Wednesday 28 September 2022

Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert

Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert Banner

Sanctuary

by C.L. Tolbert

September 12 - October 8, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert

A Thornton Mystery

In SANCTUARY, the third book in the Thornton Mystery Series, Emma is back again. This time she’s agreed to represent a former client accused of killing the leader of a suspicious cult in New Orleans.

James Crosby, the charismatic leader of the Japaprajnas, is found dead one late afternoon, his body draped over an iron fence in the courtyard of the nineteenth-century house where he and several cult members work and live. Although police initially presumed his fall was an accident, they quickly discover that James received a lethal dose of a drug before he was pushed from his office balcony.

The next day the police discover a syringe and a substantial amount of the drug which killed James in Stacey Robert’s bedroom. The nineteen-year-old cult member is brought in for questioning, which leads to her arrest. Emma, who had represented Stacey when she was a sixteen-year-old runaway, agrees to take the case.

Convinced she is innocent Emma begins an investigation into the cult and its members. Emma’s questions uncover dangerous secrets, illicit activities, and the exploitation of innocent victims. Emma’s suspicions lead her to the killer’s trail and the case’s final resolution.

Praise for Sanctuary:

“Brace yourself. Deadly personalities, hidden agendas, and long-buried secrets threaten law professor Emma Thornton, after she agrees to defend a terrified young woman accused of murdering the charismatic leader of an oppressive cult. The dark heart of New Orleans has never felt so dangerous.”

Roger Johns, Author of the Wallace Hartman Mysteries

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: July 2022
Number of Pages: 280
ISBN: 9781685121464
Series: The Thornton Mystery Series, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter Twelve

The French Quarter was home to Stacey. She could relax there. She loved the winding streets, the ancient buildings, the ironwork on the balconies, and the festival-like spirit of Jackson Square. Plus, it was easy to blend in. With at least as many tourists as native New Orleanians, no one stood out more than anyone else. The exceptions ˗ the homeless, the street performers, and artists ˗ were part of the scenery. They blended into the background in a multicolor splash.

She needed money and had been watching the tarot card readers in the square. They made thirty-five dollars a read, plus tips. She could do that. She’d been taught the Celtic spread years ago and still had her deck tucked away with the rest of her stuff. It had taken her a few days to get squared away. Yesterday, she’d found a discarded chair on the street in one of the residential areas of the Quarter. She knew someone who worked at a pizza place right off of Pirate’s Alley, a small street next to St. Louis Cathedral. She’d asked if she could stash the chair behind their dumpster, and he’d agreed to it. That was helpful since she could store her things close to the place where she’d be reading. Now she just needed a small table or a box and a second chair, and she’d be ready.

Even though the city required a license and permit for the artists who painted in Jackson Square, there were no such requirements for card readers. But, every once in a while, the Jackson Square artists proposed an ordinance to the City Council to remove the fortune-tellers. So far, they’d been unsuccessful, and recently the readers had come back in full force. They added an ambiance to the area, especially when they burned their incense. She liked the way it smelled.

Stacey glanced at her reflection as she walked by a shop with a large plate glass window. She still wasn’t accustomed to her new look. She’d used some of the money she’d saved to purchase hair color and had dyed her honey blonde hair a dark brown. She’d also cut it much shorter with a pair of cheap scissors in hopes of disguising her appearance. She’d done it herself, and not very well. She didn’t like the jagged ends. But overall, it worked. She had to admit she looked like a different person and thought it was possible to sit in full view in the middle of Jackson Square, conduct tarot card readings, and not be recognized. At least not by the likes of police officers or others who might be looking for her.

She crammed her hand in her pocket, making sure that the wad of dollar bills she’d neatly folded and covered with several rubber bands was still there. One of the problems of not having a place with a door to lock was that you had to carry your valuables with you. She still had some of the money she’d saved from working at the Temple. She was frugal, eating only one meal a day, and that was a cheap one. But she’d been on her own for four days, and her money would run out soon. She hoped her plan to make more money in Jackson Square was a good one.

Stacey avoided shelters. Emma knew everyone in the city who ran them and would look for her at women’s shelters before she’d look anywhere else. But Stacey had found the perfect place to stay about three miles away from the Quarter—a small chapel in the middle of a cemetery in the Bywater District. It was called St. Roch’s and was named after the patron saint of dogs, invalids, and the falsely accused. The cemetery, the street, and the surrounding community were all named after the saint. Locals mispronounced the chapel’s name, calling it St. Roach’s. Even though the structure was crumbling, it still provided the shelter Stacey needed.

St. Roch’s had been built in 1867 by a priest who had prayed to St. Roch during the yellow fever pandemic in New Orleans, asking the saint to spare his community. Ten years later, when no one from his parish had succumbed to yellow fever, he made good on his promise, built the shrine, and dedicated it to the saint. It was a small chapel comprised of only two tiny rooms. One room contained a statue of St. Roch and his loyal dog, and the other room was filled with human prostheses, braces, glass eyeballs, glasses, false teeth, and praying hands, rosaries, and religious figurines, all offered to St. Roch as thanks for healing. Bricks on the ground in that room were inscribed with the word thanks and littered with coins. Over the years, a dusty haze had settled over the various prostheses at the shrine. The walls were crumbling, and a statue of Mary had started to disintegrate. Most people considered the chapel creepy, so creepy, that they avoided it at night, although tourists occasionally visited during the day. Rumor had it that voodoo ceremonies were carried out in the cemetery after dark, although Stacey never saw anything like that. She slept in the tiny room with St. Roch and his dog.

It took between forty-five minutes and an hour to walk to the French Quarter from the chapel, depending on whether Stacey stopped for anything. She woke up early in the morning and left the chapel well before any tourists might arrive. She usually walked to Decatur Street, then down to the Riverwalk Mall, avoiding Esplanade Avenue entirely. She liked the restrooms at the mall. They were clean and usually unoccupied early in the morning. She washed up and brushed her teeth. Once, she’d even shampooed her hair. She carried her bag of dirty laundry with her and would occasionally rinse out her things in the sink. What little makeup and toiletries she needed were easily picked up from department store samples. She walked back to the chapel before dark. At night, the same laundry bag served as her pillow.

By Friday, Stacey had found the second chair, a wooden box tall enough to use as a table, and an interesting scarf someone had stuffed in a Goodwill box along the side of the road. She’d decided to throw it over the makeshift table to give her fortune-telling booth some panache. She was ready for business.

On Saturday morning, Stacey walked to the Quarter, freshened up, grabbed her table and chairs from behind the dumpster at the pizza place, and set up her tarot stand, all before ten o’clock. She was pleased with the location. Only five feet from the steps of the St. Louis Cathedral, it was a prime spot. Tourists swarmed to the cathedral at all hours of the day and were already beginning to mill about. Within fifteen minutes, a middle-aged woman wearing a baseball hat, a neon green bandana, and pink tennis shoes, approached Stacey.

“How much do you charge?”

Stacey stood, her hands behind her back, and smiled. “Thirty-five dollars.”

“How long’s the reading?”

“It’s for fifteen minutes.”

“Okay.” She looked around the square. “Looks like that’s the going rate. But you need a sign. Let’s go.”

She sat down across from Stacey, perched on the tiny seat, and waited for Stacey to shuffle the deck.

Stacey mixed the cards a couple of times, then set the stack in front of the woman.

“Cut the cards into three smaller decks.” She’d noticed a man staring at them from a distance. He was too far away to see clearly. Perhaps he was staring at someone else.

The woman cut the cards.

“Now pick one of the three decks.”

The woman chose one.

Stacey fanned the cards from the chosen deck out in front of the woman and removed the other cards. She thought the man looked familiar. He started to walk toward them. As he approached, she could tell who he was. Raphael. He stopped on the stairs of the cathedral to watch.

“Choose fourteen cards.” Stacey glanced up at Raphael. He hadn’t budged.

The woman carefully chose fourteen cards and handed them to Stacey, who began laying them out in the traditional Celtic cross. The woman had chosen the King of Pentacles as card one, crossed by the Tower. The King of Pentacles, which represented business acumen, was in the position of present influence. And the Tower, which was a card of catastrophic or shocking change, and chaos, crossed the King, indicating the nature of his obstacles. The third card, placed under the cross, was the Death card. Death also represented change, and even occasionally, but rarely, death. Stacey froze. Had the cards picked up on what had happened to James instead of the woman’s situation?

Stacey sensed movement and glanced up. She flinched when she saw Raphael walking toward their table. Raphael stopped about a foot away from where she was reading, stopped, then crossed his arms.

“This is a private reading.” Stacey stopped laying out cards. Her heart was pounding.

“Interesting that you got the death card, don’t you think?”

“Sir, please leave. This isn’t any of your concern.” She didn’t want him drawing attention to her. She just wanted him to go away.

“I’ll leave. Sorry I interrupted.” He nodded toward Stacey’s client. “Thousand pardons, ma’am.”

“If you haven’t cut into my fifteen minutes, I’m fine.”

“Of course not.” Stacey smiled at the woman. “You’ll get your full reading.” She stood and turned toward Raphael. “We have nothing further to discuss.”

Raphael shrugged. “I’ve been worried about you, and so are a couple of other people. And just in case you thought that new hair color was a disguise, let me just tell you it isn’t. If I know who you are, so will others. They’d be very interested in knowing where you are now and what you’re doing.” He nodded toward the cards in her hand. “Good luck with that.”

“You need to leave immediately.”

Raphael started backing away. “I’ll be back.” He put his hand to his forehead in a farewell salute. “You can count on that.”

Stacey didn’t know if Raphael was threatening or warning her. But she knew she didn’t want him to come back to the Quarter to see her anytime soon.

Stacey glanced back at her client. “I’m so sorry for the interruption. Where were we?” She sat back down. “Oh yes.” She examined the cards. “Has a man in your life undergone a significant change, the end of a relationship, or even a death?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Alright, well, let’s proceed.” Stacey watched as Raphael retreated across the square and took a right at Pirate’s Alley.

She continued to lay out cards for the woman.

The fourth card, the card of past events, was the seven of swords, the card of deception. As far as she was concerned, that card certainly applied to James. He’d deceived her from the very beginning. She’d fallen for his tricks. She couldn’t see through his deception at first, but she caught on, finally. The fifth card, the card of the present, was the Chariot, the card of courage and movement. She smiled. She was hoping to do something about the mess she’d gotten herself in. At least she wasn’t sitting in jail like a scared rabbit. For the final card in the cross, the card of the near future, the woman had drawn Justice. She held the final card in her hand for a couple of seconds before laying it down in front of the woman. Even though she hadn’t drawn the cards, Stacey still believed they were telling her story, not the woman’s. Justice, the card of fair decisions, gave her comfort.

“The final outcome, Justice, relates to karmic justice. It refers to legal matters as well, but generally, it’s telling you that all actions have consequences. Have your own actions contributed in any way to any of the circumstances you find yourself in today?”

The woman nodded. “I can see that they have. I’m not sure that a man in my life has met any sort of catastrophic end, though. Maybe something’s coming up. I hope not.” She shook her head, reached into her pocket, and handed Stacey three tens and a five. “That was fun. I love getting tarot readings.”

Stacey watched the woman walk off and thought about the consequences of her recent actions. She’d been trying to avoid that for months. It was so easy to blame others. It was also easy to turn a blind eye to what was going on in front of you. She was young, but she wasn’t stupid.

That day she had four other readings, making a total of $175.00. She was stunned. She’d made money at the temple, but they held on to it for her rent and food. So, she’d never had much cash, even though the temple made seventy-five dollars per massage. She packed up for the night, brought her table and chairs back to the pizza restaurant, stashed them behind the dumpster again, and tipped the manager. She was glad she knew the guy. That was the thing about New Orleans. If you knew how to get around, you could make things work for you, even though it could be a dangerous place.

She was starved and decided to treat herself to a shrimp po’ boy from Felix’s on Bourbon. She hadn’t had one in forever, and she felt like celebrating. And now that she had enough cash to last a few days, she could afford it. Plus, she wanted to walk by ETC to talk to the girl who was working in the back of the shop. She didn’t know who it was, and she didn’t care. But she hoped she could work out a deal with her. Pay her a little cash and get her to leave the back door open so she could start sleeping there at night instead of St. Roch’s. The chapel floor wasn’t comfortable, and the cemetery wasn’t safe at night. An option would be nice. It was worth a try.

***

Excerpt from Sanctuary by C.L. Tolbert. Copyright 2022 by C.L. Tolbert. Reproduced with permission from C.L. Tolbert. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

C.L. Tolbert

After winning the Georgia State Bar Journal's fiction contest in 2010, C.L. Tolbert developed the winning story into a full-scale novel. OUT FROM SILENCE was published in December of 2019, and is the first novel in the Thornton Mysteries series. Her second book, THE REDEMPTION, was published in February of 2021, and SANCTUARY, the third book in the series, was published in July of 2022.

Licensed in Mississippi, Louisiana, and Georgia, C.L. practiced law for thirty-five years before retiring to pursue writing. During her legal career she spent several years teaching at Loyola Law School in New Orleans, where she was the Director of the Homeless Clinic. She also has a Masters of Special Education, and taught in a public school prior to enrolling in law school.

C.L. has two children and three grandchildren, and lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and schnauzer.

Catch Up With C.L. Tolbert:
www.CLTolbert.com
Goodreads
Instagram - @cltolbertwrites
Twitter - @cltolbertwrites
Facebook - @cltolbertwriter

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and give away entries!

 

 

Giveaway:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for C.L. Tolbert. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

Monday 26 September 2022

Ghoster Heights by Corey Landsell, Kelly Mellings, Lisa Larose, Becca Carey, Rebecca Taylor (Editor)

I am so excited that GHOSTER HEIGHTS by Corey Landsell, Kelly Mellings, & Lisa Larose is available now and that I get to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes a giveaway for 2 finished copies of the book courtesy of Wonderbound & Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.

  

About The Book:

Title: GHOSTER HEIGHTS

Author: Corey Landsell, Kelly Mellings, Lisa Larose, Becca Carey, Rebecca Taylor (Editor)

Pub. Date: September 27, 2022

Publisher: Wonderbound

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 208

Find it: GoodreadsAmazon, Kindle, B&NiBooks, Kobo, TBD, Bookshop.org

A haunting and hopeful Middle Grade graphic novel about a girl, ghosts, and grief.  For fans of SheetsSmall Spaces, and Ghosts.


WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBOOHOOD!

Eight-year-old Ona has lost just about everything: her home, her possessions, her mother, and almost her life. When she and her father move into her Baba’s apartment complex after these traumatic events, they had hoped for a clean start. But a mysterious specter follows her, and Ona befriends the ghost she discovers haunting the boiler room. When her new friendship starts allowing her to see other ghosts—the ghosts who haunt the other residents of her building—she decides to use her ability to help her new neighbors face their troubles and free themselves from their specters. In doing so, however, Ona must eventually come face to face with a much darker foe—her own trauma and grief. The earnestness of Judy Bloom meets the raw emotion of I Kill Giants in this beautifully hopeful story of childhood tragedy.

An original graphic novel for Middle Grade readers about grief, loss, and the ghosts that haunt us all.

For fans of Brenna Thummler’s Sheets and Delicates.

 

Excerpts:








 

About Corey Landsell:

Corey Lansdell is a multiple award-winning illustrator and animator. He is a skilled communicator, expert storyteller and passionate collaborator. Corey heads up a SCBWI illustrators group in Edmonton, Alberta.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon

 






About Kelly Mellings:

Kelly Mellings is an award-winning art director, illustrator, and designer. His work has
appeared in comic books, TV commercials, magazines, apps, museum exhibits, and video
games. He is the co-writer of Ghoster Heights and illustrator of the Canadian best-selling
graphic novel, The Outside Circle. He lives in Edmonton, Alberta.

 

Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads

 




About Lisa Larose:

Lisa LaRose is a pop surrealist painter, illustrator, and comics artist in Vancouver, Canada. She is best known for her paintings: Bizarre and Colourful artworks. She creates lively and exciting colour palettes and is always making something a little weird. Lisa loves middle-grade fiction (books, comics, cartoons, you name it) and so she also moonlights as a middle-grade comics artist.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | Goodreads

 



Giveaway Details:

2 winners will receive a finished copy of GHOSTER HEIGHTS, US Only.

Ends October 11th, midnight EST.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday 21 September 2022

Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop

 

Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop Banner

Intergalactic Exterminators Inc

by Ash Bishop

September 1-30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour
 

Synopsis:

Finding work is easy. Staying alive is a little bit harder.

Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop
When Russ Wesley finds an unusual artifact in his grandfather’s collection of rare antiquities, the last thing he expects is for it to draw the attention of a ferocious alien from a distant planet. Equally surprising is the adventurous team of intergalactic exterminators dispatched to deal with the alien threat. They’re a little wild, and a little reckless. Worse yet, they’re so impressed with Russ’s marksmanship that they insist he join their squad . . . whether he wants to or not.

Praise for Intergalactic Exterminators, Inc:

"This book is so much fun it ought to be illegal in all known galaxies. Ash Bishop has written a wildly imagined, deeply felt, swashbuckling page turner. I loved it."
Jesse Kellerman, New York Times bestselling author of The Burning

Book Details

Genre: Science Fiction Published by: Camcat Books Publication Date: September 6th 2022 Number of Pages: 416 ISBN: 0744305616 (ISBN13: 9780744305616) Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | IndieBound.Org | CamCat Books
 

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

RUSS
Russ woke up lying flat on the ground, his mind foggy as hell. He could smell blood. When he reached forward as gingerly as possible, his muscles screamed at the movement. He was on his back. The forest trees waved down at him, blocking out the faint moonlight. He took a couple of deep breaths and reached forward again, groping around in the darkness. His hand came back slick with blood and fur and leaves. And then he heard voices. “. . . do you want to do this, then?” “I just wouldn’t call this tracking, is all. The blood trail’s three feet across. A tiny baby could follow this trail.” “Show me that baby.” “Shhh. Both of you, quiet. Something’s registering on the heat index.” The confusion and pain made it hard to think. Are these locals . . .? he thought. He fumbled in his pocket, looking for his flashlight but also testing for further damage. His hand found the light. It illuminated the small clearing. The deer’s corpse was just a few feet away, right where he’d shot it, but it wasn’t whole. Something had torn off its back legs, shearing straight through the muscle and bone. Russ took a deep breath but didn’t let his body or mind react to the sight of the carnage. Seconds later, the strangers’ flashlights found him. “He’s over here. To our left.” Russ heard three or four people hurrying through the brush. A woman in all black stepped into the clearing. Her brown hair was tied back in a bun, and she had a long steel shotgun in her hands. An odd earring twinkled in her ear. “You okay, son?” she asked, crouching down to place her hands on his chest. She stared into his eyes, examining him. “Looks like you’re going into shock. Just stay on your back and concentrate on breathing.” A man followed shortly after her. He glanced around, holding up a funny-looking flashlight to cast out the darkness. “He’s alone,” the man confirmed. “Are you from around here?” he asked Russ. “I’m from California,” Russ groaned. “I don’t know what that means,” the man said. “Just hold still,” the woman said. She pulled a gadget from her pack. The end telescoped out like an antenna. Russ watched as an aqua blue light shone down from the device, running across his entire body. He flinched as it reached his face, and even that small movement caused his lungs to burst with pain. “He’s got four broken ribs, a hairline fracture in the left wrist and a torn hamstring. Did you see what hit you?” the woman asked him. Russ tried to think. “No.” The word was as much a groan as anything else. “Tell us what you remember.” Russ rolled over onto his side. It hurt badly. Now that she’d pointed out the injuries, everything was localized. His ribs throbbed. His wrist felt hollow. His left leg was pierced with pain. “I was driving down Route Eighty-Nine, and a deer . . .” Russ pointed to the half deer corpse beside him. “. . . this deer dashed in front of my car. I knew I’d injured it by the sound it made when it hit the bumper, but I didn’t think I’d have to chase it this far into the woods to put it out of its misery.” Russ took a moment to swallow. “After I shot it, I—I was kneeling, jacking out the leftover rifle shells. But then . . . I was flipping through the air. I think I hit that tree right behind me.” The woman looked back at the tree. “It’s pretty splintered up.” “I was flying upside down. Backwards.” “Can you walk?” the man asked. Two more women, dressed in the same black combat gear, entered the clearing. They both had long rifles slung over their backs. Russ glanced at the newcomers, his eyes lingering on the guns. They weren’t locals. He could tell that much. “Who are you guys?” “Just local hunters,” one of the newcomers said. “Sure,” Russ said. “Tell me what hit you,” the first woman said firmly. “’I don’t know. A meteor? A buffalo? Maybe . . . a . . . rig?” The woman pulled a roll of pills from a MOLLE strap on her backpack. “Swallow two of these. They’re going to kill the pain.” Russ chewed the pills. Their chalky taste filled his mouth and crept up his nose. “They won’t cure any of the damage. You’re going to feel fine, but you’re not fine. Move carefully until you can get proper medical treatment. The road is two miles north. Can you reach it without help?” Russ nodded. Whatever she gave him was blazing through his bloodstream, kicking the fog and ache off every organ that it passed. “What’d I just eat?” “Two miles north. Don’t stop for any reason.” One of the newcomers, a well-muscled young woman with close-cropped brown hair, glanced at the half deer corpse lying next to Russ. Its blood had sprayed a pattern across the splintered tree. “Look at the animal, Kendren,” she said. The guy, Kendren, shone his flashlight over the deer corpse. “Whoa,” he said. “We definitely found what we’re looking for.” “You really chummed the water with this stag,” the short-haired woman told Russ. “Kendren, Starland, mouths shut,” the first woman said, making a slashing gesture. She pulled Russ to his feet. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but it was gone. Kendren and Starland stayed huddled around the deer, crouched low, inspecting where the hindquarters had been sheared off the bone. Kendren looked at the deer's head and saw where Russ had shot it. “You make this shot?” he asked Russ. “In the dark?” “Yeah.” “Was the deer already dead? Were you a foot away? Point blank?” “No. I was up on a ledge over by the river. Forty feet in that direction.” Russ pointed up the gradual incline. Kendren was still looking at the dead deer. “You shot it between the eyes, from forty feet, in the dark?” “Yeah. I guess.” “Head on back to the highway,” the woman said firmly. “You should start now. It might be dangerous to stay here.” The way she was looking at him, Russ kind of figured she meant that she was what was dangerous. If he didn’t do what she said. “I just need to find my grandpa’s rifle first,” Russ told her. She grabbed him by the arm. Her grip was incredibly strong. In the light from her flashlight her eyes seemed almost purple. “Start walking toward—” Before she could finish her sentence, the third woman, who’d melted back into the darkness, stepped forward again. “Cut the light,” she hissed. “It’s here.” Something came crashing through the brush, making a howling sound. It wasn’t a sound Russ had ever heard before. It was a deep rumbling growl, followed by a pitched screech that made the hair on his arms stand up. Branches were snapping, and he could hear claws scraping on rock. It was still thirty feet south, but it scared the hell out of him. “‘El Toreador.’ You’re up,” the woman hissed. The girl they called El Toreador had been on lookout. She was far enough into the darkness that Russ could barely see her, just a wisp of thick brown hair bobbing in the darkness—that is, until she pounded her chest with her fist. The vest lit up red, casting shadows across the trees. “My real name’s Atara,” she told Russ quickly. Then: “Don’t look so worried. We’re professionals.” “Starland, hit her with the hormone.” “The vest is enough,” Atara growled. Starland slipped back into the light. She was carrying some kind of tube that looked like a pool toy. She pushed hard against the end, blasting thick goo all over the other woman. “Hurry up. It’s almost here.” Russ was scrambling around in the brush, looking everywhere for his rifle when the creature burst through the perimeter glow of his tiny flashlight. Atara’s vest reflected off its face, bathing it in red light. It was all fangs and claws, huge, twice the size of a grizzly bear and full of rippling muscles stretched out in terrifying feline grace. It leaped at Atara, but midflight it caught the scent of the goo and reoriented to the left, bumping her off her feet but not harming her. The huge cat-thing landed softly, immediately turning toward the fallen woman, sniffing the air, growling, and bobbing its head. “It’s got the scent. The big kitty’s feeling amorous,” Kendren yelled. He, Starland, and the other woman all had their rifles raised. They were tracking the cat, ready to fire. Atara looked pissed, sprawled on the ground with her legs splayed. “Knock it down. We’re authorized for lethal. What are you waiting for?” she shouted. The creature was fully in the light now. It looked a lot like a tiger, but it was at least six times the size, with wavy, shaggy hair. “What the hell is it?” Russ shouted. The feline was practically straddling Atara. “I don’t like how it’s looking at me. Come on, shoot!” she demanded. The creature batted a paw, claws extended, and tore the glowing vest off her chest. It drew the vest up to its nose, sniffed, and started to growl again. Then the huge beast paused, slowly turning away from Atara. It sniffed the air, shoulders hunched, fur on the scruff of its neck rising. As it turned, its deep onyx eyes looked squarely at Russ. It growled and took a step toward him. Russ thought his heart had been beating hard before, but as the huge cat glided toward him, the thudding in his chest was so loud it drowned out every other sound. He didn’t even hear the discharge of Starland’s shotgun, two feet away from the monster. The wad of pellets sprayed against the creature’s flank and it howled, tearing away into the darkness so fast Russ didn’t even see it move. Atara scrambled to her feet and dropped her rifle. “Did you see that? A direct hit and no penetration. I told you Earth tech was garbage. What is this? The thirteenth century? I’m powering up.” The first woman—the one with the purple eyes—glanced at Russ. She was short, wiry, with the powerful shoulders of a linebacker. Russ realized she was the leader of . . . whoever these people were. “When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?” she barked at Atara. “You already used the CRC wand on him.” “Two hours of mandatory training videos. The second this is over.” “I’d rather be cat food than watch those again,” Atara said. “You skip the videos and I’ll send you back through CERT training.” Atara wasn’t really listening. She crashed off through the brush in the direction of the big cat. Nodding toward Russ, the woman shouted, “Kendren, you’ve got containment.” Then she disappeared into the darkness. Starland drew a pistol from her belt and followed. “Containment? More like babysitting,” Kendren grumbled. “I should be the one doing the good stuff.” He glanced in the direction they’d gone. Russ kind of agreed. Kendren was huge, at least six-five, and covered from head to toe with what Russ’s cousin had always called beach muscles. He had thick, wavy hair down to his shoulders. Out in the darkness, Russ could see the others’ flashlights bobbing up and down. They were headed up an incline, probably straight toward the bank of the river. “Was it my imagination, or was the cat more interested in you than the vest covered in mating hormone?” Kendren asked. At first, Russ didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “What would make it do that?” “No idea. It’s supposed to follow the hormone. What’s better than sex?” Kendren shook his head, seemingly unable to answer his own question. He frowned slightly. “The only thing I’ve seen them more interested in is an Obinz stone. You ever seen an Obinz stone? They’re about this big”—Kendren held his hands six inches apart—“usually green, with yellow veins running all along the edges? I don’t think they’re native to . . . this area.” Kendren looked around in distaste. “But I’ve seen these cats jump planets just to get near one if it’s in an unrefined state. An Obinz stone is basically intergalactic catnip.” “I’ve never seen one,” Russ told him. His voice wavered slightly, but Kendren didn’t seem to notice. “Then we better shut this vest down,” Kendren said. He stepped up onto a boulder and reached high into a tree, grabbing the vest from where the cat had tossed it. He folded the vest up and tucked it under his arm. “I’m not even sure how to turn it off,” he said. “That was a saber-toothed tiger, right? You guys cloning stuff? Is this Jurassic World or something?” Russ rubbed his temple. His questions were coming so fast, they were jumbled in his mouth. Kendren had just said intergalactic, and something about jumping planets, but here in the dark Wyoming forest, six miles from his grandmother’s house, he wasn’t yet ready to face those pieces of information. Kendren threw the vest on the ground and raised his rifle, pumping a slug into it. It kept glowing. “Damn. It’s pretty important I get this thing turned off.” Starland’s discarded rifle was just a few feet away. While Kendren kicked at the vest with his boot heel, Russ inched toward it. “Touch the weapon and I’ll shoot you in the face,” Kendren said. He stomped on the vest again. The flashlights were way north now, probably on the other side of the river. Russ could hear the distant voices arguing about which way the big cat went. The voices were so loud, neither Kendren nor Russ heard the cat until it was right in front of them, growling, hissing, and spitting. It stalked into the circumference of the faint red light from the vest. Kendren was still standing on the vest, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Beside him, the cat was enormous, twice as tall as a man. It crouched down, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m dead,” he said quietly. The creature coiled back on its powerful flanks and threw itself forward like a bullet. Its wicked claws stretched out, razored edges slashing at Kendren’s neck and chest. Russ kicked Starland’s gun off the ground, caught it, leveled it, and fired. The bullet split the cat’s eye socket, ripping through its optic nerve and straight into its brain. Momentum carried the dead body forward on its trajectory, smashing into Kendren and pinning him to the earth. A few moments later, the rest of the team returned, clambering through the thick brush. The leader approached the enormous beast and nudged it with her boot. “Is it dead, Bah’ren?” Atara asked, her gun still pointed at the fallen creature. “Sure is,” the leader, Bah’ren, responded. The wind was starting to pick up, blowing the branches of the trees, shaking off a few dead leaves. “How about Kendren?” “Negative,” Bah’ren said. “Get it off me,” Kendren demanded. “It’s gotta weigh nine hundred pounds.” “How many intergalactic laws do you think we’ve broken here?” Atara asked. She moved next to Bah’ren, looking down at Kendren with an expression that was half pity and half amusement. He had managed to sit up, but his legs were still wedged under the huge carcass. “Including the law about referencing intergalactic law on a tier-nine planet?” Bah’ren asked. “You guys are being a little careless,” Starland said. “Not our fault this thing was a hundred miles off course. The MUPmap promised there wouldn’t be any tier-nine bios in the vicinity.” “What are we supposed to do now?” Atara said, nodding toward Russ. “Oh, we’re conscripting him, for sure.” Bah’ren said. “Really?” Atara said. “We’re getting another human?” “Who? Who do you mean?” Russ asked. He glanced back in the direction of the highway. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dark again, and he could make out a thick copse of trees just a dozen or so yards away. “Get the huge beast off me,” Kendren insisted. Bah’ren moved to one side of the big cat and dug her powerful shoulders into it. Starland ran over to join her, wedging one arm against the creature’s flank, but putting her other arm around the waist of the woman giving the orders. “Atara, come on. You, new guy, we could use your help too. It’s heavy as hell.” Russ half ran over to them and dug his side into the creature. Its hairy skin sloshed around against the pressure, but the four of them eventually got it moving. “Roll it the other way!” Kendren demanded. “Its penis is right next to my face.” They kept rolling, and Kendren kept protesting, as the great shaggy cat slowly grinded over his shoulders and face. Gravity finally caught hold of its weight and the corpse flopped to the ground. The three in black all chuckled as Kendren spit out the taste of cat testicle. “Oh, that’s what you meant. Sorry about that,” Starland said, laughing. Kendren crawled onto his knees, still hacking and spitting. He stopped for a minute and looked at the cat’s face, poking a finger in the thing’s empty eye socket and wiggling it around. “Another hell of a shot.” “The debriefing wasn’t just wrong about location,” Atara said. “The creature’s fur is like steel mesh. Our bullets were doing jackshit.” Kendren rolled up onto his knees, both hands propped on his thighs. “You saved my life,” he told Russ. “No problem,” Russ said. It was the last thing Russ said before he dropped the rifle and sprinted full speed back toward the safety of the trees. He was running as fast as he could, pumping his arms, banging his shins on rocks, bumping past pines, carelessly plunging through the dark. He’d only gotten about twenty yards, running full speed, when something metal slapped around his ankle. It tipped him off balance and, for the second time that night, he could feel himself careening head over heels. He hit a tree, again, then slowly slipped out of consciousness. --- Excerpt from Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop. Copyright © 2022 by Ash Bishop. Reproduced with permission from Ash Bishop. All rights reserved.
 

Author Bio:

Ash BishopAsh Bishop is a lifetime reader and a lifetime nerd, loving all things science fiction and fantasy. He has been a high school English teacher, and worked in the video game industry, as well as in educational app development. He even used to fetch coffee for Quentin Tarantino during the production of the film Jackie Brown. Bishop currently produces script coverage for a major Hollywood studio, but he spends his best days at home in Southern California with his wonderful wife and two wonderful children. He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. This is his debut novel.

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Thursday 15 September 2022

The Understudy by Elle Tovatt Leary

 

 Romance, Historical Romance

 Publisher: Hansen Publishing Group


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Young actress Nina Landau is living in New York City, trying to make it on Broadway in the early ‘70s. Travel back in time with The Understudy—a book actor Stacy Keach calls a “…must read for all lovers of theater...” Follow Nina as she braves auditions and eventually succeeds on the Broadway stage. Discover the backstage drama, how Broadway actors brave the occasional mistakes and celebrate opening night at Sardi’s! Although Nina's adventure is from another era, her love story is timeless.




About the Author

Ellen Tovatt Leary is an actor and writer born in New York City. She performed in theaters across the country, including Broadway, off-Broadway, and many regional theaters. She worked with Hal Prince, Maureen Stapleton, James Hammerstein, and many others. After a life-long career in the theater, Ellen started writing. For fourteen years, she was on the writing staff of the Carnegie Hill News in New York. She has published short stories, poems, and two widely acclaimed books: her memoir “Mother, Once Removed” (2015) and her novel “The Understudy” (2020).

 

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Wednesday 14 September 2022

All Kinds of Wrong by Shilpa Suraj

 

What does a lifestyle guru do when her life starts to fall apart?


Alia Dubey is being stalked. The problem is no one believes her. Not the cops, not her family…and well, she doesn’t really have any friends.
Until the day her sister calls in a favour and asks her friend from the Intelligence Bureau to check on Alia and the gifts she’s been receiving.
Officer Avinash Rathore has better things to do than babysit a spoilt socialite with delusions of danger. Until he walks in to find her home broken into and an innocuous bouquet of red roses placed there. While everything points to an obsessed lover, Avinash’s instincts are screaming that there is more at play.
The gifts keep arriving, escalating from roses to far more sinister things…each with an intimate note hinting at a personal agenda. But whose?
The police have a primary suspect – Alia herself. They’re convinced she’s mentally ill and the one planting the evidence that points to a stalker.
But Avinash knows there is more. Far from mentally ill, the ditzy socialite he’d expected to meet is incisively intelligent, staggeringly attractive and devastatingly dangerous to his otherwise sensible mind.
They find themselves in a race against an unknown opponent who has only one thing in their mind – to destroy Alia’s life and leave her standing in the ruins.
And then Alia goes missing. And Avinash realizes that he stands to lose not just the race but, everything. For the ditzy socialite, the one who is All Kinds of Wrong for him is suddenly the only one who can make his world Right again.


Read an Excerpt from All Kinds of Wrong


“Why?” she asked her big sister, bewildered. “Why is this happening? I’m really not the sort to inspire grand passion.” 

“Oh you inspire tons of passion, sweetheart,” Avinash said, humorously. “Just not the sort that you’d normally expect.” 

She glared at him. He smiled back, blandly. 

“I’m going to go meet the cops I know in the evening, but it would help if I had a little more to give them to go on.” 

“Like what?” she asked, numbly. 
“Why don’t you give me a little information on the neighbours you’ve interacted with?” 

She stared at him, blankly. 

“Right,” he muttered. “I forgot. You don’t do relationships.” 

“She does acquaintances though,” Aria butted in. “Don’t you, Als?” 

Alia stared at her. “What does that even mean?” 

“What do you know about your neighbours, Als?” Aria sighed. 

“Well, there is dog guy on the second floor. He walks all four of his dogs every morning when I’m going for a jog,” Alia said. “Two Labradors, one Poodle and a mongrel.” 

“Great,” Avinash sat down in front of her, nodding encouragingly. “What else did you notice?”

“He looks a lot like his mongrel.” 

Avinash blinked. “Jeez, you’re a piece of work,” he said with a soft laugh. 

“He does,” Alia insisted. “I’ll show you.” 

“Okay.” He held his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Who else did you notice?” 

“The old lady who lives two doors down always smells of cheese.” Alia muttered. “Stinks up the lift every time. I think she lives alone because I’ve never seen anyone else come out of that flat.” 

Avinash was scribbling on a little notepad he’d produced out of thin air. 

“Oh and then there is the serial killer,” she said, snapping her fingers in the air. 

Avinash froze. “Excuse me?” 

“Gotcha,” Alia giggled. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” 

“There is a big, burly man with tattoos and dreadlocks who lives on the third floor. He uses the gym sometimes at the same time as I do. He’s very sweet and considerate. Always wipes his sweat off any equipment he uses.” 

“A real gem,” Avinash agreed drily. 

“Then there is the girl who always wants to be my friend, no matter how many times I tell her I’m not interested. She lives on this floor too. Oh and the couple on the first floor who invited me for dinner but I didn’t go because I think they’re swingers and I wasn’t looking forward to being proven right that night.” 

Aria stifled a smile when Avinash shot her a look. 

“Then, of course, there is the couple on the floor below us. They have a toddler who sounds like he’s being murdered most of the time. But, of course, that isn’t true. He’s clearly alive because I see him eating sand in the playground when I go for my jog.” 

“A very good clue,” Avinash said. 

“And then there is the eighty-year-old man in the wheelchair who forced himself on me in the elevator.” 

“What?” Avinash snapped to attention. 

“Well,” Alia said, frowning. “He said he wanted to tell me something and when I leaned down to hear him more clearly, he kissed me on my lips. The dirty, old goat.” 

“And what did you do?” Aria asked, aghast.

“Well, I pressed the button to stop the elevator and then I deflated the tyres of his wheelchair while he squawked at me. Once I got the elevator moving, I got off and left without helping him. From what I heard on the building whatsapp group, he was stuck there for the better part of an hour before someone found him.” 

Aria and Avinash just stared at her. 

“What?” she demanded. 

“Nothing,” Avinash said, faintly. “I just finally understand why you don’t do relationships.” 


About the Author:


Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.

An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.


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Sunday 11 September 2022

Fate Do Us Part by Brady Truly

 

YA, Urban, Romantic Suspense

Date Published: 08-02-2022


To have or not to hold, from this day forth. How our story ends, teeters in the balance, yet to be told. The door to my darkest secret was unlocked. Through many struggles I learned that Justin is the key. But if a tragic death occurs when you're supposed to say, "I do", is fate telling me that we are doomed. After all, isn't our relationship a forbidden romance that's not meant to be? Doubt, despair, and a devastating reality; only God knows if it will be till fate do us part.

 

Kindle Vella Title


Dive into the first 3 episodes of Fate Do Us Part for Free on Kindle Vella


Episode 1. - The Rising Tides

Episode 2. - Hit and Run

Episode 3. - Perception of Palms

 


Excerpt


The tremors begin lightly. Nothing concerning at first, but then they increase more and more by the minute. Justin is sitting next to me, and his head snaps in my direction. He’s not a fan of flying. “Just turbulence,” I relay to him. He nods, although the creases on his forehead linger.

 

          The plane jerks violently, causing me and many other people to gasp. After another sharp jolt, Justin grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly. I must admit, my concern is growing. I’ve flown less than a handful of times in my life and have never experienced turbulence this intense.

 

          The pilot comes on overhead. “Everyone, please be seated and fasten your seatbelts. We’ve entered a storm, and we need to fly above it.”

 

          The flight attendants stop serving drinks and snacks, returning quickly toward the front to buckle in.

 

          One man decides not to listen. “I gotta take a leak,” he says, continuing to the restroom.

 

          The plane takes a nosedive. This rapid movement startles me. We’re supposed to fly above the storm—not dive down. The guy who refused to sit regrets his decision. He’s flung over a seat onto another passenger. The person he’s on top of makes their unhappiness known, using a few choice words. Unfortunately, the man can’t move much with the gravity shift.

 

          The plane levels out for a spell, only to yank swiftly downward again. My heart is pounding. Is the plane struggling through the storm, or it is malfunctioning?

 

          At this point, I’m holding onto Justin’s hand as tightly as he’s clinging onto mine. Flying is supposed to be safe. Planes rarely crash. With the way the plane is shaking, I’m having a hard time convincing myself with the statistics.

 

          Other passengers’ worry begins to show. “What’s happening?” a man asks.

 

          “Are we going to crash?” a lady gasps.

 

          “Are we going to die!” another woman shouts.

 

          “It’s going to be rough for few minutes while I maneuver through the storm,” the pilot says overhead, trying to keep everyone calm.

 

          With the plane on its chaotic course, his words aren’t reassuring. The plane jerks more intently, causing several people to scream. The hardhead who didn’t buckle up is holding onto the person he fell on top of for dear life. I think they’re too frightened to complain. Mixed emotions echo around me. Some passengers are swearing, others are freaking out. We’re all terrified now.

 

          Justin and I glance at each other, of one accord. I can understand the meaning in his eyes without words. No matter the outcome—we’re in this to together. To have and to hold, through sickness and in health. That’s what we are here for.

 

          The plane attempts to move upward, then it jolts viciously downward like a roller coaster plummeting over the peak. My stomach shoots to my mouth—suspended in mid-air.

 

          At this point, I close my eyes and start to pray silently. I ask for forgiveness of my sins. I beg for this not to be the end, because my life is only beginning. If it’s the end—I pray for it to be quick.

 

          I don’t care what anyone says—prayer works. The plane rises higher and higher. Finally, it crests the storm. The turbulence ceases and it’s like we’re in the calm of the eye. The pilot announces that we’ve cleared the terrible weather and apologizes for the scare. Everyone cheers—relief is circulating through the air.

 

          My chest begins to feel lighter with each passing breath. I glance out the window in wonder. Where we are, the sky is filled with fluffy, white clouds. Below us, I see lightening flashing with grizzly, opaque clouds. It’s eerie watching the storm from above as it manifests. Thankfully, we’re no longer inside it.

 

          Justin finally releases my hand. “That was a close call.”

 

          “Yeah, it was scary. But we always make it through together.”

 

          “Till death do us part.”


About the Author

B. Truly has wanted to be an author since she was fifteen years old. She is grateful to have accomplished this dream. B. Truly has very vivid dreams and a wild imagination. She likes to read, watch tons of TV shows, and movies. She’s addicted to romance and gets a thrill out of suspense and sci-fi. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult romance, sci-fi, dystopian, paranormal, and urban genres.

B. Truly likes to explore conflicted plots of romance with thrilling twists. She also loves creating impossible situations for her characters to grow from and try to overcome. 

B. Truly has three wonderful children, and a husband who defines the person that she is today. She works full-time as an Ultrasound technologist in Houston, Texas.


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Episode 1: The Rising Tides

Episode: Hit & Run

Episode 3: Perception of Palms


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