  What do you love about scary stories?

MY REVIEW

Hungry Business by Maria DeBlassie is a quick read horror story with a little snark on the side. Dating during a zombie apocalypse is not and easy thing to do. Are you eating or being eaten? Do they have a heartbeat, even if half their face is missing? Will she be alone for the rest of her days? Is there any point in leaving the house? The cat in the window….

Hungry Business by Maria DeBlassie is an okay read and the cover does intrigue me.

2 Stars





Hungry Business: A Gothic Story about the Horrors of Dating
Maria DeBlassie

Genre: horror, comedy
Publisher: Kitchen Witch Press
Date of Publication: October 12, 2020
ASIN: B08L48MVHD
Number of pages: 20
Word Count: 4400

Tagline: Dating. It’s hungry business. 

Book Description:

Looking for love can be deadly…

A short story on the horrors of dating during a zombie apocalypse by bruja and award-winning writer and educator, Maria DeBlassie.

“Simple yet detailed, unique, and innovative. A brilliantly written little gem that is equal part creepy with the plague of walking dead and equal parts cozy with the hot chocolate and watching the neighbor’s cat.”

“Drawing parallels between the pitfalls of dating and dating in the zombie apocalypse, this short story packs a big world into a few pages.”

“Just the right size to occupy your time while waiting. I hope you find the humor I found.”

You know how it goes.

You go out, hoping to meet someone.

You wade through your fair share of brainless automatons, lifeless bodies, and ravenous undead, good at passing as human.

The more you go out, the less hope you feel and the colder your body gets.

But you keep at it.

All you need is one beating heart to match your own before yours stops pumping altogether.

How hard can it be to find one living, breathing human in a city full of bodies?

Dating.

It’s hungry business.

CW: Assault



He said he’d love to have you for dinner—but you are careful.

A woman has to be careful.  Never give them your address.  Don’t drink too much.  Be aware of your surroundings at all times.  Carry grave dirt to throw at them if they get too forward.  Be ready to run to the nearest safe space if needed.  The good news is that the Hungries, while persistent, are dumb as fuck (brain rot, you know) and slower than the sickness overtaking their bodies.  Unless, of course, they are well fed, which is rarely the case.

This one looks a little better, you think optimistically.

You sit across from each other at the dinner table.  The white tablecloth is as smooth and unblemished as his collared shirt.  He has dressed for the occasion, taking care to hide the evidence of his affliction as best he can (though truly there is only so much he can do with a missing ear and half a brain).  Still, the tuxedo and carefully applied makeup are enough to create the illusion of pumping blood beneath his pallid, blush-stained cheeks—in the right light. Which is another reason why you chose this place.  Candlelight can hide a multitude of sins.

His manners are studied and smooth, as if he has spent a lot of time practicing more human-like movements and behavior. You admire a man who makes that kind of effort.  He watches you as much as you do him, as if he is trying to remember what it was like to be alive. When you reach for your wine glass, so does he—only his thick decaying fingers almost crush the stem, whereas your nimble live ones carefully bring the dark red liquid to your mouth. You try not to notice how he stares at your lips—stained now from the wine—wondering, perhaps, how you taste. As it turns out, he does get a taste of you. You’ve been surreptitiously picking at a hangnail on your pinky finger—that’s how scintillating the conversation is—when you looked down and realize it is your whole fingernail that has come off.  You stare at it in horror, letting the truth of your situation sink in.  

At least he has the decency to wait until you’ve left the table before grabbing your napkin and stuffing your bloodied nail in his mouth.  A little color comes back into his face.  He groans in ecstasy.

Nice to know you could still have that effect on a man.




About the Author:

Maria DeBlassie, Ph.D. is a native New Mexican mestiza blogger, award-winning writer, and award-winning educator living in the Land of Enchantment. Her first book, Everyday Enchantments: Musings on Ordinary Magic and Daily Conjurings (Moon Books 2018), and her ongoing blog, Enchantment Learning and Living are about everyday magic, ordinary gothic, and the life of a kitchen witch. When she is not practicing her own brand of brujeria, she’s reading, teaching, and writing about bodice rippers and things that go bump in the night. She is forever looking for magic in her life and somehow always finding more than she thought was there.


Find out more about Maria and conjuring everyday magic at www.mariaddeblassie.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/enchantmentll

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/enchantmentll

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mdeblassie.writer

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC7rY-gLkSH-w8uuVyrhVALA





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The Spotlight Is On Through New York’s Golden Door by H. Claude Shostal @iReadBookTours


 

Join Us For This Tour From Oct 4 to Oct 17
Book Details:

Book Title:  Through New York’s Golden Door: An American Journey by H. Claude Shostal
Category: Adult Non-Fiction, 384 pages
GenreMemoir
Publisher: Mascot Books
Publication Date: Oct 4, 2022
Tour dates: Oct 4 to Oct 17
Content Rating: PG 
Book Description:

How did a sickly infant smuggled through France during the darkest days of World War II become a “Rockefeller guy,” grow into something approaching an elder statesman in New York’s civic community, and along the way amass a respectable portfolio of adventure travel? In H. Claude Shostal’s words: “Of one thing I am quite certain: my story could not have happened anywhere else.”
Buy the Book:
Amazon B&N
add to goodreads

Meet the Author:

Claude Shostal was part of one of the few Jewish families who successfully made a hazardous escape from Nazi Europe in 1941. Even though they arrived in America penniless and in debt, his parents were able to create a good life that allowed their son to live out the American Dream. He has lived a rich life, with patches of heartbreak, but marked by far more excitement and fulfillment than despair or disappointment.

Tour Schedule:

Oct 4 – Literary Flits – book spotlight
Oct 4 
– Book Reviews by Linda Moore – book spotlight
Oct 5 – Rockin’ Book Reviews – book spotlight
Oct 6 – Character Madness and Musings – book spotlight
Oct 6 – Book Corner News and Reviews – books spotlight
Oct 7 – fundinmental – book spotlight
Oct 11 – Locks, Hooks and Books – book spotlight
Oct 12 – Splashes of Joy – book spotlight
Oct 13 – Cover Lover Book Review – book spotlight
Oct 14 – Pick a Good Book – book spotlight
Oct 17 – Books for Books – book spotlight
Oct 5 
–  Jazzy Book Reviews – book spotlight 


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Giveaway – Pets In Space: A Science Fiction Romance Anthology @XpressoTours

Pets in Space 7: A Science Fiction Romance Anthology
Publication date: October 4th 2022
Genres: Adult, Romance, Science Fiction

Pets in Space® is back for a new year of adventures!

Pets in Space is back and better than ever! Featuring 13 original, never-before-released stories from some of today’s bestselling science fiction romance authors, starring your favorite sci-fi pets. These furry, feathered, and slightly alien friends are always ready for a new adventure with their two-legged human and alien companions. From dogs to cats to sea creatures and unicorns, these romantic tales show that pets are more than just animals – they’re family.

This limited-edition anthology includes novellas by some of the biggest names in science fiction romance. New York Times Bestseller S.E. Smith and USA Today Bestsellers R.J. Blain, Grace Goodwin, Skye MacKinnon, Carol Van Natta, Honey Phillips, Carysa Locke, S.J. Pajonas, JC Hay, and Kyndra Hatch, plus Leslie Chase, Winnie Winkle, and Candace Colt.

The Pets in Space 7 authors continue their vital support of Hero-Dogs.org, the non-profit charity that improves quality of life for veterans of the U.S. military and first-responders with disabilities.

Don’t miss out — grab this limited-edition anthology before it’s too late!

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

SNEAK PEEKS:

Marked Mate by Grace Goodwin

Elite Hunter Stark, Earth

What was the human doing here? No sane female would seek out these bastards.

Until she appeared, everything had been going to plan. Humans in a black vehicle had arrived to pick up some Quell at the odd window on the side of the building. I’d marked their vehicle so I could track them once I was done here.

Then? Chaos. Human weapons firing. The female was injured, severely.

The Siren operatives didn’t know I was here. Not yet. But I would take pleasure in ending their lives. Males of worth did not harm females of any species.

“Let her bleed out. Kill the animal. We can dump the bodies later.”

I moved closer without making a sound.

“No!” The female’s voice rang out.

I watched the Rogue 5 hybrid lift his ion blaster and point it toward the animal. I could not afford to intervene. Rokor, their leader, was dangerous. Deadly. I could not lose foc—

I felt the blast to my hip as if I were the one shot. The barrier in my mind shattered like broken glass and suddenly I was seeing through two sets of eyes.

She held up her small, blood-stained hand and begged for her pet’s life. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t. Please.”

I saw myself through her eyes, a shadow moving closer, Death himself. She was not afraid of dying, nor of me. She wanted—me. My cock twitched. Hard. Hot. My hand burned. She wanted to be in my arms. She ached for me.

She was mine.

The connection faded yet I clung to the fleeting warmth in my mind, desperate to feel it again. It had only been a few seconds, but I was out of time.

Her beast must have sensed the danger as well. The golden animal charged the male who held the ion blaster.



GIVEAWAY!


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Giveaway – Realm Of Darkness Limited Edition Fantasy and Paranormal Collection @XpressoTours

Realm of Darkness
A Limited Edition Fantasy and Paranormal Collection
Publication date: October 4th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance

When darkness falls, beware of the creatures that come out to play…

Fall under their spell over and over again in this ultimate paranormal and fantasy romance boxset! Over 40 full-length novels with heart-melting heroes and devastating anti-heroes, full of romance, magic, mystery, and adventure can be yours for an insanely low price.

Ready to be swept away? Your book boyfriends are waiting… Enemies-to-lovers, alphas, fae, werewolves, dragons, shapeshifters, vampires, gods, angels, demons, and more: with novels ranging from sweet to spicy, there’s a flavor to sate your every craving.

You won’t find these exclusive novels anywhere else, so don’t miss your chance. Over ten thousand pages by New York Times, USA Today, and International bestselling authors and at less than three cents per book, this collection is a steal, but only for a limited time. Grab it today before it’s gone forever…

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play

SNEAK PEEKS:

“Cosmic Honor” by Jade Waltz

“Yield,” he ordered.

Jaiya swallowed, feeling the sharp nick of the blade barely brushing her skin.

She turned her head to the side, exposing her neck to the dominant male, as blood trickled from her fresh wound.

“I yield,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Her voice barely registered to her own ears.

The weight of the blade lifted away as the prince trailed his nose along her neck, breathing in her scent.

She gasped when his smooth tongue lapped at her wound. Something hard pressed against her thigh, growing with each passing moment.

She was afraid to move, to fight. Here was a side of the prince that she had never seen before, as he went from an attacker to . . . an aroused caregiver?

Unblessed by Nia

Being flogged with a wire whip.

Carrying red-hot metal bare-handed.

Getting bitten by a nest of rattlesnakes.

Nia hadn’t enjoyed any of them. But she would rather relive any of those experiences than spend even one second with Xavier Rohesia. And here she was, preparing to spend the next five days with him. Alone. In a secluded cabin.

Inhaling the scent of jasmine courtesy of the nearby aromatherapy mister, she slid deeper into the warm bubbling water. I’m going to enjoy every second of this that I can before I have to meet up with that insufferable man.

Despite tightly braiding her long black hair and curling it into a tight bun on top of her head, strands had worked their way loose and clung to her damp neck and shoulders. As long as the rest stayed up — she’d no wish to wash and dry the thigh length mass of it after this soak.

Sunk in the water to her chin, Nia continued to expand her list of things that she would prefer to do rather than spend time with Xavier.

Running without cover to draw fire from my triad.

Shopping at a big box store the day before Christmas.

Nia shuddered at the last thought as she positioned herself to have jets of water massage her lower back. That trip had been horrifying. The things she did for her triad, her partners in all things…but joining them on a shopping trip during the Christmas season had stretched her bond with them to the limit. Adding their respective partners had nearly killed her. Nia would much rather be shot at.

And now she had to spend a week in a cabin shared by the asshole unicorn who did not live up to his last name – kindness. To make matters worse, there was a strict no killing rule. The mage may have saved the life of Amir’s lover, but this was still a steep price for it.


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Giveaway – Fallout by Carrie Stuart Parks @partnersincr1me

Fallout

by Carrie Stuart Parks

September 12 – October 7, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Her carefully crafted life is about to be demolished.

After a difficult childhood, Samantha Williams craves simplicity: jigsaw puzzles, lectures at the library, and the students she adores in her role as an elementary art teacher in the dusty farming community of LaCrosse, Washington.

But when an SUV crashes into the school where she teaches, her entire world is upended. She manages to keep all of the children safe, but her car isn’t so lucky. Oddly, her purse—containing her driver’s license, credit cards, and other identification—is missing from the wreckage.

After authorities discover that the driver in the school accident was shot seconds before the crash, Samantha quickly becomes entangled in increasingly strange events that have her looking over her shoulder.

Samantha has long tried to forget the tragedy of her past, but the twisting maze she discovers between the murdered driver, a deadly secret government project, and an abandoned town can’t be ignored. Those involved are determined to keep these secrets buried, and they’ll use any means necessary to stop Samantha’s search for truth.

Praise for Fallout:

“An intriguing story based on events around a part of Washington. Tight timeline with tons of action. Twists and turns that will keep readers engaged and guessing. I enjoyed this book and recommend it to those who want a whisper of romance included with the mystery.”

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: September 13th 2022
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 0785239855 (ISBN13: 9780785239857)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

Hanford, Washington
November 23, 1988

The November wind blew across the almost-barren plain, attempting to leach any warmth from the man’s black wool coat. He pulled the woolen balaclava higher on his nose and wished he’d worn goggles. The wind raised icy tears that blurred his vision.

Snow clung to the scant protection offered by basalt outcroppings and meager shrubs.

The moon provided weedy light, enough to avoid the sagebrush and tumbleweeds, but not enough to reveal the ground squirrels’ burrows. He’d fallen twice.

He paused for a moment to check his compass. He figured he’d covered about six of the eight miles. There was little chance he’d be detected. He’d approached the area by boat on the Columbia River, which flowed down the eastern side of the remote facility in South Central Washington State. Though the site was massive—570 square miles—the roads were heavily patrolled. After all, the Hanford Nuclear Reservation was the largest producer of postwar nuclear weapons.

Hanford’s creation of the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, Japan, had provided the turning point in World War II. Afterward, the plant morphed into a Cold War arsenal against the Soviet Union until the last nuclear reactor finally shut down just a year ago.

He’d chosen the date carefully—Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. All the staff and workers would have left early in preparation for the holidays. Only a minimal number of employees would be working, and they’d not be inclined to venture into the frigid night.

Though he’d been on the Hanford Site since he’d left the river, his goal was the Hanford Tank Farms. The tanks held 53 million gallons of the highest-level radioactive waste found in the United States. He would be targeting the SY Tank Farm, three double-shelled waste storage units built between 1974 and 1976, located at the 200 West site. The tanks at this location were each capable of holding 1.16 million gallons of nuclear waste.

He shifted the backpack slightly. The bomb, made with C-4, was safe enough from his jostling cross-country run. It took a detonator to set off the explosion, which he’d rig once the materials were in place.

The tanks themselves were built of one-foot-thick reinforced steel and concrete and had been buried under eight feet of dirt, but the hydrogen from the slurry had built up in these particular tanks to dangerous levels. He didn’t need to reach the tanks themselves, only disable the exhaust vent and the temperature thermocouple assembly. He knew no maintenance work was going on around the tanks that might create a spark or heat, so chance of discovery was extremely slim.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He’d paddled down the treacherous icy river, then jogged for miles, but his fury fueled his drive. In February of 1986, the Department of Energy had released nineteen thousand pages of documents describing the declassified history of the Hanford operations. Hints of a darker truth were written between the lines, and more evidence came out in the batch of documents released the following year. Everyone else would have missed it, but he’d been able to piece the sequence of events together.

They’d grown rich while he’d been discarded like so much trash.

Now was his time to get even.

He’d use the threat of the bomb to force the acknowledgment of their role and his own innocence. Anything less than the possibility of a Chernobyl-size disaster would lead to a governmental cover up.

A massive press conference. Facts and figures. Undeniable evidence.

In the meantime, he’d personally take care of those directly responsible.

He increased his pace. Soon now.

He knew this part of the facility well.

He found the location he’d identified before, knelt beside the various ports, detectors, and vents, and swiftly assembled the parts according to the bomb-maker’s directions. All that was left was the trigger mechanism. He’d placed it in a secure box inside his backpack.

The box was gone.

He ran his hands over the backpack again. Then again. Then a third time. It was gone. Did I forget to pack it? No. It was here in this backpack when he’d left home.

He broke out in a clammy sweat and rocked back on his heels. How could this have happened? Where had it dropped out? Could it be back in the boat? Somewhere on the ground between here and the river’s edge? Separated from him when he fell?

Calm down. He had a backup. Even if he didn’t find the trigger, all it would take is a reasonable-sized explosion on the surface to start the process.

If it took the rest of his miserable life, he’d carry out his plan. They wouldn’t get away with it. Not this time.

One

September 2015

Bam! Bam! An engine roared, growing louder, closer.

I glanced up from the shading technique I was demonstrating for my elementary-school art class.

A black Suburban was barreling across the parking lot directly at my classroom.

“Run!” I screamed.

The children didn’t hesitate, bolting for the door. I shoved the last boy outside toward the gym just as the Suburban smashed into the side of the building and plowed into the room. The portable classroom moved with a screech. Desks, chairs, books, glass, and chunks of the wall and ceiling exploded in a cacophony of sound and movement. Metal fragments, shattered glass, and hunks of wood pelted me. I found myself outside next to the gym doors, not knowing how I got there. I curled up and covered my head, praying nothing would crash down on me.

Hissssssssss. The stench of an overheated engine and hot rubber made me gag.

The crushed front of the Suburban had shoved the classroom into a covered storage shed before punching through the opposite wall. Fluids hissed and dripped from under the smashed hood, right beside me. The shed had collapsed onto the SUV.

I was shaking so hard I didn’t think I could get my legs to work. The children.

Don’t worry about the children. Someone will help them. Someone will help me. I just needed to stay put. I’m safe here.

But they wouldn’t respond to someone calling to them. I taught them to be cautious.

If I move, the roof will come down on me. I’ll be crushed. Stay put and be safe. Someone will come for me.

But my students are frightened. I need to help them. Heavenly Father, help me.

I placed my hands on the ground. White powder drifted down on my head. Carefully I crawled away from the SUV.

The beam shifted, sliding sideways.

My crawl became a scramble.

The beam shrieked as it slid across the metal desk holding it up.

I plunged, then rolled away.

The roof of the shed slammed against the ground, sending up more dust and powder.

Leaning against the school, I waited until I could catch my breath. The glass in the door to the gym beside me had shattered. I couldn’t see anything of the driver. I slipped through the frame, wincing at the stabs of pain from the hurtled projectiles.

Ahead of me was a second door leading to the front of the school. A quick glance into the gym showed it empty. I was pretty sure the children had raced through both sets of doors, scattered, and found safety. I’d trained my class of first-through-third graders on what to do in case of an emergency or active shooter. The school board had rolled their eyes at me, assuring me that this was covered in the student handbook and that school shootings wouldn’t happen in a sleepy farming community like LaCrosse, Washington, population 330.

I’d finally convinced them. They allowed the drills and the self-defense class I offered on Tuesday evenings.

Fortunately, my art class was an after-school event, and the rest of the school was essentially empty. We met in a portable building because some of the classrooms were under repair for water damage.

I staggered outside. Mr. Parsons, the school maintenance man, rushed over to me.

“Samantha? Sam? Miss Williams? Are you all right? You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Help me find the children first.”

“They’re fine. They ran as you taught them.” We looked around the manicured lawns in front of the school buildings.

“Olly olly oxen free!” I called out, voice shaking. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Olly olly oxen free!”

Slowly my class emerged from their hiding places. I counted them as they appeared. Please, Lord . . . Five, six, seven, eight . . . nine. All present and accounted for. My stomach tightened on what could have happened, would have happened, if even one of them had paused to ask, Why run?

“Aren’t you supposed to just say ‘all clear’?” Mr. Parsons asked.

“I know the handbook says that, but anyone could access the emergency plans and use them against the children.”

Several of the children had tear streaks running down their faces, but as soon as they caught sight of me, they started to giggle.

“Miss Williams, you’re all white!”

“You have stuff all over you!”

“You should see yourself!”

I looked down. I was indeed covered in a white powder, probably from the recently installed smashed Sheetrock and insulation. “Oh my. It looks like I’ve turned into the magical snowman.”

“Nooo!” The giggles grew louder. “It’s not winter!”

I bent forward to be on eye level with most of them. “Maybe I’ve become Belle, the white Great Pyrenees from Belle and Sebastien?

“That’s a dog.” The giggles became high-pitched laughter.

I grinned at them. “How about Casper, the friendly ghost?”

The kids were now laughing so hard they couldn’t answer for a moment. Finally Bethany gasped out, “You’re not dead.”

Thank You, Lord. I straightened. “Well then, if I’m not a snowman, dog, or ghost, I must be Miss Williams, and you know what that means.” As they eagerly lined up, I said, “‘I am not afraid of storms . . .’”

“‘For I am learning how to sail my ship,’” the children finished.

Leave it to children’s books. As they approached me, each one gave me a sign as to what type of interaction they wanted. Hands out to the side, a hug. Hand held up in the air, a high five. Closed hand, a fist bump. Right hand sideways, a handshake.

They all wanted hugs.

So did I.

Bethany was the last in line. I tried not to hug her the longest. Teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites.

The school buildings rested on a hill facing the town park. The wail of sirens and stream of cars and trucks announced the arrival of help and parents. I moved my small huddle of children around to the front toward the parking lot so their folks could find them. The parents, once reunited with their son or daughter, peppered me with questions.

“What happened?”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Was that a drunk driver?”

“Are you okay?”

As I stumbled through various versions of “I don’t know,” a deputy from the Whitman County Sheriff’s Department strolled over. He had to be at least six foot three inches tall, with silver hair, thick black eyebrows, and dark brown eyes that looked like they’d ferret out the facts of any case. He smelled of cigarettes. His name tag said R. Adams. “Ma’am. Looks like you were in the building when the accident happened.”

“Yes. Is the driver—”

“Come with me.” He had a slight New York accent. We walked to the gym, then around to the back side where the accident happened. I had to trot to keep up with him.

“Do you know if the driver is okay?”

His long stride covered a lot of ground. “We don’t know yet.”

The raised gravel parking area near the gym was filling with the LaCrosse ambulance, volunteer fire department, and sheriff’s department vehicles. People were rushing around like ants in a disturbed mound. The Suburban was completely buried under the collapsed roof, and a large group of men and women were working to clear the debris.

Deputy Adams led me to the ambulance where an EMT waited. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think—”

“You have a cut on your head.” The EMT had me sit while he checked me over.

Deputy Adams kept an eye on the rescue efforts as he pulled out a small notebook. “You got all the children out safely?”

I winced as the EMT removed a sliver of glass from my hairline. “By the grace of God, yes. They’re all on their way home.”

He nodded and gave me a slight smile, softening his face. “Absolutely. How many people were in the SUV?”

“I don’t know.” I told him about what sounded like gunfire and the sound of an engine and getting the children clear of the room. I left out my cowering in the debris.

“Gunfire? Are you sure?”

“It could have been backfire.”

He looked around, then motioned for an officer to come over. They spoke for a few moments before the man left.

I glanced over at the gathered first responders, parents, and neighbors. What if—

“When did you first see the SUV?” Deputy Adams asked.

I pointed. “He, or whoever was driving, must have come up either First or Hill Avenue, crossed this lot, then shot straight into the building.”

A farmer drove up on a John Deere tractor and began lifting larger chunks of rubble with the bucket.

After the deputy took my name, address, and phone number, he handed me a business card. “I’ll be contacting you soon for your statement. You might want to head home as soon as possible. We want to clear the area.” He strolled away.

More people had arrived and pitched in to free the SUV and its occupants. A truck with a Miller Construction sign on the side parked next to us. Men in hard hats, work boots, and lime-green safety vests got out and set to work.

A pregnant woman in her thirties with long, dark hair pulled into a french braid drifted over and hovered nearby. When the EMT finished putting a bandage on my head and moved away, she approached me. “Hi. I’m Mary Thompson. I overheard you talking to that deputy. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I guess. You’re a reporter?”

“No. Copywriter for a medical company in Spokane.” She rolled her eyes. “Boooooring. You’re Samantha Williams?”

I nodded.

“Well, Samantha—”

“Call me Sam.”

She grinned. “Sam then. You saved all those children. You’re so brave. I would have been scared out of my mind.”

Warmth burned up my neck and across my cheeks. “I . . . ah . . . so . . . um . . . what brought you to LaCrosse from Spokane?” I stood. “That’s 86.9 miles from here.”

“I was already here.”

An officer started herding the onlookers away from the crash. “Move on, folks. Nothing for you to do here.”

“Come on,” Mary grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the shade under a tree.

My brain was buzzing from the adrenaline and all the activity. “I’m sorry. I’m a little—”

“I bet you are. I guess I should start at the beginning. I’m following the story about the body they found last week. And the one they just found.” She waved her hand at the construction workers.

“Bodies?” I knew I was out of touch with the news. I didn’t own a television, computer, or phone. “What bodies? Wait . . . I’m not sure I want to know.” My legs started to buckle.

“Let me help you.” Mary grabbed my arm and helped me sit on a patch of grass. She sat next to me. “Can I get you something or—”

“No, I’ll be fine. Just a little woozy.”

“Take your time.”

Most of the onlookers had now moved around to the front of the school. With nothing to see, they started wandering back to their homes or cars.

She cleared her throat. “So do you want to talk about what just happened or—”

“No. You go ahead. You said there was a body . . . or was it two? Here at the school?”

“No, of course not. I followed someone to here and . . .” She paused at my expression. “I’m not weird or a stalker.” She twisted her lips. “As you can see, I’m pregnant. The baby’s father, my husband, Mike, disappeared two months ago. I reported it to the police but they’re not doing anything. I mean, he could be dead!”

I blinked at her. “Why would you think that?”

“Mike had—I guess you’d call it a wild streak. He had . . . questionable friends. Some issues with drugs in the past, stuff like that.” She absently rubbed her stomach. “I thought the baby would . . . redirect him.” She looked at me. “He’s a good man, just impulsive. And he’d never leave me. Not now. Not without telling me . . . something.”

I took a deep breath. The shaking threatened to start again. “So you thought one of the bodies—”

“Could be Mike.” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “That deputy.” She pointed to Deputy Adams. “I was told he was the investigator on the case. I’ve been following him around trying to get him to talk to me, but he says it’s an active case and won’t talk about it. I followed him here to the school earlier—he has kids here that he was picking up—and was giving it one last go around.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“No. Not yet.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. “I keep track of everything.” She flipped it open and fanned the pages, displaying a mass of tightly written notes. “I won’t give up until I know for sure.”

***

Excerpt from Fallout by Carrie Stuart Parks. Copyright 2022 by Carrie Stuart Parks. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Carrie Stuart Parks

Carrie Stuart Parks is a Christy, multiple Carol, and Inspy Award–winning author. She was a 2019 finalist in the Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence in mainstream mystery/suspense and has won numerous awards for her fine art as well. An internationally known forensic artist, she travels with her husband, Rick, across the US and Canada teaching courses in forensic art to law-enforcement professionals. The author/illustrator of numerous books on drawing and painting, Carrie continues to create dramatic watercolors from her studio in the mountains of Idaho.

Catch Up With Carrie Stuart Parks:
www.CarrieStuartParks.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @CarrieStuartParks
Instagram – @carriestuarparks
Facebook – @CarrieStuartParksAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

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GIVEAWAY:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Carrie Stuart Parks and Thomas Nelson. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

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Giveaway – The Disappearance of Trudy Solomon by Marcy McCreary @iReadBookTours


 

Join Us For This Tour From:  Oct 3 to Oct 21 
Book Details:

Book Title:  The Disappearance of Trudy Solomon by Marcy McCreary
CategoryAdult Fiction (18+), 400 pages
GenreMystery
Publisher: CamCat Books
Publication Date: September 2022.
Tour dates: Oct 3 to Oct 21
Content Rating: PG 
Book Description:

In a family like that, you won’t need enemies.

In the waning days of the Catskills hotel era, Stanley and Rachel Roth, the owners of the Cuttman Hotel, were practically dynasty—third generation proprietors of a sprawling resort with a grand reputation. The glamorous and gregarious matriarch, Rachel. The cunning and successful businessman, Stan. Four beautiful children. A perfect family deserving of respect and loyalty. Or so it seemed.

Fast forward forty years. The Roths have lost their clout. When skeletal remains are found on the side of the road, the disappearance of Trudy Solomon, a coffee shop waitress at the Cuttman in 1978, is reopened. Each member of the Roth family holds a clue to the case, but getting them to admit what they know will force Detective Susan Ford to face a family she’d hoped never to see again.

Meet the Authors:

Marcy McCreary worked for several years as a marketing and sales executive at various magazine publishing companies and content marketing agencies before turning to fiction writing. She is the author of The Disappearance of Trudy Solomon (CamCat Books). With two daughters and two step-daughters living in four different cities (Brooklyn, Nashville, Madison, Seattle), she spends a lot of time on airplanes crisscrossing the country. She lives in the beautiful coastal towns of Hull, MA and Nantucket, MA with her husband and black lab.

connect with the author: website facebook instagram ~ twitter bookbub ~ goodreads

Tour Schedule:

Oct 3 – 
Cover Lover Book Review – book spotlight / author interview / giveaway
Oct 4 – fundinmental – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 5 – Paws.Read.Repeat – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 6 – Hall Ways Blog – book spotlight / guest post / giveaway
Oct 6 – Chit Chat with Charity – book spotlight / guest post / author interview / giveaway
Oct 7 – Literary Flits – book spotlight / guest post / giveaway
Oct 7 – Rockin’ Book Reviews – book spotlight / guest post / giveaway
Oct 7 – devanshi_joshi19 – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 11 – Liese’s Blog – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 11 – Books are a Blessing – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 12 – Celticlady’s Reviews – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 13 – Deborah-Zenha Adams – book spotlight / guest post / giveaway
Oct 14 – Jazzy Book Reviews – book spotlight / guest post / giveaway
Oct 14 – Sefina Hawke Books – book spotlight 
Oct 17 – Stephanie Jane– book spotlight / author interview / giveaway
Oct 18 – Splashes of Joy – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 19 – Mystery Review Crew – book spotlight / guest post / giveaway
Oct 19 – Gina Rae Mitchell – book spotlight / guest post / giveaway
Oct 20 – The Obsessed Reader – book spotlight / giveaway
Oct 21 – Locks, Hooks and Books – book spotlight / author interview / giveaway
Oct 21 – Books for Books – book spotlight
Enter the Giveaway:



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Giveaway – Kingdom Of Acatalec by S M McCoy @XpressoTours

Kingdom of Acatalec
S.M. McCoy
Published by: The Wild Rose Press
Publication date: October 3rd 2022
Genres: Fantasy, Romance, Science Fiction

I work with aliens, my best friends is held hostage, and everyone wants to murder me before the Lord Prince can magically bond to share my power? If I had known an illegal drone race would lead to murder, kidnapping, and lies, then I might have thought better about the giant prize of credits, and the dream of walking again.I never met my best friend in person until a drone race gone wrong had both of us vying for our lives against a secret alien society. To make matters worse… my boss was one of them, and I couldn’t decide if he was trying to save my life, or the reason I was in trouble to begin with.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Audible

EXCERPT:

He sighed. “The less you know about these people the better.”

So they were mobsters, I confirmed to myself. I mean, anyone hosting an illegal drone race couldn’t be considered a quote unquote good guy, but I hadn’t really thought about it before. I merely liked the extra cash that most of these races provided, but this race was much more risky than anything I’d ever been involved with.

“Got it.”

“If we win the race, you can get through this whole thing without anyone knowing who you are. You keep your mask on, and you stay in the drone assigned to you. It isn’t uncommon for winners to take on a persona, but if you lose you will be forced to pay off your debt, and we don’t want to owe these people, they don’t take credits. You will be forced to join the Drone Guard, as you are now considered one of the top pilots, and that is more valuable than credit.”

“Like indentured service? They can’t do that… can they?”

“They can, and they do, though most are more than happy to devote themselves to the cause.” He smirked at me. “I don’t see you as being a follow orders kind of pilot,” he joked, “If you were, we wouldn’t be here.”

I glared at him. “This isn’t funny. You could have been more upfront and said, ‘Tyler, I know you’re a sucker for illegal drone races, but you’d been getting yourself involved with gangsters. Please sit this one out.’ Would have been a nice heads up.” I lowered my voice and did a horrible impression of his silky deep tone that sounded more like a gruff cartoon character.

He leaned forward and grabbed my hand in his then smoothly said, “Tyler, don’t get involved with illegal drone races. Being as they are illegal, they are usually run by powerful overlords that don’t care about your wellbeing. Please listen to me next time.”

I pulled my hand from his and swatted at him. He laughed, and leaned back into his seat, and this was the most relaxed I’d ever seen him. Which was surprising considering we were going to an evil overlord’s lair and trying to win a drone race to save my friend Kelly from financial ruin, and now make sure I didn’t become an indentured pilot to amoral goons.

“Would that have made a difference,” he asked seriously to me.

I frowned and shook my head. “Probably not. I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“And you believe me now?” He quirked a brow. He was quite handsome when he wasn’t reprimanding me.

“After the cutthroat race to even be here right now, unfortunately yes. Plus,” I stopped and shook my head, changing my mind about telling him how much I was worried that I still hadn’t heard from Kelly. She was the one who even signed us up for this race, and it made me nervous knowing who we were racing for was dangerous. What if she didn’t make it through the first race, and was lying in a ditch somewhere, or worse at the hospital because another racer crashed her into oncoming traffic? Picking at my nail cuticle I flexed my fingers and then dug them into my pant legs to stop myself from picking until I had no more skin to pick.

He watched me expectantly, waiting for me to finish. The way his eyes tore into my soul made me want to tell him all of my secrets, my lip quivered because my insides hurt thinking about anything happening to Kelly. She was all I had when this was all over, at least I hoped I still had her after this was over. Misinterpreting why I was so emotional he nodded and tried to reassure me, “You’ve far surpassed most pilots I’ve seen in this race during training, but fear will help you stay sharp. Let your instincts help protect you when the time comes.”

“My instincts are what I fear most right now.”

Author Bio:

Stevie Marie is the author of young adult paranormal fantasy, The Divine Series, and The Acatalec Series. Born within the apex of another universe, where magic flows like leaky faucets, and forged from the fires of the Underrealm she dug her way to Earth and reluctantly participates in human society, secretly returning to her home world to relay the stories of her monsters, and the troubled love of her people. When she isn’t writing she’s designing clothing, momming it up with her tiny monsters, or narrating audiobooks in the rainy city of Seattle, Washington.

Grab your first free book when joining the fantasy romance newsletter: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/pzx6j7x29n

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GIVEAWAYS!


Win a signed copy of Kingdom of Acatalec ($17.99+S&H Value) (kingsumo.com)

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Giveaway – Green House Haunting by Olivia York @XpressoTours

Green House Haunting: An Andy Watts Ghost Column
Olivia York
Publication date: September 29th 2022
Genres: Mystery, New Adult, Supernatural, Suspense

A terrible tragedy dead and buried. Can a young woman dig up the haunted truth without falling into madness?

Andy Watts needs a break. So when the struggling journalist is asked to revisit a fifty-year-old mystery, she jumps at the chance to move into an abandoned house and honor her long-gone mom by becoming a respected reporter. But she’s shocked when she discovers not only did a polio-stricken boy disappear from within its rooms, but his mother took a fatal tumble down the stairs.

Stonewalled by the locals and unnerved by unexplained events in the eerie home, Andy fears the town would rather bury evidence than admit one of their own could commit murder. And with the ghostly image of a youngster in leg braces persisting, she’s terrified by hints that the awful answer is calling from beyond the grave.

Can Andy deliver justice for the voiceless before she becomes the next victim?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

EXCERPT:

Green house stood solemnly in a noiseless field of overgrown vegetation. The dim rays of daylight disappeared in the distance beyond, darkening the front while sharpening the jagged exterior outline with a looming violet glow. It rose above the ground, perhaps two floors high, but a lack of windows at the top told Andy it may not have an attic to speak of.

The house drew her closer. The windows appeared somewhat new, the lining freshly painted white. It contrasted the worn, splintered wood on the verge of collapsing from the weight of a perched bird. At the base of the sagging stoop was the frame of a crumbling, rusted bicycle, rendered useless by the rain and condensation.

Andy climbed the front steps. Two, three, four steps upward, each one creaking an undecipherable note of an ominous melody. An unraveling front door mat read “Home” in tattered, fading letters.

This isn’t so bad.

Andy winced, unable to swallow her own lie. Quickly, she found the key in the envelope before she could change her mind and turn back. The shiny silver looked brand new compared to the decrepit bronze lock on the door. Studying the door closer, she spotted the new keyhole. A stern-looking deadbolt glinting a couple of inches above what must have been the original lock.

She pushed the door open, and the weight dragged it all the way open to gently bounce off the interior wall. Andy peered inside, but her feet stayed glued to the mat outside the door. The interior contents were fuzzy in the fading light, yet she could spot the three glinting hooks on the wall for sweaters and hats. A little deeper inside was one wing of the house, and to the right was another. In the center was a semi-carpeted staircase leading upstairs, where what followed remained unseen around the corner.

There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the home. She was no expert on houses made in the ’30s and ’40s, but it looked about how she’d expect. The ceilings were low, and the wooden floor was dull. However, Andy couldn’t help but feel something was different. That there was something in plain sight she couldn’t see. She stood motionless at the door, searching for what she thought was missing. The house stood, too, waiting patiently.


Author Bio:

Olivia York writes supernatural suspense novels with family drama woven throughout (and hints of mystery). After a stint working for a local news station as reporter/anchor in the Midwest, she decided to make the switch to her imaginative side and write.

She is a lover of cats, road trips, and visiting old fashioned candy shops along the coast. Olivia lives with her husband and two cats, who are kind enough to humor her love of paranormal TV shows and never-ending collection of horror films.

Sign up for Olivia York’s Newsletter to find out about new releases, updates, cover reveals, and more!

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram


GIVEAWAY!


Hosted by:
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  • You can see my Giveaways HERE.
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  • If you like what you see, why don’t you follow me?
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The Spotlight Is On To Catch The Setting Sun by Richard I Levin @Your_In8_Power @partnersincr1me

To Catch The Setting Sun by Richard I Levine Banner

To Catch The Setting Sun

by Richard I Levine

September 5 – September 30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

To Catch The Setting Sun by Richard I Levine

There’s a killer loose on the island of Oahu. His targets? Young, native-Hawaiian women. But it also appears that he’s targeting and taunting Honolulu police detective Henry Benjamin who knew each victim and whose wife, Maya, had been the first name on that list. In addition to battling his personal demons, this New York transplant’s aggressive style didn’t sit well with his laid-back colleagues who viewed Henry’s uncharacteristic lack of progress in the investigation as evidence that fueled ongoing rumors that he could be the killer. Was he, or could it have been someone within the municipal hierarchy with a vendetta? As it was, after thirteen years on the job Henry had been disillusioned with paradise. His career choice long killed any fantasy of living in a grass hut on a wind-swept beach, being serenaded by the lazy sounds of the ocean and a slack key guitar. Instead, it had opened his eyes to a Hawaii that tourists will never see.

Praise for To Catch the Setting Sun:

“One of the best crime novels I have read in a long time!”

Jon Nakapalau, Goodreads Review

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense, Thriller
Published by: The Wild Rose Press
Publication Date: August 22nd 2022
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 1509243305 (ISBN13: 9781509243303)
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

1

When the rock is lifted, the light pours in and
the vermin will scurry in panic.
They always do.
The ancestors still come to me in my dreams to caution that these parasites are as unrepentant and just as predictable
as they have always been.
Yet we must not become complacent. Vigilance is the key
or we fall victim to their treachery.
We are close, we are almost there.
Each new day peels away another layer of the façade. No different than me,
you too can feel the winds of change.
So, take my hand and walk this path with me. Open your eyes and see it as I do.
When we stand tall, strong, and together,
we will weather any storm.
I take comfort in knowing you also know
the day will be soon that the clouds will part,
and our hands will once again be free
to catch the setting sun.

The reflection from scattered tiki torches competed with the moonlight flickering off the rhythmic ripples rolling across the black velvet lagoon. Gentle trade winds, carrying the sweet peach-like scent of plumeria, teased the palm fronds as easily as they tickled the torch lights—clearly a welcomed reprieve from five straight days of stifling temperatures. A catamaran and a couple of small outrigger canoes, their artfully painted fiberglass hulls made to look like the wood of ancient Koa trees, were pulled up along the sandy shoreline. The heavy beat of drums reverberated off the tall palms and set the tempo for a half-dozen pair of grass-skirted hips dancing on the main stage while vacationers laughed, ogled, and stuffed their faces with shredded pork, scoops of lomi salmon, steaming flavored rice wrapped in Ti leaves, thick juicy slices of pineapple, papaya, mango, and freshly roasted macadamia nuts that were all artfully displayed on wide banana-leaf- covered centerpieces. They sat cross-legged in the sand, sipping mai tais from plastic cups made to look like hollowed-out coconut shells, lost in a tropical fantasy that came complete with a souvenir snapshot taken with an authentic hula girl—the perfect paradise as portrayed on the website. The noise from the music, chanting, and laughter drowned out the frantic noise of the nearby kitchen, and it drowned out the desperate pleas and painful cries of Makani Palahia from the far side of the beach at Auntie Lily’s Luau Cove and Hawaiian Barbecue.

****

The hardened steel of the polished blade sparkled when slowly turned a mere few degrees from left to right, back and forth, as if part of an ancient ritual. Makani’s teeth clinched against the foul-tasting cloth that had been forced into her mouth and tied tight behind her head, each time the knife circled back toward her face, each time passing closer, each time pausing for effect. When rested alongside her cheek, she arched as far as her restraints would allow—the plastic zip ties cutting deeper into her wrists. She let out a muffled cry, begging for the whole ordeal to stop. A sadistic laugh from the shadows made her pray to Jesus for the long-lost comfort of her mother—a comfort stolen by the alcohol and drugs that flowed through West Oahu as easily as the tides that washed away the sandcastles from its beaches. To watch her struggle not to gag as her eyes pleaded for freedom fueled an adrenaline rush that fed the flames of her assailant— strong and powerful now, like a sovereign over all that was to be ruled and judged. The blade was pulled from Makani’s golden-brown skin long enough for her back muscles and her bladder to relax, only to make her arch and plead again when it was returned to her tear-stained cheek.

“This is on you, Princess! Brought this on yourself, yeah? It’s a shame, too, because you’re so young and pretty. Of all the others, you’re the one who looks the most like royalty. The ancients would’ve been proud of you. But they’re not, are they? No, they’re not, and you know they’re not. You’ve disappointed all of us with so many of your sins. Are you ready to confess?”

She struggled to reply, but the rag pressed hard on her tongue.

“What’s that? You say something? You look like you got something to say.”

A faceless phantom-like figure stood tall above her, causing her to squint from the intermittent sparkle of what she thought was a pendant. Makani nodded while she strained to make out the image that seemed so familiar to her.

“I’ll loosen the bandana, but I warn you right now, if you scream…” She saw the knife dance again. “But let’s not think about that, okay? We calmly talk story a little, yeah?”

Again, she nodded, almost afraid to speak now that her lips could move freely. A rush of fresh air filled her mouth and intensified the pungent taste that covered her tongue. Her stomach muscles tightened as she gagged.

“P-please, let me go. I d-don’t know you. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Let you go? I think, I think maybe after you confess. I think maybe I can let you go after we finish our business, yeah?”

“C-confess? What business? Who are you? What d-do you want from me? Why are you d-doing this to me?”

“Why am I doing? I didn’t pick you, Princess. You made that choice. You made that choice when you picked him and rejected our own.”

“P-picked who? Reject you? I d-don’t even know you. How did I…”

“You judged us!” A heavy hand landed across her mouth. “You judged me and our bruddahs and sistas when you chose an outsider. Judge not, lest ye be judged, and today is…today is your judgment day.”

****

Reece Valentine had a hard time keeping his eyes off the third girl from the left—diverting his attention long enough to down another piña colada or attempt to calm the concerns of his fiancée that he wasn’t going to run off into the bush with a native girl. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying the fantasy. With constricted pupils locked onto toned abdominal muscles gyrating within grabbing distance of his imagination, he laughed at the memory of frat house Polynesian-style parties that never came close to the evening’s entertainment.

“Reece, stop staring. It’s embarrassing.”

“Come on, Jules, I’m trying to enjoy the show. We’re on vakay. Where’s your island spirit?”

“I’m trying to enjoy the show, but that’s your fifth drink since the luau started, and you’re beginning to put on a little show of your own. At least stop howling at those girls. People are starting to look at you.”

“Jules, please. I’m just having some fun. It’s not every day we get to enjoy something like this, is it? Seriously, when was the last time we saw a show like this back in Portland?”

“Look, I’m not trying be all salty, but when you ran up on stage to do the hula, did you have to grab that dancer’s waist? And the way you started rubbing on her…geez!”

“Okay, now you’re exaggerating.” He grabbed her and nuzzled her neck.

“Really?”

“It was part of the dance.”

“Okay, so when the male dancers come out and I go running up there, are you going to get mad when I start rubbing myself all over those well-oiled muscular bodies?” She smiled.

“Now you’re the one being silly. Have another drink and chill.”

“Chill? You want me to chill? I think I’ll go for a swim…a naked swim.” She got up and raced down the beach toward the far end of the lagoon.

After a brief moment, as well as a few envious looks from other revelers, Reece went after her.

“Jules! Julie, wait up!” he called, but the alcohol had hindered his ability to maintain a steady balance over the soft uneven contours of the sand. When he fell, he scraped his knee on a piece of coral buried just below the surface. “Damn it! Jules, wait up. I just…damn, I just cut myself.”

Halfway between the luau and the end of the lagoon, about thirty yards from a thicket of Kiawe bushes, she turned to see him sitting on the beach, nursing his knee, and quite possibly his ego. Julie Chow started to head back when she heard some rustling and what she thought was a grunting sound coming from the direction of the bushes. She stopped to listen, only to hear Reece call out again. She tried to listen once more but heard nothing.

“Jules! Come back.”

“Why don’t you come over here,” she said and took several steps toward the bushes. “It’s dark and deserted down this way.”

“I hurt myself. Come help me.”

With a few glances over her shoulder, she slowly made her way back.

“Serves you right. I think the ancient Hawaiian gods were punishing you just now because of your disrespectful thoughts about one of their daughters.”

“Stop it, will you? My knee is killing me.”

“Such a baby!” she teased. “I’m surprised you can feel anything with all that native juice in you.”

“Stop scolding and come help me,” he begged. She came close enough for him to grab her arm and pull her down to join him on the sand.

“You’re not hurt that bad, you faker!”

“I know, but I had to do something. I couldn’t catch up to you.” He laughed.

“Because you’re drunk, and when you get drunk, you’re horny as hell.”

“You can say that again.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Listen, I got carried away, and I’m sorry. But you’re right, Jules, I’m horny as hell, and you know I’m not interested in anyone other than you.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she pulled away at the last moment. “Hey!”

“There’s a lot of bushes down there.” She pointed. “Wanna go fool around?”

“What? Get naked here on the beach in the middle of a luau? There’s tons of people here.”

“It’s dark. There’s bushes. No one will see us. No one will hear us. Come on, you afraid?”

“They won’t see us, but they’ll definitely hear us.”

“You mean they’ll hear you. I’ll have you screaming so loud they’ll think you’re being murdered.” She jumped on top of him, and they passionately kissed in a long embrace.

“I’ve got a better idea.” He pushed back to catch his breath. “Let’s go back to the hotel, and I’ll show you what going native is all about.”

“And give up a chance to get my hands on all those sweaty, muscular Hawaiian men? Race you.” She took off back to the festivities with Reece in hot pursuit.

****

Makani gagged at the smell of the dirty hand that covered her face—removed only when the couple from the luau got far enough away from the thicket.

“That wouldn’t have ended well for those tourists. Too bad. Would’ve made the night a little more interesting. So, where were we? Oh yes, about your choice, Princess.”

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about. What ch-choice did I make?”

“You are one very pretty wahine, a very pretty woman, you know that? Yeah, you know you so nani, so beautiful, don’t you? I’ll bet you tease men to get things you want, yeah?”

“If you’re g-going, if you’re going to rape me, then j-just do it already. Just do it and g-get it over with. I won’t tell anyone. Just do it and, and let me go. Please? Please, just let me go.”

Save for the low sadistic laugh she had heard before, there was no immediate reply. Her breathing, fast and shallow now, seemed to make the few stars that had been visible through the branches spin wildly and caused her hands, legs, and feet to feel cold—making the hand that inched its way down the outer portion of her thigh feel uncomfortably warm.

For her tormentor, however, there was pleasure in feeling the gentle contours of muscles toned from many hours of hula as rough callused fingers crept over her thigh, past the knee, and down to her ankle. A brief pause to take in the tremble that was felt moving like a wave through her body, watching her lips press together, and her eyes squeeze tight, elicited a child-like giddiness that had long been forgotten.

Makani tightened again from the sandpaper texture of a tongue across her cheek and a heavy breath in her ear. She realized the warm antiseptic scent now lingering on her face was the smell of whiskey. The hand with jagged fingernails carved a return path up the inside of her leg to her knee, then slowed while continuing up the inner portion of her thigh—teasing, threatening. She cried a little harder.

“Did that hurt, Princess? Take it from me, a true warrior princess doesn’t cry. She’s strong, very strong, and she likes it rough.”

“Please, don’t…”

“What, make love to you? You make me laugh. I’d never soil myself on a sinner.”

She felt the grip tighten around her upper thigh, and in equal response her athletic body tightened just as much.

“I like this. I like how your legs feel. So smooth, so soft. I like how they feel in my hands. It’s so…comforting. I bet the boys like touching them too, yeah? I bet you’d really like me to do more, don’t you? I can tell the thought excites you. I bet you didn’t expect my hands to be this strong and powerful, yeah? Do you feel how strong my hands are? It makes me feel so powerful to hold you like this.”

A low-pitched hiss, then a crackled voice momentarily interrupted. “Central to Detective eight- one.”

“You almost tricked me, Princess!” The anger was as sudden and sharp as the sting she felt from the three- inch welt created when those hands were quickly withdrawn. “You almost tricked me. You were trying to confuse me. Deceitful women like you do that all the time, but I know better.” Again, the blade came into view. “You tried to tempt me with your makeup. I bet you do it to make yourself look young and innocent. But we both know better, don’t we? You tried to deceive me, but you’re not innocent, not innocent at all. You do it special for him, don’t you? Yes, I think you did it to please him. You make me angry. You make the ancestors angry.”

“I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about. I don’t have a boyfr—”

“Liar!” The voice rose, triggering a shooting glance through the branches, down the beach toward the festivities, afraid they might have been heard. “Don’t make me gag you.”

Again, a radio transmission crackled. “Central to Detective eight-one, do you copy?”

“Who are you?” she asked, again getting a glimpse of the pendant, focusing on the letters H O N O L U L U across its face. She realized it wasn’t a piece of jewelry, but a badge. She tried to narrow her focus— her tears making it difficult to read the number. The radio crackled again.

“Lieutenant Kim to central dispatch, be advised eight-one’s radio hasn’t been working properly. You can reach him on his cell.”

She strained to see the face hidden in the darkness, the voice now mocking the radio call.

“Central to Detective eight-one. Where are you, eight-one? Come save the day, eight-one.”

“Dispatch to Kim, copy that, Lieutenant,” came the static-filled reply.

“I d-don’t know you. I don’t know you at all. I don’t kn-know what you’re talking about. Are you HPD? What do you want from me?”

“You know me,” came the whisper, this time placing the sharp edge of the blade across her costume, cutting just enough material on her shoulder to expose her breasts. “Very pretty.”

“You said you were g-going to let me go. I should be d-dancing at the show. I should be there. They’re going to m-miss me. They’re g-going to come looking for me.”

“Nobody’s going to come looking for you, Princess, nobody.”

The blade methodically moved across her flesh— circling, teasing, drawing blood from a shallow incision across her shoulder. At first Makani felt the sting before the warmth of liquid snaked into the creases of her underarm. Her tears flowed freely now. Adding one more indignity to her suffering, the grass skirt she had always worn with pride was ripped aside, and one more time the knife came to rest across her cheek.

“You know who I am, and you know exactly why we’re here. We all must face judgment for our sins.”

“I don’t know….” She stopped mid-sentence—a dirty index finger pressed to her mouth. She gagged at the vile taste—a cross between a lack of hygiene and her own urine. The finger was forced farther into her mouth and pressed against her tongue. She reflexively bit down, drawing blood and a painful slap to her face. “I don’t know you,” she cried out. “Why are you doing this? P-please let me go! I won’t say anything. I won’t t-tell anyone, I promise!”

“Let you go?” came the angered reply. A vise-like grip squeezed her cheeks, preventing her from speaking. “Not now, damn you! Not after you bit me! Not after you refuse to confess your sins. Do you see how you’ve forced my hand? Now you have to be purified.” Again, her face was slapped.

“I’m sorry, I am. I didn’t mean to bite you. Please? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” Her eyes, blurred from tears, tried to follow the figure as it moved about— finally catching a glimpse of a face lit by the glow of a freshly lit cigarette. “Oh my God!” She was repulsed at the sight, gagging as the bandana was forced back into her mouth—arching, straining, and kicking against the nylon cable ties when the cigarette was moved closer to the side of her face.

“I know you don’t understand. Nobody does anymore, and that’s the problem. In the old days the people needed to make their peace with the gods so they could be blessed and have a harvest, take fish from the sea, and be protected from evil, from the night marchers, from Pele. Those gods and the ancestors are deeply saddened how our way of life, our history, our culture, and our future have all been dishonored. You, and others like you, have dishonored all of us by mixing pure blood, and there’s only one way for you to be forgiven. You will serve as a message, a warning to others. And with your purification, with your sacrifice, the gods and the ancestors will grant you redemption.”

Makani’s heartbeat pounded in her chest and in her head, making the drums, the laughter, and the applause for the fire-eaters disappear. And just as another cold stinging slice was surgically carved across her throat, she thought she heard her killer recite an ancient prayer while she watched the flickering lights of the luau fade away.

***

Excerpt from To Catch the Setting Sun by Richard I Levine. Copyright 2022 by Richard I Levine. Reproduced with permission from Richard I Levine. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Richard I Levine is a native New Yorker raised in the shadows of Yankee Stadium. After dabbling in several occupations and a one-year coast to coast wanderlust trip, this one-time volunteer fireman, bartender, and store manager returned to school to become a chiropractor. A twenty-one year cancer survivor, he’s a strong advocate for the natural healing arts. Levine has four Indy-published novels and his fifth work, To Catch The Setting Sun, has just been completed and he’s anticipating a spring 2022 release. In 2006 he wrote, produced and was on-air personality of the Dr. Rich Levine show on Seattle’s KKNW 1150AM and after a twenty-five year practice in Bellevue, Washington, he closed up shop in 2017 and moved to Oahu to pursue a dream of acting and being on Hawaii 5-O. While briefly working as a ghostwriter/community liaison for a local Honolulu City Councilmember, he appeared as a background actor in over twenty-five 5-Os and Magnum P.Is. Richard can be seen in his first co-star role in the Magnum P.I. third season episode “Easy Money”. He presently resides in Hawaii.

Catch Up With Richard I Levine:
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Twitter – @Your_In8_Power
Facebook – @RichardLevineAuthor

 

 

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Giveaway – Whispers In The Waters by Sarah Chislon @XpressoTours

Whispers in the Waters
Sarah Chislon
Publication date: September 27th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Mystery

Ladies don’t shame their families.

Ladies don’t confront Otherwordly threats.

Ladies certainly don’t admit some taint of the fae has touched their souls—unless they wish to find themselves confined to an Institution.

Gently-bred herbalist Jessa Caldwell is trying to be a lady. She conceals her true nature amongst her plants and her sketches—where she can almost shut out the whispers she alone hears. But a threat to her beloved aunt forces her from the comfort of home to a town perilously near an Otherworldly Crossing, with its ever-present risk of fae incursions.

To protect her aunt and the townsfolk she comes to care for, she must uncover the individual responsible for a series of increasingly dangerous attacks—but to find this saboteur will require embracing the part of herself she fears most, an act that could cost her dearly. In a world where Vigilists lock up fae-touched mortals, Jessa must decide if she’s willing to risk exposing her true nature to obtain the truth and protect those she loves.

Whispers in the Waters, a gaslamp fantasy novella, serves as the prequel to Tattoo of Crimson, the first book in the Blood of the Fae series. If you like quick-minded heroines who solve cases with logic and intuition, Otherworldly intrigues, and beautiful yet deadly fae, then you’ll love this mystery set in a world of manners and mythical monsters.

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EXCERPT:

I rounded a bend, and the slight woman I’d seen in the stratesman’s shadow when we’d arrived in Milburn stumbled down the lane, her gown of muslin streaked with dirt and littered with forest debris. She clutched a ragged silk shawl around her shoulders, as though it could shield her from notice.

Nelda, Mrs. Wilkins had called her. Her palm dripped blood, and tears streaked her cheeks. For a moment, I remained rooted in place. If the townsfolk were to be believed, Nelda had brought a vengeful attack against Melle and her family. But the downcast lines of her body spoke of brokenness and distress, not malice.

“Nelda?” I hoped she wouldn’t take offense at the use of her given name from a stranger. I hurried forward. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Nelda lifted her hand and watched as blood wept from it, one drop after another splatting against the dusty surface of the road. The wound cut deep.

Could Mrs. Wilkins have been right when she’d suggested madness? I shifted the bundle of clothes from one arm to the other. “Can I accompany you home and find someone to tend your injury?”

She laughed, a wild, off-key sound. “Home? I have no home.”

“Then where are you staying?” I lowered my voice in an attempt to soothe her. “I’ll help you there and fetch an herbalist, if it suits you.”

“Staying? No one will house me. Not after what’s happened at the mill.” She jabbed toward the trees with her uninjured hand. “I stay in the forest. At least here, I’m close. Close to where home used to be.”

I drew in a sharp breath. To live in the forest, this close to a Crossing? It was unthinkable. Otherkind might lurk anywhere, not to mention natural predators. Had the entire town truly forsaken her, simply because she’d wed the wrong man and he’d abandoned her? Or was there more that I missed? Society offered swift condemnation for those who failed to abide by its strictures, but other than a poor choice in a husband, what wrong had she done?

She swayed, and I rushed to steady her. “You can’t stay out here. You need proper shelter and someone to look at your wound. Come with me into Milburn, and we’ll find an herbalist.”

“No, I can’t.” She backed away, every scrap of color leeching from already-pale features. “No one here wants to help. They’d only try to lock me up!”

Author Bio:

Sarah Chislon lives in Virginia with her husband and three daughters. When she’s not writing, she’s homeschooling her children and running a web development business with her husband. As an avid reader and a lifelong story-weaver, she delights in creating fantastic worlds and exploring them alongside her characters.

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