Ewan O’Meara is no stranger to death: in recent months, he’s found his way to limbo at least once per week, much to his parents’ concern. It’s a necessary price for getting experience to become the greatest adventurer his homeland of Veridor has ever known, but the overbearing Veridian Church has him pinned down, soaking him for the penance gold to unlock his stats each time he respawns. And because the Church’s ancient war put an end to both the godlike Gems and the epic quests they once bestowed, Ewan has no better alternative.
That is, until he encounters a young woman fleeing arrest from the Church’s soldiers. At first glance, Treanna Rothchild needs it: she’s clueless about Veridian life. But she has other skills that defy Ewan’s understanding, and she knows things. Unsettling, seditious things the Church wants kept secret at any cost.
And she’s in Veridor to raise an army, to fight an enemy only she can see.
Risking both life and soul, Ewan follows Treanna where no Veridian has ever been and there is no respawning. But for him to have a chance at making a real difference in the strange, harsh world she reveals to him, he must first come to terms with it. Especially as he and Treanna discover how much it has in common with Veridor—and how much they depend on each other to survive.
New-adult science fiction, wrapped in gaming and fantasy around a hopepunk core, Emissary is an immersive, thought-provoking adventure with a little teen romance and a lot of heart.
EXCERPT
Ewan didn’t know why he did it. He had plenty of reasons. He was angry about getting censured, annoyed with Paul’s warning to keep his head down, and embarrassed by how quickly he’d ignored it. No one took him seriously as an adventurer, much less understood when he asked the big questions.
But, more than anything, looking into those eyes, he simply knew this girl was in trouble, and that he wanted to help her.
She flew past as time resumed its normal flow; Ewan shouted and leaped in front of the Swords to draw their aggro. He called up his menu, winced when he remembered he’d given Kate his armor, then equipped his blades anyway.
An ominous tone sounded in his mind, and a warning flashed across his vision that he now had a bounty, along with a reminder that only Swords were permitted to equip weapons in the cathedral. As if to prove the point, the soldiers slowed as they saw the blades flash into being on his back, but with grim smiles they equipped their own and changed targets.
Ewan spared a quick glance behind him to see the girl vanish down the steps, then turned to face his opponents.
The crowd was whispering excitedly now, but he focused on the Swords, quickly calling on his own basic aura-reading skills to scan them. They were stronger than him, and bigger too, but neither had bothered to bolster their defense beyond their armor, clearly seeing him as an easy mark.
Time to see what agility’s all about, he thought with a nervous chuckle.
AUTHOR Bio and Links
E.B. Brooks lives in the southeastern USA, where he splits his time between writing, research, and homesteading. He enjoys building fictional worlds, real houses, and landscape models, but he’s most at home with his wife and children, and their many, many pets.
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.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Don Hackett will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
As a young man, Dion Athamas was spiritually summoned to rapture then tenured god status. He had been endowed with all the benedictions to achieve sacredness: a devout flock, the power to heal and a covet for control. He also held a deep desire and ability to influence justice and universal liberty. The setting: the fictional town of Forgedmont, Mississippi, in the 1950s. Against great opposition he strived to become a new-age god; the earth was his oracle. He found faith-based conviction to be lacking in reason and truth. He chose to maintain an instinctive path to holiness. Regrettably for him and his followers, there were a great many roadblocks. He was forced to face off against the church, community, prejudice, family and scheming dreams influenced by fallacious spirits, all set forth to hamper his ascension to divinity.
Read an Excerpt
Test-tube love,
your hands are full,
your mind
is empty,
your pride can kill.
Pressure for life within the womb
With no clearance from God
On the road to the tomb.
Inside,
Outside,
No reason to stay,
A meaningful art in an
Inartful way.
Bring into light!
From
The darkness
Of blood,
The unwanted bare
With a shield from above.
I still had no idea who could be sending these poems. One wouldn’t have to be a Scotland Yard detective to figure out that the same person wrote both of these ludicrous poems. Who and why was a complete mystery to me. I was not an old man, and I knew nothing about any abortions. I was positively sure that my mom wasn’t having an abortion. I thought someone might be trying to be ironic, or just a pain in the rear—the latter being more likely.
About the Author:I have been writing poems and short stories for most of my life. It was not until I retired from my government position working with Special Needs individuals that I was able to focus on writing full time. The treatment of Special Needs people fostered in me a search for the explanation for the absence of morality in mankind. I have degrees in psychology and sociology from the University of Calgary, Alberta.
a Rafflecopter giveawayAbout the Author:I have been writing poems and short stories for most of my life. It was not until I retired from my government position working with Special Needs individuals that I was able to focus on writing full time. The treatment of Special Needs people fostered in me a search for the explanation for the absence of morality in mankind. I have degrees in psychology and sociology from the University of Calgary, Alberta.
When life catches up with young and brilliant investment banker Lucas Blake in the form of anonymous threats, his existence is exactly what he always wished it could be.
Or is it really?
He can barely remember what his true aspirations looked like a decade ago. All he knows now is that everything he worked so hard to build could crash down in a split second if whoever is blackmailing him decides to act on it.
To make matters more complicated, the team he ends up hiring to silently find the culprit of those menaces includes Raven Collins. A woman Lucas lost touch with, but who he still can’t get out of his head completely even years after having met her.
As the race to keep him out of harm’s ways unfolds, he enters a journey of self-discovery that might very well make him question the core of his life choices.
When greed, power, and old ideals pair together within a perfect storm is it possible to come out of it unscathed?
Can one’s principles thrive in a system that seems to bend even the strongest minded to its will?
Lucas and Raven are about to find out for themselves.
EXCERPT
“Some people do tend to become other versions of themselves when they are away from home.” He presses their foreheads together while dropping his tone to a murmur. “I don’t do that. What you saw is all me.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Likewise.”
“We could’ve been a phenomenal match, Rae.”
A breath catches in her throat. His voice is laced with sincerity. It sends her mind spinning.
He dangerously feels as if he could fit in her routine. His personality is magnificently complex, and strangely both fits with and complements her own. She hasn’t had that sentiment toward anyone in her life up to this point.
But she’s only in her early twenties. She has her whole life in front of her. Her future is actively being written. Whatever happened between them here was definitely a fling.
A beautifully intense, and delightfully intoxicating fling.
She has to remember their pledge. This is insignificant.
She relishes in the cool seaside breeze and Lucas’ applying entrancing pressure on her lower back vertebrae for a moment.
Existence is full of fleeting instants and inconsequential events while some others open doors to infinite possibilities. She willingly classified this hook up in the former category as soon as they first kissed.
They’ll go back to their occupations, to their social circles, and to constructing their destinies. This ephemeral liaison will become a distant memory. It was solely a bridge between phases of their respective purposes.
This is what counts.
This is what she has to keep in mind.
However, she still can’t shake the thought that they could’ve been legendary together totally out of her brain, so she offers him the closest truth she can think of.
“Maybe in another life, Luke,” she whispers against his lips.
AUTHOR Bio and Links
M.H. Cali is my pen name. From as long as I can remember, writing has been my biggest creative outlet. There are tales that take hold in my brain, and I have to write them. Which means that when it happens, I sit down and do just that.
The world is complex and flawed, and so are the characters inhabiting the universes I build. In my fiction novels, I thrive fleshing out stories that explore multiple themes within. If you ever read any of my works, you’ll notice that I love writing layered characters, having a diverse cast, and that to me quiet moments are just as important—if not more—than action-packed ones.
Storytelling is all about balance in the emotions and events throughout the narrative. It’s my motto.
If I manage to make you feel what the characters are going through, live the events with them, and wonder what is going to happen, then I succeeded.
If you ever give my stories a chance, I hope you enjoy!
Links
Master link for all socials, website & more: http://bio.site/MHCali
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Summerton Thompson Connor will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
A bedtime storybook for parents to read to their children, depicting the excitement for possible adventures in dreams and the sensation of letting thoughts wander as you drift off to sleep. Meant to invoke soft imagery and imaginative thoughts of adventure and fun, it’s a relaxing read for pleasant sleep.
About the Author: I am a father to a baby girl and hope to read to her just like I was read to when I was little. I grew up with a love of stories and creative settings and views. This gave me a love of adventure and appreciation for great imagery that I hope can be experienced by many parents and their children someday. It gave me a lot of happy memories and I hope to give the same happy memories to at least one child.
Men of the 65th: The Borinqueneers of the Korean War by Talia Aikens-Nunez
GENRE: YA nonfiction
BLURB
Honor and Fidelity. That is the motto of the 65th Infantry Regiment, also known as the Borinqueneers, the only Puerto Rican unit in the United States Army.
Since the regiment’s creation in 1899, the men of the 65th have proudly served the US through multiple wars, despite facing racial discrimination. Their courage, loyalty, and patriotism earned them hundreds of accolades, including the Congressional Gold Medal in 2014.
But the honor and fidelity of the men of the 65th came into question in 1952, in the midst of the Korean War, when ninety-one Borinqueneers were arrested and tried for desertion and disobeying orders. How could this happen in one of the most distinguished and decorated units of the Army?
In this telling of one of the forgotten stories of the Korean War, author Talia Aikens-Nuñez guides us through the history of the Borinqueneers and the challenges they faced leading up to what was the largest court martial in the entire war. Rediscover the bravery of the men of the 65th through Aikens-Nuñez’s thorough writing and the soldiers’ firsthand accounts of the Korean War.
EXCERPT
[T]he US public was shocked to discover that during the war, 162 soldiers of the 65th Infantry Regiment had been court-martialed and ninety-one of those soldiers found guilty of disobeying orders and desertion.
The US military kept the courts-martial quiet. But the soldiers of the 65th sent letters to their families describing what was happening, which led to public outcry and confusion from the press. How could one of the most distinguished regiments of the Korean War, whose soldiers had only months before been praised by General Douglas MacArthur for their “brilliant record of heroism,” become involved in the largest mass court-martial of the Korean War?
Did the Borinqueneers lose their bravery and heroism in such a short time? Or were they victims of discrimination in a prejudiced and segregated system? Were they betrayed by the country they risked their lives for?
This is the story of one of the bravest and most decorated regiments in the history of the US military. It is a forgotten story in a forgotten war. But it is a story of patriotism, loyalty, and bravery in the face of danger and discrimination, and it is one that deserves to be told. -page 10
AUTHOR Bio and Links
Talia Aikens-Nuñez writes chapter books, picture books, and nonfiction for children. Her daughter inspired her to write her OMG Series of books about an accidental little witch. She and her husband live on a river in Connecticut with their daughter and son.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Bryan Cole will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Paladins are nothing but trouble. When Krell, an uneducated nobody with a stubborn streak as wide as the sea, hears the call from ReckNor, the capricious god of the seas and skies, the attention of the rich and powerful turn their gaze toward him. Paladins are notorious for upsetting the balance of power, to the detriment of any who don’t worship their deity.
When Krell stands against the might of the sea devils and emerges victorious, concern and interest turn to fear—fear of their secrets and plans being revealed and exposed, of the ruin that often follows in a paladin’s wake. Now he stands in defense of a pitiful town at the edge of nowhere, even as the sea devil menace grows more dire for each day that passes.
For as deadly as the sea devils are to Krell, his past choices and the consequences of his actions may be deadlier still . . .
Read an Excerpt
“Petimus told us that you were unlike any paladin we have met before, but I must say, I am surprised nonetheless. Greetings, Krell of ReckNor. My name is Naerdra Smithforge, stonesinger of Talcon. Here to build a fortress to protect your small town from the sahuagin, I understand.”
Krell smiled, looking at her. She wore woolen leggings and a linen shirt, with a mantle of fine cloth embroidered with gold sigils. A red sash with a gold pin was her only other adornment.
“I am most pleased you are here, Naerdra. The town sorely needs your aid.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I will see one of these sea devils for myself.”
Krell’s expression darkened. “If you remain in Watford for any length of time, you certainly will.”
He gestured. “My trusted allies and companions, Verbena and Dahlia, who have stood with me against the sea devils and saved my life more than once.”
Naerdra nodded at them, and they both inclined their heads while bowing slightly. Krell stared at them for a moment. Their bows had been identical in both timing and depth.
“You’re certain you are uninjured, Krell? You have blood on your face,” said Petimus, his voice concerned.
Krell turned toward him and grinned. “As Olgar will tell you, some lessons can only be learned a single way, at least for me. I am ReckNor’s blade, and he wants it sharp. That means that I will be pressed against the grindstone at times. Unpleasant, but necessary. Still, his gifts are many, and the grace of ReckNor has healed my wounds already.” Krell stood and stretched.
Naerdra looked at Krell, then at the tree in front of the temple, then upward to the sky. “I have heard also that you are dragon friend, Krell of ReckNor. Is this so? May I meet your mighty companion?”
Krell nodded, smiling. “Of course, Naerdra. Fortis is currently hunting, though I think he does it because it amuses him more than because he requires food. He dislikes it when I… uh…” Krell glanced at Verbena.
“Query, Krell. When you query him.”
Krell nodded. “He dislikes it when I query him while hunting. He will return when he is satisfied with himself.”
About the Author:
Bryan is an avid reader, and has loved the fantasy genre since he was a child. His love of stories of mighty knights, terrible dragons, and noble steeds has inspired him for decades.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hawk MacKinney will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on he tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
It is July of 1859, a month of sweltering dog days and feverish emotional bombast. Life is good for widower Rundell Ingram and his hazel-eyed, roan-haired son, Hamilton. Between the two of them, they take care of Moccasin Hollow, their rustic dogtrot ancestral home, a sprawling non-slave plantation in the rolling farming country outside Queensborough Towne in east Georgia. Adjoining Ingram lands is Wisteria Bend, the vast slave-holding plantation of Andrew and Corinthia Greer, their daughter Sarah and son Benjamin.
Both families share generations of long-accepted traditions, and childhood playmates are no longer children. Against this rustic idyll of hard work and gracious living comes inflexible discord and divided loyalties that mutilate ties of blood and bond, tearing at their lives as smoke and battle no longer so faraway crashes and maims ever closer. Ahead of the on-coming ranks of Blue, foragers and bumlers burn, loot, scavenge and kill. Hamilton faces agonizing sacrifices with dreadful consequences. With little else than his wits, he tries anything to protect Sarah, their unborn child, his sickly father, and Sarah’s family.
Read an Excerpt
Back at his post behind the oaks, it wasn’t long before the Trace crowded up with a hodgepodge mishmash of wagons and carts headed as far from Augusta as they could get. As he silently watched, it seemed the whole of the Parish was on the move. His thoughts jarred by the hurried plunge of a rider coming toward him through the canebrake. He dropped to one knee, his rifle to the ready, just as Nat and one of Ben’s mules busted into the clearing.
Nat hauled up, slid off the mule, “Mister Ben said to git the word to you — Yankie patrols spotted this side of Sandersville. They burnin’ ever’thing, barns, houses, killin’ what they don’t take. Tearin’ Jericho out’a ever’thing they git their hands to.”
Hamilton grabbed his mare’s reins, pulled into the saddle, “Get back to the Bends. Tell Ben you found me, and Nat — keep a sharp eye out. Advance lookouts could be anywhere.”
Hamilton, off in a mad tear, nudged the mare faster. Wind whistled in his ears, low hanging limbs slashed his sweaty face, horses’ hooves flinging clods high behind him. Yankies moving that fast wouldn’t ask questions; they’d burn, move on, Sarah and their child be refugees like the pitiful wagons he’d seen. He reined up next to the porch, his horse skidding as he swung out of the saddle.
Bessie was on the front porch, “See you comin’ fast.” Pistol in her hand, she threw quick glance out across the fields. “Nat find you?”
“Yeh…he’s on his way to let Ben know…they might be making a wide sweep into Augusta from this side.”
“Missy’s cramps reg’lar, an’ you be the only help. Yankie or no Yankie, Missy an’ that chil’ in her belly need both of us.”
“If it’s their main bunch they’ll have bummers way ahead of their army.”
“Lordy mercy — nobody gonna stop that ceptin’ the Lord.” Bessie shoved her pistol deep in her pocket. “Don’t matter how many trompin’ ’bout, ain’t nobody gittin’ twixt me’n Missy an’ her chil’. When the Lord say that baby come, fightin’ gonna wait, but Jehovah sure gonna have a handful.”
“I’ll keep watch out by the barns.”
Bessie started inside and stopped, “Maybe watchin’ from the barn ain’t the best next thing. Mistress Corinth’a be upset we don’t let her know her grandchil’ comin’ so she can come help. When she do, young Benjamin alone in that big house settin’ there all big an’ white. You knows what I means — Yankies cain’t miss it. Bein’ hot-headed he won’t budge, an’ now ain’t the time for bein’ spiteful ’bout which soldiers got the most bullets — git shot dead. You’n me both know how that cut down Mistress Corinth’a.”
“Might be best to get Mother Greer here while we can,” said Hamilton fighting his own fear.
“If Mistress Corinth’a come she best while it daylight. Missy’s cramps likely won’t be reg’lar for a spell. ‘Fore things git busy, time is now to hotfoot over there, an’ git back here quick-like.”
“Tell Papa where I’m headed.”
“Don’t need tellin’ Mister Rundell, he been up ‘fore daybreak, his gun primed and ready. We manage…you make double-sure your butt git back here in one piece.” Shook her head, “Sweet Lord…what a mixed-up world you bringin’ this chil’ into.”
Hamilton was into the saddle. Gave the mare her head, didn’t bother with gates, jumped the fences, pushed her to a full-out gallop. He stayed clear of the Trace, cleared hedgerows and fences, splashed through slough bogs. Before he realized it, he burst through a squatter’s camp, scattering pots, pans, campfires, ramshackle shelters, and stampeded several horses. Startled poachers reached for rifles. He spurred the mare and disappeared into the brush, leaving them with nothing to aim at. Racing faster, he finally caught glimpses of the white unperturbed columns of the Bends. As he came out onto the wide buggy approach to the house, he glanced behind, making sure no one was on his tail.
About the Author:
In addition to professional articles and texts on chordate neuroembryology, Hawk MacKinney has authored several works of fiction—historical love stories, science fiction and mystery-thrillers. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his protagonist in the Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series: Hidden Chamber of Death, Westobou Gold, Dead Gold, Curse of the Ancients, and Blood of the Dragonfly.
Hawk’s science fiction novels include The Bleikovat Event, Vol I in The Cairns of Sainctuarie Science Fiction Series, followed by Vol II, The Missing Planets, and Vol III, Inanna Phantom.
Hawk MacKinney served in the US Navy for over 20 years. While serving as a Navy Commander, he also had a career as a full-time faculty member at several major state medical facilities. He earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history. He has taught postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel. He now makes his home in Augusta, Georgia, where he writes full-time.
Teddy Aarons is a nomad, using her bartending skills as an excuse to move to a new luxury resort with each change of the season. But when she finds herself stuck on the remote island of Mahina Cay, she finds refuge in the quirky little Township of Crooked Cove.
Crooked Cove is a village of expatriates from various countries, and the people are welcoming, but she only intends to stay long enough to make the money to get off the island and back to her real life.. However, when one of the village’s most distinguished citizens turns up dead, it’s up to her to either solve the case or become a permanent resident of the slammer!
With her new friend Jasmine at her side, Teddy will do whatever it takes to shake out the truth and stir up the real killer to clear her name. Will she manage to keep herself out of lockup, or will she end up under the influence of the Mahina Cay Prison?
EXCERPT
Excerpt One:
“So, you were saying that the boat just left without you, huh?” Hawk spread more butter on his hot pancakes.
“Well, to be fair, they warned everyone when we debarked that if we went off on our own that the ship would not wait for us. I should have started back to the port long before I did. Maybe I would have at least been in Maradiaga before the ATV broke down.” Teddy shrugged and shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth.
It was nine in the morning, and the restaurant was empty except for Teddy and Hawk, and the two of them sat at the bar having breakfast.
“Well, you’re welcome to use my office to call the cruise line and try to make arrangements. The phone in your room will make you enter a credit card number to call long distance, and that cell phone you’re carryin’ won’t get a signal around here.”
“Really? No cell phone signal?” She was shocked.
Hawk laughed. “No, you might find a sweet spot around the lake, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. We don’t carry cell phones around here. Some folks got a satellite phone, but they are darn expensive.”
“Wow. We really are off the beaten path down here, huh?”
“You got that right,” Hawk agreed.
“So, do you ever sleep? You were working when I left last night and you’re already here this morning,” Teddy told Hawk as he refilled her coffee.
“I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead,” Hawk joked. “For now, there is too much living to do. Besides that, we are down one waitress because of maternity leave, and my bartender ran off two months ago with a traveling theater group from Canada.”
Teddy laughed. “My goodness, you do have staffing problems!”
“It ain’t all that bad, we manage…Where’re you from, Teddy? I think I can hear a little southern twang in your voice.”
“I grew up in Florida, but I haven’t lived there since I was eighteen, well, except for a few months at a time.”
He took a bite of his pancakes to mask a spark of triumph. “What do you do for work?” he asked absently.
“Actually, I’m a bartender,” she looked at him out of the side of her eyes.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Carly Wayne first discovered her love of storytelling as a child when she would create alternate endings for all of her favorite fairy tales. As she grew, her fascination developed into a passion for writing about the characters and worlds she imagined.
Now, Carly has returned to her ancestral home deep in the woods of Jacksonville, Florida, not too far from the ocean. She fills her days pursuing her bliss by writing, creating, and exploring nature.
Carly holds Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in Psychology.
On some level she was aware that an elderly woman had come out of the darkness and put her arms around her. Meredith heard her say that everything would be all right. But on another, more conscious level, the one where all of her senses saw, felt, processed and recorded what was happening, Meredith watched two black body bags being loaded into the back of an ambulance. Then she watched the ambulance turn around and drive off in the opposite direction. Her long, tumbling mass of blond curls hung loosely over her face, shielding it. For Beth, the reality of what had taken place would come later. But Meredith had seen what had happened and understood. That knowledge was now seeping through every pore of her body.
Seventeen-year-old Meredith and her four-year-old stepsister, Beth, face the numbing reality of suddenly losing their parents in a freak accident. With no other family, they are taken from their mobile home in Georgia to go live with a grandmother they have never met in a mansion in Palm Beach, Florida. Beth soon adjusts to her new environment; but Meredith withdraws from everyone and everything, unable to blot out the image of the horrible crash that killed her parents. It is only when she reaches out to a homeless woman that Meredith is finally able to find herself and face her demons. With the help of her grandmother’s long-employed staff, a family doctor, a museum curator, an attorney who is more than just her grandmother’s legal advisor, and, of course, her conniving grandmother who is dealing with her own guilt for having been estranged from her son and his wife (Meredith’s and Beth’s parents), Meredith is able to pull herself from the depths of despair into a life filled with faith, hope, and generosity.
Slightest in the House is a contemporary novel with strong, interesting characters from different walks of life, brought together because of life’s difficult and often unexpected circumstances, and bonded together by their faith and belief that everything works out as it should.
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EXCERPTS (Please choose only ONE to use with your post):
Excerpt One:
Ron stared wildly at the crumpled car. “You don’t think the girls were . . .” Ron didn’t finish. It was simply too horrible to say out loud. Instead he reached out and grabbed at the twisted metal frame of the car, yanking and clawing at it, as though once he got it out of the way, he would find two young girls miraculously sitting there, whole and perfect, and untouched by gore and death. Terror filled Ron’s face as he glanced back at his partner. “Oh, god, Mack, they would never leave the kids at home alone,” he yelled as he knelt down and wrenched harder, surreal, blood-soaked images flooding his mind that were simply too unbearable for words.
“Mr. Reynolds?”
The soft voice came from somewhere behind him, through the dust and the fumes of the wreckage, and through the noisy confusion of fire trucks, sirens, and frantic people. Ron turned around, searching through all the chaos made even more so by the flashing blue and red emergency lights, until his eyes stopped and focused on a young girl. A much smaller child had her arms wrapped around her neck, clinging to her. Both of them were covered with dirt, and their clothes were torn. But otherwise they looked to be all right. Ron’s panic was quickly replaced by a façade of calmness. He glanced up at the elderly man standing behind them, his arms encircling them protectively. He was bleeding from a cut on the side of his face, and his eyes were glazed over in shock.
“Meredith. Beth.” Ron stood up and brushed off his hands. Then he gently took the little girl out of her sister’s arms and held her tightly against him. “Are you two all right?” he asked taking a deep breath.
“Yes,” answered Meredith. “We were in the candy shop.” Her eyes looked too large for her face, and her normally fair skin was ashen. “Mr. Devening has a cut.”
“I hurt my finger,” announced Beth sticking up her thumb. “And Oinky hurt his tail.” Beth then proceeded to poke the back end of a rather ugly stuffed toy pig into Ron’s face so he could examine that as well.
“I see,” said Ron, fighting down the sick feeling that was threatening to overtake him. He knew he couldn’t lose it now—not in front of the girls. They needed him. He must be strong for them. He would be able to go home later on to his wife and young daughter. But for Meredith and Beth, their nightmare was just beginning.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. His voice was soothing—in control. “This man is my partner, and his name is Mack.”
Both girls looked at the man standing next to Ron.
“He’s going to drive us all to the hospital so we can get everyone taken care of.” Mack led Mr. Devening to the patrol car.
“Oinky’s tail, too?” asked Beth.
“Absolutely. Then he’s going to take us to my house. Would you like that?”
“And see Christie?” asked Beth.
“And see Christie,” Ron answered. “Is that O.K. with you, Meredith?”
Meredith didn’t answer. On some level she was aware that a woman had come out of the darkness and put her arms around her. Meredith heard her say that everything would be all right. That she was safe. And that she must be strong. But on another, more conscious level, the one where all of her senses processed and recorded what was happening, Meredith saw two black body bags being zipped and placed into the back of an ambulance. Then she watched the ambulance turn around and drive away. Her long, tumbling mass of blond curls hung loosely over her face guardedly, concealing it, preventing the horror from penetrating any deeper. For Beth, safeguarded by youth and innocence, the reality of what had taken place would come later. But Meredith had seen what had happened and understood. That knowledge was now seeping through every pore of her body. Ron glanced at the woman, nodded, and took Meredith’s hand.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Barbara Casey is the author of over two dozen award-winning novels and book-length works of nonfiction for both adults and young adults, and numerous articles, poems, and short stories. Several of her books have been optioned for major films and television series.
In addition to her own writing, Barbara is an editorial consultant and president of the Barbara Casey Agency. Established in 1995, she represents authors throughout the United States, Great Britain, Canada, and Japan.
In 2018 Barbara received the prestigious Albert Nelson Marquis Lifetime Achievement Award and Top Professional Award for her extensive experience and notable accomplishments in the field of publishing and other areas.
Barbara lives on a mountain in Georgia with three cats who adopted her: Homer, a Southern coon cat; Reese, a black cat; and Earl Gray, a gray cat and Reese’s best friend.
