A joyful Christmas festival turns deadly when a corpse ends up as the chilling centerpiece. Can an amateur sleuth unwrap the tinsel-tangled mystery before the merry cheer melts away?
Talented antique enthusiast, Dotty Sayers, is thrilled to be organising a Christmas display at a Yorkshire country house. She enjoys decking the halls, but the season is far from jolly when the chief guide is found dead, her body as cold as ice.
When cops dismiss the death, Dotty turns to her prickly American colleague, only to learn he has his own secrets to solve. But when he disappears, this amateur detective fears the festive charades have become far deadlier.
Can Dotty string together the clues and bring to light the killer?
About Victoria Tait
Victoria Tait was born and raised in Yorkshire, England. After following her military husband around the world, she drew on her life’s experiences, and a love of Agatha Christie, Father Brown, and Murder She Wrote, to write British-based cozy mysteries.
Her determined female sleuths are joined by colourful and quirky teams of helpers, and her settings are vivid and realistic. As you’re compelled to keep turning the pages, you’ll be irresistibly drawn into a world where you’ll experience surprises, humour, and sometimes, a tug on your heartstrings.
Do you like tea, mysteries, and books? Then why not join Victoria’s TeaCozy Club for regular news and updates, and download the free prequel to the Dotty Sayers Antique Mysteries series as a gift by visiting VictoriaTait.com
Who doesn’t like tea, cake, and a slice of murder?
Join us for this spotlight tour from Oct 2to Nov 2, 2023!
Book Details:
Book Title: Murder by the Stroke (A Fiona Quinn Mystery) Author: C.S. McDonald Category: Adult Fiction, 260 pages Genre: Cozy Mystery Publisher: McWriter Books Release date: Nov 2023 Content Rating: G. C.S. McDonald’s books are appropriate for YA readers as well as adults–no bad language or sexual content.
Book Description:
Detective Landry’s old flame is drop-dead gorgeous, and so are her paintings!
Pittsburgh’s most influential cultural enthusiasts are overjoyed when famous artist, Vashti, has scheduled a gala followed by a weeklong exhibit of her latest works. On the other hand, Detective Nathan Landry isn’t so excited about the invitation he has received to the gala. Back in the day, he and the renowned painter were lovers. That is, when her name was Sadie Jensen, or as Nathan’s sister liked to call her, “Psycho Sadie.”
Art experts, and collectors alike, have been intrigued by a tiny brush stroke, known as an invisible stroke. So subtle and out of place is the technique, that Vashti’s elusive stroke has become as famous as a Where’s Waldo search.
Meanwhile, Fiona finds herself captivated by more than Vashti’s flair for the obscure. Rather, she is far more interested in the gorgeous artist and Nathan’s past. Against his wishes, Fiona, her mother, and her mother-in-law attend the exhibit.
Indeed, Vashti’s paintings are killing it in the art world, and in more ways than one.
For twenty-six years C.S. McDonald’s life whirled around a song and a dance. Classically trained at Pittsburgh Ballet Theater School, The Pittsburgh Dance Alloy, and many others, she became a professional dancer and choreographer. During that time, she choreographed many musicals and an opera for the Pittsburgh Savoyards. In 2011 she retired from her dance career to write. Under her real name, Cindy McDonald, she writes murder-suspense and romantic suspense novels. In 2014 she added the pen name, C.S. McDonald, to write children’s books for her grandchildren. In 2016 she added the Fiona Quinn Mysteries to that expansion. She decided to write the cozy mystery series that everyone, including teens and tweens, can read and enjoy. Presently, the Fiona Quinn Mysteries includes nine books with a tenth slated for 2021. The books are also available on audio, narrated by Maren Swenson Waxenberg.
Cindy’s newest venture is The Owl’s Nest Mysteries. Once again, she has set her cozy mystery in Pittsburgh and the female protagonist, Alexa Owl, is much different from Fiona Quinn. The Owl’s Nest Mysteries has a little grit, a little time travel, a little romance, and a whole lot of cozy!
Ms. McDonald resides on her Thoroughbred farm known as Fly by Night Stables near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with her husband, Bill, and her poorly behaved Cocker Spaniel, Allister.
There was a glitch….so the book won’t be free until tomorrow? But, you can purchase it now for .99 if you can’t wait.
I want to send out a huge welcome to P D Alleva. I love covers and I may even be considered a cover whore. A cover can be the reason a pass over a book, or I pause to check it out further. I love talking to authors about how they create their covers. How much input they have. I love to have them share their designers information so others may acquire such fabulous cover too.
Soooo, let’s get to it.
Cover Creating Process
Here’s the biggest part in the cover creating process: choose a designer that knows what they’re doing. Unless you’re a graphic designer you need a damn good cover artist, that’s for sure. If you’re looking for one, my designer hits it out of the park every time. I highly recommend reaching out to Cherie. Her website is below.
Choosing the right cover artist is the first step, but that’s not where the work stops, it’s only where it begins. I’m confident when I say that every author has a predetermined design floating in the back of their mind at some point during the writing process and you need to communicate those ideas effectively to the cover artist. They’re not mind readers and know nothing about your book so the more information and detail you can provide the better the final result will be.
One of the first processes is reviewing book covers in your genre. Look at the most popular books and study the design. Every genre is different and your cover needs to fall in line with what reader’s are used to. Which also means that if the outstanding and awesome cover design you’ve been thinking about over the last six months doesn’t fall in line with what’s on the market, have the wherewithal to scrap your idea. If you want to actually sell books than you need a design that conforms to what readers want and are accustomed to seeing in the genre. If not you risk the chance a potential reader will keep scrolling past your book.
Now that you’ve got your cover examples, you want to bring in the most vital aspects of your story that will not only connect with a potential reader but is also a glimpse into the story that unfolds within the pages and the title of your book. Is there a tagline you want to include, or a popular review quote? Keep in mind that sometimes we add the quote before official publication so leave room for a quote if you plan on having a few to choose from. This is also a good time to ask yourself a basic question: How can my cover stand out from other covers that are currently on the market? You want to be similar in style but uniquely connected to your story. And don’t create a cover that once someone reads your book they’ll wonder what the cover has to do with the story. In other words, don’t create an awesome cover that doesn’t relate to your story. It rubs readers the wrong way and the next thing you know you’re rushing around to get a new cover done. It’s a shitty situation to be in. Trust me, I’ve been there.
Once you’ve got all your examples and ideas ready, your designer will have you complete a cover questionnaire that will ask for all the information above. You want to be as precise as possible when answering, but it’s also good to lean on the designer here, possibly offering a few different perspectives and ideas. If you choose the right designer they’ll have experience with your genre and should also come with a few of their own ideas and expertise. Their experience is paramount and if they decide to scrap one of your ideas as a result of previous experience it is best to heed the advice. I’ve always said that great projects are a collaboration, so remember, you’re working with your designer not barking orders. Good designers are hard to come by and when you’ve got one its best to create a professional relationship if for no other reason than for the sake of consistency.
People who love your covers will expect the same with every novel you produce and working with the same designer, one who learns your style, taste, likes and dislikes allow future processes to go smoothly and without much fuss or redesigns. Which brings us to the next step in the cover creating process: the waiting.
After you provide your cover examples and submit your questionnaire, it’s time for the designer to take the baton and get to work. Tom Petty definitely said it right that the waiting is the hardest part. It takes time to create a cover design and you also have to remember that you’re not the only writer the artist is working with. If you have a strict deadline you need to communicate the deadline to the designer who may or may not be able to deliver on your deadline. I say this as a side note because you shouldn’t expect the magic to happen in a day and proper planning prevents piss poor performance and if you need something on a rush you haven’t done your due diligence. Cover design should begin sooner rather than later in the publishing process. The earlier the better.
But back to Tom Petty. Sit and wait. Sit and wait. Wait and sit. Shit let me check my email again. Nothing yet, but maybe she’s working on it today. Maybe I’ll have something by the end of the week. Well, put those thoughts out of your head and focus on your next book or editing your current one. At the very least go for a walk and cool your heels because that email just came through and you’re licking your lips in anticipation of being dazzled and enthralled.
Then you open the file and disappointment washes over you like acid rain. Thoughts like, “That’s not what I wanted,” or “Is she smoking crack,” may pop into your brain. But you’ve got to understand, this is a creative process, and just like your book it takes a lot of edits and rewrites to create a masterpiece. Every one of my covers has gone through a metamorphosis, beginning with something truly lame and then evolving into having my mind blown. Keep this in mind when you receive that first email. In fact, you should expect the first cover to be nothing like what you wanted because it’ll help curb the disappointment. In order to help understand this concept a bit better, I’ve included the first and final covers for my novel, Jigglyspot and the Zero Intellect. Kind of an evolution of Jigglyspot.
As you can see, the first draft was god awful, but we were on to something and by working together we were able to figure it out and hit the ball out of the park. With every draft we learn more about what should and should not be included on the cover. Knowing what we don’t want or don’t like leads us to what we love and desire. The same holds true for creating a book cover.
After all is said and done then you need to think about the text you want on the back cover. You can include the book description or a list of reviews or a little bit of both. Again, look at what other books in your genre are doing and keep everything consistent because once that cover is beaming bright on your website, amazon page, and across social media you want something you can be proud of and a cover that reflects a fantastic product. Just like your story.
Stephen King step aside. There is a new clown in town…and his name is Jigglyspot. We have carnivals, cannibals and clowns that are sure to supply a ride you will never forget.
“People love clowns, but that wasn’t the problem, was it? Nope, no at all. Jiggly’s problem was with humanity, a species he despised more than he could fathom. Why? Because they have half a brain.”
Zero intellect.
Jigglyspot’s greatest asset is his ability to blend in, to be underestimated.
SAC John Mills has dealt with death but his biggest mystery is the mop bucket arsons. He knew there was more…twenty years of mop bucket arsons more. And Reilly’s mop bucket begins our descent into Hell.
On page sixty eight (of 560) pages, when Jigglyspot took a drink from the fridge…my stomach lurched. Cringe worthy. Savagery beyond my wildest…nightmares.
Where does P D Alleva come up with these ideas? He takes horror to a whole new level for me. So many trigger moments, but I do love dwelling in the darkness. So wickedly, deliciously evil. Will humans become slaves, mere vessels for THEIR pleasures? Who will stop them? Will anyone BE ABLE to stop them?
The story is told from multiple points of view. I would say the main characters are Jigglyspot and Tyler, but we have other characters that are important to the story. Characters like Kera, Lilly, John Mills, Helmsley, Sharon, Cassandra, Mr West, MysterE,and more.
“It’s the laws of the universe, Tyler. When energy shifts too much to one side, an equal and opposite reaction must occur on the other and the universe will have the proper balance through chaos and destruction.”
There was no way I could sit down and read the book in one day, not even two days, but I did not want to stop. My hands were cramping, my vision blurring, and still, I read on, until I had to stop and sleep. So, I will warn you. Set aside some time, because I don’t think you will want to stop either. You may even want to keep the lights on. Maybe even have someone with you, if you think you can trust them with your life.
There is graphic violence that has many triggers, so Jigglyspot is not for the feint of heart. After going over my review, I took some things out. I did not want to give anything away, yet I want to say more. I was so engrossed in the story I ignored everything around me. I think, if you love horror, you will love Jigglyspot.
5 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
Carnivals, Cannibals, and Clowns. Oh My!
Wanna go for a ride?
Meet Jigglyspot, a five-foot tall half human half warlock carnival clown who spends his free time moonlighting as a drug dealing pimp and lackey for demonic entities who prey on the weak and vulnerable, casting their dark shadow across humanity through manipulation, and fear.
Jigglyspot was selected to serve as the event coordinator for 2019’s Summer Solstice Celebration at the prestigious Cannibal Café. A celebration that brings together both demon and human alike. But with less than two weeks before the celebration, Jigglyspot’s got so much to do and little time to do it. And the feds are hot on his tail. Between securing new recruits for demonic possession, choosing fresh bodies to slice and dice for dinner, and the fact that his girlfriend, Kera, is eating up most of his time, Jiggly’s at his wit’s end.
Hopefully, those demons appreciate all his sacrifices. Hopefully, but unlikely. Those demons can be hell to deal with. Jigglyspot knows; he’s been dealing with them for decades.
Will he rise above, or will tragedy and mayhem lead to dire discoveries poisoned with manipulation and betrayal that will ultimately destroy all Jigglyspot holds dear?
Discover Jigglyspot and his cast of clowns, killers, demons, and wretched fiends, in a novel like you’ve never experienced. Horror, mayhem, thrills, chills, fantasy, and spoils are waiting for your reading eyes with an escape into the underworld of mind control and human slavery.
Warning: This book contains scenes with profound psychological suffering, and graphically violent acts, behaviors, thoughts, deeds, and ridicule. No one has been spared, and no label is safe. Although we are proud to report, no animals were harmed during the writing of this novel, so that’s a good thing. Everyone else is fair game. After all, if you were a demon, what would you think of humanity?
Fans of Grady Hendrix, Catriona Ward, Clive Barker, and Stephen King will be captivated by this edge of your seat, eye-popping, wtf horror novel that is certain to be your next addictive read. As they say, you don’t just read Jigglyspot… You DEVOUR Jigglyspot!
Genre: Fiction, Horror
570 pages, ebook
Expected publication October 31, 2023 by Chamber Door Publishing, LLC
ABOUT P D ALLEVA
I write books, that’s what I do. Horror, scifi, thrillers, fantasy, and sometimes a literary gem. Good ones, crazy ones, fun books, entertaining books, terrifying books that are absolutely insane, books with depth and thrills, and stories that rip out the heart of humanity and tosses it on a slab to be feasted on. Yeah, that’s what I do, I write books. Any questions?
My current projects include: the Pulp Fiction, Sci-Fi/Fantasy series, The Dark Veil:The Rose Vol. III; the horror thriller novella series, Girl on a Mission; the supernatural thriller series, The Hypnotist; and a follow up to Jigglyspot and the Zero Intellect, tentatively titled The Sleepy Hollow Incident.
Your free book is waiting. Join the PD Newsletter at https://pdalleva.com and score a free book.
The Cruel Dark Bea Northwick Publication date: October 31st 2023 Genres: Adult, Gothic, Romance
Millicent Foxboro is haunted.
Not by ghosts, but by the anguish of her past and the uncertainty of her future. After all, even in the progressive year of 1928, most people would balk at hiring a woman who’d spent two months in a mental ward for traumatic amnesia. So when an uncommon assistantship to a reclusive Professor of mythology falls into her lap with an ungodly salary attached, her desperation for stability overrides her cautious nature.
To Millie’s dismay, the widowed Professor Callum Hughes and his estate, Willowfield, are more than she bargained for. The once magnificent home, known for its sprawling gardens and dazzling parties, is falling to pieces after the death of the professor’s fragile wife. What’s more, the staff has been reduced to the only three people not frightened away by rumors of ghosts, leaving the halls empty and languishing in bitter memories.
The professor himself is a grim, intense man with unclear expectations, unpredictable moods, and hungry eyes that ignite Millie’s own dormant passions. The closer she finds herself drawn to Professor Hughes and his strange world of flowers and folklore, the more the house closes in, threatening to reveal her secrets. But the professor is keeping secrets of his own, and the most dangerous of all is hers to discover.
I’d never questioned the presence of my wits more than the moment I stood in the frigid morning air and watched the hired car arrive. The vehicle, sleek and ostentatious, was said to be capable of going fifty miles an hour, and I pretended it was the prospect of that speed making my stomach do somersaults.
The car pulled to a smooth stop, and a tall, ruddy driver unfolded himself from the front seat, introduced himself briefly as Joseph Dempsey, and went to collect my bags. It was short work; I had only one. I wasn’t a woman of means. As the gentleman loaded my valise into the trunk, I ran my bare fingers along the smooth deep sea blue of the wheel hull. This was, undoubtedly, the worst decision I’d ever made, but there were few options, and this was by far the least evil of them.
I glanced over my shoulder to the doorway of the little bookshop I’d come to know as home, where the stooped owner, Mr. Helm, had appeared, his blue eyes uncharacteristically red-rimmed. I’d never seen him on the verge of tears, and my heart constricted painfully. I rushed to him, pulling a thin cotton handkerchief from my pocket. It wasn’t in his character to embrace, so he enveloped both of my hands in his. They were large hands, covered in the ink stains of his trade as an antique book restorer, a business he had been teaching me for the past year despite his once firmly held belief that restoration was not for women.
Mr. Helm had been a tall man in his youth, but the war and many years hunched over a workman’s table had scuttled his stature. I didn’t need to lift my chin to look at his face, which was working to arrange itself into something less aggrieved. I was glad for his trying, because I would call off everything if even one tear rolled down his cheek.
Author Bio:
Bea Northwick is a lover of magical, spooky, and romantic things. She owns too much perfume, can’t pick an aesthetic, and loves 80s movies. She lives with her husband, children, dogs, and a black cat in the sunny American South where she dreams daily of Irish cottages and rain swept Scottish castles.
The cover is very eye catching and I love the concept. It seems all too real to me.
A Quick Fire Interview with Lachi
1. What’s the most adventurous thing you’ve ever done?
I’m blind, so pretty much everything. I’ll narrow it down to skydiving, camel riding and scaling up a New York City apartment building.
2. If you could dine with any literary character, who would it be and why?
Frankenstine’s monster. I think he gets a bad rep.
3. What’s your favorite joke?
Knock Knock
Who’s there?
To
To Who?
It’s To whom
4. Does your day job ever get in the way of your writing?
For my day job I tour and perform globally, so yes! I’ve written on plains, trains, boats and definitely hotels.
5. What’s your favorite Holiday?
Well it’s Halloween today, so let’s go with that!
6. What are your top three favorite genres?
1. Big Umbrella Horror (all but big T Torture)
2. Epic or Odessy Sci-Fi with long series
3. Adult Paranormal Romance
7. Did you have a specific audience in mind when you wrote Death Tango?
Adult Sci Fi readers. Some folks assume because I am a disability advocate that my fiction would be for younger folks. It’s not! This book has gore, violence, sex and language.
8. What was the first book you ever read?
My first horror novel was Cold Fire by Dean Koontz and my first Sci-Fi was Asimov’s Foundation followed by Frank Herbert’s Dune
9. What book do you like most among all the others you have penned down?
Death Tango is my most developed. I’ve also written the Ivory Staff.
10. Now, when you look back at your past, do you feel accomplished?
When I was young I wanted to be a musician and a writer with my own music studio in New York. I’ve managed to accomplish all of this and then some. Traveling the world advocating for identity pride and disability inclusion through music and storytelling has seen me to the White House, UN, BBC, GRAMMYs, a ton of very amazing places. But life is an ever-journey, and we’re just getting started.
11. Have you ever incorporated something that happened to you in real life into your novels?
Yes. I’ve been assaulted and my main character endures an assault.
12. If you had a superpower, what would it be?
To understand and to be understood.
13. What other projects are you working on now?
I’m working on a Non-Fiction, a music album called “Mad Different” that explores the weird, the different and leans in, and am forever touring.
In a Utopian twenty-third-century New York City, where corporations have replaced governments, AI dictates culture, and citizens are free to people-watch any other citizen they choose through an app, this horror-laden Sci-Fi Thriller follows four mis-matched coeds as they attempt to solve the murder of an eccentric parascientist. Only someone or something able to navigate outside the highest levels of croud-sourced surveillance could get away with murder in this town. If the team can’t work quickly to solve the case, New York City will be devoured by a dark plague the eccentric had been working on prior to his death, a plague which, overtime, appears to be developing sentience.
EXCERPT
It is nine years ago. I stand alone on an unstable rock. Beneath that rock are a few precarious slabs of granite. Beneath the granite lies a hundred feet of air, of silence, of potential bone-shattering death. Surrounded by a dusk sky, Mount Venom—the cliff aptly named for the lives it has claimed—stretches endlessly beneath my quivering legs and far beyond my blurring vision.
Through the blaring wind, I hear several SOIs—School of Intelligence kids—hurl down demoralizing insults from the cliff’s edge. “She’ll never make it!” “Fall and die, swine!” Each year the SOIs goad us TFs—Testing Facility subjects—into scaling the cliff. If successful, the TF is accepted as an equal, putting an end to constant ridicule and torment. There is little sympathy for those who accept the challenge and fail. I tell myself to reach for the next stone along the slope, to keep my hands steady, to breathe.
I near the finish line.
Every inch of my body tastes it as much as my mouth tastes it. Get there; say nothing; feel no pride. My face wet with tears and mucus, my fingers slippery with blood, I feel around for my next grip and pull on my burning calves. I have only two heaves left. Two heaves, and no more being treated like trash.
I notice a small gap between two large stones above me. As I place my dampened hands into the hole for leverage, the rubble on which I stand gives out. My legs dangle freely. I have the willpower to lift my body onward, but my concentration is broken by a pair of black-gloved hands that pop out of the fissure above me.
Someone is hiding behind the rocks.
Tech Sports knitted in thin red stitching on each glove slides into view. My body ignores the anxiety presented by this new predicament, and I continue to lift. The gloves grab both my forearms and yank. I am now dangling by the grip of those hands; I am now at their complete mercy.
“Friend or foe?” I manage to growl between pained gasps, the wind forcing hair into my mouth.
“You’re so close,” replies a male voice I can hardly distinguish.
“I know! I know! Help me up!” I yell. My legs work uselessly to find hold. Receiving no verbal or physical response, I wriggle my shoulders. “Hey! Help me up!”
“Beg me!” the voice demands, barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. I fend off a rapidly growing well of despair. Despair is a choice, a manifestation of surrender.
“Please!” I bark, the word taking with it all of my remaining willpower. I look up wide-eyed at the gloved hands, ignoring the falling stones as I await my fate.
“This is for putting in the application!” he yells, and with a quick jolt he lets go of my arms.
I fall.
I keep my eyes open, desperately hoping for something to grab, but all I see are a mix of gray sky, red rock face and my flailing arms. I hear my bones smash against the jagged teeth of Mount Venom and scream one long uninterrupted exhale, silenced only by the jarring collision of the back of my skull against the cold, hard pavement.
I don’t feel the fracture. I only hear it between my ears. Pop.
I lie at the foot of Mount Venom, looking up at dark clouds, a metallic taste oozing over my tongue, a harsh pain working its way down my neck. A thick puddle coalesces under my head as onlookers gather.
My vision snaps away instantly with a blink. Surrounding echoes fade slowly as the internal sound of my curtailed heartbeats takes over. Suddenly I feel cold and heavy. I am motionless, no longer taking in oxygen.
After an onslaught of euphoria, I feel my brain flatten. I hear its slight gummy movements of deflation against my last few heartbeats. And somewhere between no longer feeling the ground beneath me and no longer feeling the air around me, I realize I am dead.
I perceive only a black vastness about me. Like an autumn leaf I float in the Cartesian circle that is the keen awareness of my nonexistence. A mix of bliss and terror. I try to hold on to something physical, something I can understand. “You are safe. You are safe,” I repeat, exercising the remnants of my inner monologue.
Then I begin to see things.
A single bright blue diamond, about the size of a fist, appears five feet before me. It is soon joined by two more on either side, followed by two more still, until a string of blue diamonds surrounds me. I realize I can see my entire periphery, no longer limited by physical eyes. A light source switches on behind me, revealing that I am floating at the center of a rotating diamond-rimmed disco ball.
Trying to locate the light source, I push my perception upward, downward, left, right, only to find that I, myself, am the source of that light. The speed with which the disco ball spins steadily increases, faster and faster, until all is a blur of spinning frenzy. Suddenly thousands of quick snapshots of familiar faces speed toward me: my friends, my bullies, the dark skin of my estranged father, the Spanglish ravings of my drunken mother, their parents, their parents’ parents. Images of a cottage in France, a village in Africa, past wars, ancient discoveries, tree scavenging, gasping air, breathing ocean, swimming in gas, feelings of remorse, loss, shame, excitement, immense love, bitter anguish, and a desperate need for acceptance. Every imaginable emotion ravages me whole.
I experience my consummate past. A massive rewind that stops at a sweeping explosion. A sphere of white fire so bright, it could hardly be described as fire. I am an endless wave of raw emotion drowning in the unyielding flames. And in that eternal instant I understand everything.
Again, all fades to black, the warmth, the understanding. And though the blackness around me is infinite, I sense a presence. I am not alone.
“Look around you,” the presence communicates to me, not through sound, sight or touch, but through direct understanding. I am certain it is—at least in part—a being other than myself. I hold fast to my mantra. “Do not fear,” the presence continues. I allow the mantra to fade. “Do you see how far the blackness reaches, stretching beyond infinite horizons? That is how much you do not know, how much you’ve yet to learn.” A brief silence. “Fear is the great enemy of knowledge, and you, Rosa, are the switch between them.”
“Me?” I manage to convey through the slivers of my consciousness.
“Us.”
“Us? How? Why? What do you mean?” My figurative words come childlike and excited.
“You already know how,” the presence responds as it fades. “You already know why.” I feel a growing bitter loneliness as the presence drifts away.
“Wait!” I yell. The blackness around me congeals to a bumpy dark brown. “Come back!” The glistening euphoria gradually declines as my flattened brain begins to restructure. A physical atmosphere swiftly surrounds me, and a palpitating sensation starts beneath me, causing me to rise and fall. The pulsing sensation reveals itself to be my heart grappling for a pulse.
A crashing ocean of white noise fills my head. I feel that I have a head. A body. Arms. A face. My face.
I open my eyes as the rush of noise fades to the sound of an open room. I am lying on a bed in the infirmary, surrounded by the school nurse and Dr. Ferguson himself, their blurry faces examining my head wound.
Dr. Ferguson bends forward. “You had a very nasty fall, Ms. Lejeune. Do you remember that?” He watches a nurse as she dabs a cloth at my face. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links
Lachi is an internationally-touring creative artist, writer and award-winning cultural activist living in New York City. A legally blind daughter of African immigrants, Lachi uses her platform to amplify narratives on identity pride and Disability Culture. In her public life, Lachi has helped increase accessibility to the GRAMMY Awards ceremonies as well as create numerous opportunities for music professionals with disabilities, through her organization RAMPD. Lachi also creates high-quality content amplifying disability. She has hosted a PBS American Masters segment highlighting disabled rebels and releases songs such as “Lift Me Up” and “Black Girl Cornrows” that elevate disability and difference to the pop culture market. Named a “new champion in advocacy” by Billboard, she’s held talks with the White House, the UN, Fortune 100 firms, and has been featured in Forbes, Hollywood Reporter, Good Morning America, and the New York Times for her unapologetic celebration of intersectionality through her music, storytelling and fashion.
In her free-time Lachi writes sci-fi and fantasy novels with diverse, headstrong characters, focusing heavily on atonal world-building, quip-ridden character development, likable villains and psycho-spiritual discourse.
I came across this anthology because of Jamie Kort, the author of the short story A Puppet Scorned. Planet Bizarro picked up this short story to include in their anthology, so when Jamie told me I could grab a copy, I had to have it. I mean, look at that fabulous cover! Doesn’t it make you curious as to what is inside?
Of course, A Puppet Scorned was my favorite of the shorts. Who doesn’t remember sock puppets? BUT, I never had any like these.
It started out a bit flat for me, but anthologies can be like that. I may not care that much for all of them, but most of the time I can find a few that stand out. Another that stood out was the Special Tree. I felt what was coming, but it was a novel take on keeping up with the Jonses’.
It you are looking to be taken outside your comfort zone, you may find that special gem inside Planet Bizarro. To be sure, it kept me reading and I like that I could pick it up and put it down without losing my place. If you are a horror lover, I recommend giving these twelve shorts a try.
3 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
IN A WORLD WHERE BODY AUGMENTATION IS THE NORM, A MAN IN NEED OF A NEW PAIR OF LIPS ENDS UP WITH MORE THAN HE BARGAINED FOR.
A CLASSIC TALE OF LOVE, FAMILY, AND BETRAYAL. PERFORMED BY SOCK PUPPETS.
A JEALOUS WOMAN VISITS A SPECIAL TREE TO GET A BABY. THE BABY IS NOTHING LIKE HER NEIGHBOURS’.
A WIFE RETURNS HOME TO FIND HER HUSBAND CUT IN HALF VERTICALLY. HE’S COMPLETELY UNAWARE OF IT.
THE BEST OF BIZARRO FICTION: VOLUME 1 FEATURES TWELVE INSANELY MEMORABLE TALES. YOU’LL NEVER LOOK AT LIFE THE SAME WAY AGAIN.
FEATURING STORIES BY MIKE JAMES DAVIS, LEO X. ROBERTSON, MADELEINE SWANN, BILL PURNELL, LEON SAUL, JAMIE KORT, XAVIER GARCIA, MEGAN STOCKTON, JAMES L. STEELE, BEN FITTS, SHAWN WAYNE LANGHANS, AND KEVIN SHAMELI
Genre: Anthologies, Bizarro Fiction, Fiction, Horror, Short Stories
I first saw a photograph of the abandoned house on Twelve Maple Lane
about a decade ago. My immediate impression was what a wonderful inn it would
make for those who appreciated the days gone by. So, without so much as a
walk through, I bought it.
It was nightfall when I approached the old house that had been wholly
unoccupied for years with reverence and a touch of trepidation. Its residents
had long left it to the mercy of rodents, dust, and cobwebs. I felt as if I was
invading the privacy of the ghosts who were left behind. Ghosts of occupants
over the centuries since the building was little more than an idea in the mind
of the builder.
Holding my flashlight firmly in one hand, I turned the porcelain
doorknob that would allow me entry. It, like the door, was cracked with age. My
mind pondered over how many hands had turned that knob and pushed their way
into this dwelling in its glory days. Days when vibrantly colorful rooms glowed
with the softness of gas and candle light and radiated laughter and happiness.
My ponderings quickly left me when, for the first time in my life, my level
head -that had always ignored and given no credence to superstition-
experienced an overwhelming dread as an invisible cobweb clung to my face. I
shuddered. It was only a cobweb, but it felt as if I’d walked through someone.
Or, better yet, someone had walked through me.
Like a frightened child, I rushed to the one room that I had made
certain was prepared for my occupancy by the workmen who were hired for the
house’s resurrection. As I locked the door, a sense of security swept over me.
I had not only locked out the moldy darkness, but the eerie feeling of unseen
eyes was no longer hovering about. Someone had been thoughtful enough to make
sure that there was a cheery fire burning in the oversized fireplace. Its
flickering flames did wonders to give a sense of warmth and safety to the room.
I sat down before it with a comforting sense of relief. The electricity was
turned off, requiring the soft flickering lights of candles to illuminate my surroundings.
Seeing the antique furnishings in such ambiance brought up visions of days gone
by.
From the color and print of the faded wallpaper, and the delicacy of the bed
and dressing table, I deduced that the room had once belonged to the gentler
sex. I closed my eyes as I allowed my imagination to summon visions of faces
out of the mists of the past. Faces that were long forgotten and voices that
long ago grew silent for all time.
As a storm brewed outside of the thick leaded window panes, my reverie shifted
to sadness. The singing of the voices from the past was replaced by the
shrieking of the winds outside. The laughter in the ears of my mind shifted to
a softened wail. The incessant beating of the rain against the panes stripped
the room of all tranquility. The eeriness that I’d left beyond the closed door
slowly crept through the cracks beneath it.
A nervousness overtook me as the fire burned low. An overwhelming sense
of loneliness consumed me. Eager to shake it, I arose and changed into my night
clothes. I moved about the room, stealthily preparing for slumber as if I was
amongst others whose dreams would be lethal to interrupt. Diving onto the
mattress, I slithered beneath the covers. With my head barely exposed, I lay
listening to the rain and wind and the faint creaking of distant shutters until
a blissful, deep sleep overtook me.
The acute stillness of the home when I awoke filled me with a
shuddering expectancy. All, but the beating of my heart, was silent as I lay in
the pre-dawn light while I debated what to do. The workmen would not arrive for
several hours. My stomach was announcing the need for the breaking of my fast,
but my cowardly nerves refused to budge. So, I lay in the warmth and false
security of my bed until an unseen force took matters into hand.
Slowly. Very slowly, the bedclothes slid toward the foot of the bed. It
was as if someone was pulling them from me. Instead of being too nervous to
move, I was now scared stiff. Not only couldn’t I move a muscle, but I could
make no sound. I finally regained control of my body enough to allow me to grab
the edge of the blankets and pull them back over my breast until they reached
my chin. It took an even greater effort to pull them over my head. Beads of
nervous sweat formed upon my forehead as a result.
I lay in frozen silence while I waited for what might happen next.
After a brief interval, that steady pull on the coverings returned. I
roused my energies, snatched the covers with a vice grip, and pulled them over
my head again. Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps permeated my room. I felt
a sense of relief that they sounded like they were moving away from me instead
of toward me. When the footsteps reached the bedroom door, I waited for the
creaking sound of it opening and closing, but it didn’t come. The footsteps,
however, continued to exit the room and fade as they walked further into the
empty house.
I lay trembling while contemplating what just happened until I had
myself convinced that it was a dream. My nerves were further soothed when I
crawled out of bed and found that the bedroom door was still bolted on the
inside.
The day passed as normal. I exerted a good deal of emotional energy
overseeing the workmen in my effort to keep the integrity of the old house in
place. Once nightfall arrived and the men retired, I eagerly took my exhausted
self to my bedroom once again.
I had just blown out the candle and snuggled beneath the bedclothes
when I heard a grating noise overhead. It sounded like a heavy box was being
dragged across the floor. When the dragging sound ended, a loud thud occurred.
It was so loud that the windows shook.
Beyond my locked bedroom door, I could hear the muffled sound of doors
slamming throughout the house.
A part of me wanted to get up and search for intruders, while the other
part of me said to stay put and wait to see what would happen. I regretted not
taking the precaution against intruders by having a bat or some other type of
self-defense weapon in my room as I listened to the sound of stealthy footsteps
creeping about the corridors, as well as up and down the stairs.
Sometimes these noises stopped outside of my bedroom door, hesitated,
and went away again. I heard muffled sentences and occasional half-uttered
screams that were faint, but discernable. Then, a light breeze passed by me as
the swish of invisible garments reached my ears.
The eerie feeling that I’d felt the night before returned with a
forcefulness unmatched. I sat up in bed and held my hand to my heart while I
did my best to slow the beating that threatened to get out of control. Unlike
the night before when the fireplace was ablaze with illuminating light, I had
lit only a small fire that rapidly turned to embers. With the candles snuffed
out, I was forced to rely on the glow of the embers and the filtered rays of
the full moon through the window to see my surroundings. The shadows bounced
about, but I was still able to make out a cloaked figure hovering in the corner
of the room.
“Who are you and what do you want?” I nervously asked. The figure
remained silent as it slowly moved toward me.
“This is my home,” I said with a boldness that I didn’t feel.
“You are not welcome.”
“Why do you wish to have this home?” the figure asked in a deep voice
that had a hint of echo to it.
Surprised by the question, I was even more surprised by the way I
calmly replied with, “I wish to bring it back to its glory days and to share it
with others.”
“Glory days?” the figure mockingly said. “Those were times long gone.
The house belongs to me now.”
“I purchased this house,” I insisted. “I have the deed to it.”
“You may have the deed, but I have lived in it,” the figure argued. “It
belongs to me. You will leave.”
Fear was replaced by indignation over the shadowy figure’s demand that
I leave a home that I’d put so much of my heart and soul into and would require
even more before its beauty could shine through once more.
“If you care so much for this home,” I challenged, “Why have you let it
go into such disrepair?”
“It is as I desire it to be,” the figure firmly announced.
“It is not as I desire it,” said a female’s voice from seemingly
nowhere.
“Josephine!” the figure bellowed. “Why have you come?”
“I never left,” the voice replied. “I simply saw no reason to negate
your occupancy until now.”
“Why now?” the figure asked.
“Finally, there is someone who is willing to return the life and love
to the walls of my home,” Josephine said. “I have cried decades of tears for
want of such a thing to occur. Now that it has, I will not allow you to prevent
it. You must go.”
“I have occupied this place too long for you to be able to push me
out,” the figure bitterly announced.
“Perhaps, if it were just myself doing the pushing,” Josephine said
with conviction.
Too stunned and amazed by what was occurring before my very eyes, I
stayed motionless while I listened to what I discovered to be two discarnate
beings verbally debating over who should take control of the house that I now
owned. I was tempted to ask them both to leave, since the house now belonged to
me, but, since I was only now being exposed to the reality of a world beyond
the here and now, I was uncertain what the protocol for such a request would
be. So, instead, I remained stoic and silent while I waited to see what the
outcome of this verbal debate might be.
To my surprise and dismay, the arguing grew quite potent. So potent, in
fact, that the stillness of the air left the room. It was replaced by what I
could only describe as a violent wind. The bedroom door rattled, along with the
windows. A fleeting fear that the glass might shatter flashed through my head
before my attention was turned to the fact that the room seemed to expand in
the darkness as the figure of a woman in a Victorian gown appeared before me.
Although I had already become aware of the presence of the cloaked
figure, he was merely a shadow. This woman, on the other hand, was as opaque as
myself.
She was neatly put together with not one hair out of place. Her dress
was of vibrant colors that glowed in the moonlight. As I stared in startled
wonderment, several equally opaque spirits, both male and female, in Victorian
attire joined her. Soon, the room was filled with what I inherently knew were
former occupants of the grand house.
The shadowy figure stood his ground, alone against a roomful of spirits
wanting him out. At first, as the energy he projected blew like a hurricane
through the room to the extent that I clung fast to the bedpost, I thought for
sure that he would win. It took a moment for them to gather together with hands
firmly clasped, but when they did, the wind changed direction and forced the
shadow into oblivion.
I sat in silence on the edge of the bed while I debated what to do
next. The spirits faded away, one by one, until only Josephine remained.
“You need not fear us,” Josephine said. “We are pleased that you bring
to this home the life and love that it deserves. It has been our desire for
decades. We will protect you and it from this moment on.”
With that, she also faded away.
Feeling safe and satisfied, I silently smiled and retreated to the
security of my bedcovers. Within moments, I fell into a deep, exhausted
slumber.
I awoke the following morning to the sounds of workmen bustling about
the house. Surprised that I’d slept for so long, I raced to join them. As the
day progressed, my thoughts, and memories of the battle between spirits the
night before faded. By the time nightfall returned, I considered it nothing
more than a vivid dream.
The restoration of the house continued until it was restored to its
original glory with no more incidents from the unseen world. Since there were
no more bumps in the night, bedclothes mysteriously sliding off me on their
own, or spirits appearing before me, I eventually completely dismissed the
dream as a reaction to the unsavory ambiance of a neglected home.
Today, I operate an historic inn that offers tours that are accompanied
by the history of the house and its occupants that I acquired from the local
library and town records. On rare occasions, I will receive a report from one
of my overnight guests reporting vivid dreams of a woman in Victorian dress
smiling as she stands at the foot of their bed.
Vampire Witch
Vampire Witch Trilogy
Book One
Eileen Sheehan
Genre: Paranormal/thriller/romance
Publisher: Earth Wise Books
Date of Publication: 01/01/2016
ISBN: 978-1726737524
ASIN: B0195YJ1Q0
Number of pages: 378
Word Count: 91,903
Tagline: She falls for two handsome vampire brothers. Now, she must choose…. Lovers of VAMPIRE DIARIES or TRUE BLOOD will enjoy this story.
Book Description:
Discovering the mother that you thought was dead for over a decade is very much alive will shake your world.
And so begins Casey’s dilemma. Add to that her mother has become a mutant vampire and has promised her in marriage to a wicked vampire king in order to unite the two kingdoms. Now, let’s combine that with the fact that the bearer of such news is a hot and sexy guy who turns out to be a vampire and he steals her heart. Then, to top it off she finds that he has an equally hot vampire brother vying for her love and who she just might have feelings for too.
Ready or not, Casey’s life just took a turn for the strange.
Join Casey in this sizzling, action-packed first book of a paranormal romance thriller trilogy.
Luthias groaned and raised his hand to his head. Gwendoline was
at his side in a flash. She lifted him into a position that allowed him
to easily drink the liquid she held to his lips and then lowered him back down
again.
“This will help him regain a bit of his strength, but he’ll still need
blood,” she said. She went to a tall refrigerator in the corner of the room and
inspected its contents. “I doubt I have enough to bring him back to normal.”
“How much do you need?” I asked.
“He’s almost bled dry,” she said. “I have enough to keep him alive,
but not much more than that.”
I bit my lower lip while I watched Gwendoline pull every bag of blood
she had in her supplies and place them on a tea cart to roll next to the table.
She emptied the first bag into a glass and urged him to drink. He
weakly obliged. By the time she’d fed him the last bag, the hollow around his
sunken eyes was beginning to disappear and his wounds were starting to shrink.
I pointed this out to Gwendoline and she smiled faintly.
“If he has more blood will they heal completely?” I asked.
“Within seconds,” she said.
“Where does he usually get his blood?” I asked hesitantly.
“He hunts deer or wolf. Large animals are generally the best,” she
replied.
“No humans,” I mused admiringly.
“Verso vampires refrain from drinking human blood whenever possible.
The risk of developing an addiction is too great,” she explained. “We
live peacefully amongst ourselves and rarely venture out into the rawness of
what’s left of our planet. An addiction to human blood would require they leave
Verso.”
“There are some who drink it,” I said. “A maid told me humans
don’t last long in Verso because rogue vampires drink their blood until they’re
dead.”
“That’s true,” she said with a nod. “It takes a strong vampire to be
able to stop drinking a human’s blood before they drain them dry. In my
centuries of life, I’ve known of only a few who could do it.”
“Is it the magic that keeps you alive?” I asked.
“Indeed,” she replied with pride. “As it will ye.”
“I plan on becoming a vampire,” I reminded her.
“Yes, but until ye do, the magic will slow down the aging process,” she
explained. “There’s no need to rush things.”
“How old was Geo when he was turned?” I asked while I mindlessly
stroked the length Luthias’s arm.
“He was twenty-eight. He had a wife and three children, poor lad,” she
said.
“I never thought about him having a family,” I gasped. “What
happened to them?”
“They were killed by the raiding vampires. Geo was saved because of the
strong magic in his veins. Luthias found him and brought him to me to tend
to. He looked much like Luthias does now,” she said.
“When did Luthias turn vampire?” I asked.
About the Author:
Sitting at her antique rolltop desk in her home in upstate New York, Internationally Published and Award Winning author, Eileen Sheehan, writes steamy romance thrillers for the mature adult with a sexy male and strong female. The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love. As the years progressed, so did her writing style. Although she still includes romance and has a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and horror in them.
She makes it a point to write a novel length that will allow the busy readers to be able to sit down in an evening (no more than two) and be taken on a journey that was created by her active imagination without having a week go by before they gets to the end of the story.
An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her characters… one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.
Eileen started out as a freelance writer for periodical magazines and newspapers. From there, she tried her hand at writing screenplays. Her screenplay, “When East Meets West” was a finalist in the 2001 Independent International Film and Video Festival at Madison Square Gardens, NYC. Finally finding her niche, she lets her imagination loose with paranormal romance/thrillers.
If you want to see more quality writings at a reasonable price, please support her efforts by leaving a review and becoming a follower
When I saw: Perfect for fans of sci-fi thrillers and horror, from Alien to Jurassic Park. I thought, how can I go wrong? I may have started out thinking, yeah, Hell Moon is what I expected and I was lured in by that beautiful cover, but it didn’t take long before I became intrigued.
We start with a distress call. The group find a human woman and 8 or 9 year old child, in a cryochamber. The woman doesn’t make it, but Maya becomes a part of their group and Janice takes on a mother/guardian role.
I started to connect with the characters and wondered…who will survive. After all, this is a horror story and someone has to get knocked off. We do have a couple of humans. I fell in love with Janice, a human, Gaby, an uplifted dog, and Cristobel, an uplifted cat. I’ll leave it to you to read the book and figure that one out. We also have Tyler, a human, and his uplifted dog, Jaimy. We have S’risssa and Ahn’ssi, 6 1/2 foot tall lizards. The are S’rellick aliens. The two aliens have a mission….
The ship is The Kanga, operated by Artificial Intelligence. We are underground, with ghosts and scarabs. One civilization built on top of another.
“You pretend the monsters don’t exist, and then maybe they won’t, right? Isn’t that why you lied?”
“…we lie and say we can make things better. But we don’t know if we can. And sometimes, no matter what we do, it turns out we can’t.”
Hell Moon by Mary E Lowd was a fabulous surprise. I thought, okay, it sounds interesting. It did take me a while to get involved, but after I met the unique and unusual characters I couldn’t stop reading. As the battle between the creatures and the group intensify, lives will be lost. An author that can take out one of my favorite characters could be on MY hit list, but that is not the case. Everything comes together in a way that left me satisfied, yet wanting more. So bring on the The Ancient Egg, Book II.
4 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
A search and rescue mission on a deserted moon goes wrong when Janice and her crew mates are attacked in the dark abandoned city beneath the surface. Infected by a strange blue energy, Janice doesn’t know how much time they have left, or what will happen when time runs out. The underground ruins crawl with mysterious, scarab-like figures, and even death isn’t a certain escape, when the dead rise as ghostly forms. The only logical choice is to flee, but the lizard-like aliens paying for the mission insist on forging on. Their secretive agenda and the sordid history of the sentient spaceship who brought them there divide the crew, when they can’t afford to be divided. Trapped on hell moon, Janice must fight to keep as much of her crew alive as possible while wrestling against impossible odds. The only one who has a clue about how all the pieces tie together is a little girl who survived the last hundred years asleep in her cryo-pod. On a world where the dead rise as ghosts and multiple civilizations have already been destroyed, solving the mystery of the scarabs might be the only way to survive and escape… HELL MOON. Don’t miss this dark, action-packed adventure through a hostile universe. Perfect for fans of sci-fi thrillers and horror, from Alien to Jurassic Park.
Genre: Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction, Space Opera
275 pages, Kindle Edition
Published September 8, 2023 by Deep Sky Anchor Press
Series: Xeno Spectre, Book I
ABOUT MARY E LOWD
Mary E. Lowd is a prolific science-fiction and furry writer in Oregon. She’s had more than 180 short stories and a half dozen novels published, always with more on the way. Her work has won numerous awards, and she’s been nominated for the Ursa Major Awards more than any other individual. She is also the founder and editor of Zooscape. She lives in a crashed spaceship, disguised as a house and hidden behind a rose garden, with a large collection of animals, both real and imaginary, who collectively serve as her muse.
I got the idea and the motivation to start doing Tackling The TBR from All The Blog Names Are Taken. I love showcasing the books on Goodreads, my ereader and my bookshelves. The more exposure for authors and their books, the better….RIGHT?
COME ON….JOIN IN.
Previous Total: 1995
Wow. I didn’t realize I have missed posting for two weeks. I take in so many review books, I have been finding new authors and amazing books. I have taken some of my TBR list and added some to it, so it doesn’t change much.
I am so excited to get my hands on Operation S&D by Ashley Fontainne and Janelle Taylor. This is the second book n the series and I have high expectations, seeing the first book was amazing, Operation DFC.
I am writing this review, without the benefit of a blurb or synopsis. I have already met some of the characters and know some of what is going on, but I am not sure what to share and what to keep to myself. So, here goes….
The characters are damaged and carry a lot of baggage, much of it through no fault of their own. In 1944 soldiers were experimented on. Could it be passed on to their children? The young men had no idea what life had in store for them, but they man up and do what must be done.
“That’s some paranormal, genetically fucked up shit for sure. I mean, cue the Twilight Zone theme…”
After reading the first book, I knew they would be out for revenge and would make the cartel pay. Along the way Rafe inserts himself into a situation to save an innocent, pregnant woman. I wept WITH him on more than one occasion. The guilt he carries is a heavy load. I hope he learns to ask for help, but right now he is on his own. My heart broke for him. The voices in his head….
Eduardo has no clue the creature he created is on a lethal prowl.
Rabid Wolfe three; cartel zero. I’m on a roll.
S&D: Those we seek…we will destroy. Those who betray them will pay the ultimate price. The problem is, who is the betrayer? There’s always one in the bunch. I thought of one person and….well…I’m not telling, but I was right and it will cost someone their life.
The action began from the opening pages, but when they got to Central America it ramped up to a frenetic pace. My head was spinning, waiting, anticipating the bad to come. The mental and emotional turmoil the four team members go through brings forth many emotions. The richness and depth of the characters make them come to life on the pages. I feel empathy, sorrow, anger, rage, fear, and compassion. I want them to come out of the war they are fighting whole, with hope and a future in store for them.
The ending…awesome! Yeah, I may have been able to figure it all out, but I never even tried. I was so into what was happening in the moment, I let the authors lead me where they wanted me to go. I never paid attention to where I was in the book. A lot of the time I will check to see how much I’ve read, how much I have left, but this time, I was in the moment and stayed there.
I found moments where the authors could have ended the book, but they kept giving me more and it kept getting better and better, leaving me very happy. I love it. That is the excellence of this powerhouse team, Ashley Fontainne and Janelle Taylor.
5 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
Justice is blind. Vengeance sees only red. I did not learn of the cold-blooded assassination of several CIA agents, who were part of the team on our previous mission, Operation DFC , until it was too late. Spencer “RedDog” Watkins and I are still alive, but our loved ones paid the ultimate price for being a part of our lives, leaving us heartbroken and consumed by an unquenchable thirst for revenge. Black Viper and Raccoon survived the first round of murders orchestrated by the de Santos cartel and were assigned to join us on a total black op, which I nicknamed Operation S&D – Seek and Destroy. With new cover identities issued by the Agency, we slip into Central America under the guise of Lobos del Diablo – Devil Wolves Motorcycle gang. Our mission in Nicaragua, which is a tinderbox embroiled in the illicit drug trade and the internal battle between the Sandinista regime and the Contra rebels, is to report on other field operatives who are suspected of going rogue. The unofficial mission is to take down the de Santos drug cartel and leave no survivors. The men Spencer and I used to be died with the slaughter of our loved ones, leaving us nothing more than snarling beasts stalking prey, undetected, until it is too late for the cartel to plan a counterattack. We are deadly, cold-blooded killers with nothing to lose—alive only to kill those responsible for creating us—and the damage to my soul is so severe, I trust no one. If successful in destroying our enemies, do we dare hope their annihilation heals our traumatic pasts, or is there not enough humanity left to salvage?
Expected publication October 31, 2023 by Georgia Girl Press
Series: Operation S&D
In honor of the upcoming release, the first book, Operation DFC, will be FREE on Amazon October 30-November 3, 2023, so grab your free copy, stay up all night reading, and then dive right into Operation S&D!
The legendary Janelle Taylor was born on June 28, 1944 in Athens, GA. In 1965, she married Michael Taylor with whom she had two children, Angela Taylor-MacIntyre and Alisha Taylor Thurmond. Ms. Taylor attended the Medical College of Georgia from 1977 to 1979 and Augusta State University from 1980-1981. She withdrew from the latter after she sold her first two novels. Today, she is the author of thirty-nine novels, three novellas, and many contributions to other collections. There are thirty-nine million copies of her works in print worldwide and she has made The New York Times Bestseller List eight times. Ms. Taylor’s works have also been featured ten times on the “1 million +” bestseller’s list at Publisher’s Weekly.
Some of Ms. Taylor’s most recent books include By Candlelight, Someday Soon, Lakota Dawn, and Lakota Winds (due out in paperback in May 1999). She has also made contributions to other books including The Leukemia Society Cookbook, Christmas Rendezvous, and Summer Love. In addition, readers can see her as co-host of the QVC/TV Romance Book Club Show.
Ms. Taylor’s interests include collecting spoons, coins from around the world, ship models, dolls, and old books. She loves to fish, ride horses, play chess, target-shoot, travel (especially in her motorhome and out West), hunt for Indian relics, and take long walks with her husband. Reading, in particular books set before 1900 and current Biographies, Thrillers, Horror, or Fantasy novels, is also one of Ms. Taylor’s favorite activities. She is also extremely active with charity work and was even featured on the cover of Diabetes Forecast in February of 1998.
She lives in the country on seventy-nine acres of woods and pasture with a lake and a catfish pond. She writes her novels in a Spanish cottage which overlooks a five-acre lake, a working water mill, gazebo, and covered bridge.
Award-winning and International bestselling author Ashley Fontainne enjoys stories that immerse the reader deep into the human psyche and the monsters lurking within each of us. She writes in numerous genres including mystery, suspense, horror, sci-fi and sometimes poetry.
Ashley lives in Arkansas with her husband and is the proud mother of one son and grateful daughter of co-author, Lillian Hansen. To learn more about her books please visit https://ashleyfontainne.net/
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