Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts

Blog Tour: Behind the Veil by E.J. Dawson | Excerpts | Giveaway



Welcome to our tour stop for Behind the Veil by E.J. Dawson hosted by Rockstar Book Tours! This tour includes a giveaway.

Behind the Veil
Author: E.J. Dawson
Reading Level: Young Adult
Genre: Paranormal
Released: October 1st 2021
Publisher: Literary Wanderlust
 
Can she keep the secrets of her past to rescue a girl tormented by a ghost?

In 1920s Los Angeles, Letitia Hawking reads the veil between life and death. A scrying bowl allows her to experience the final moments of the deceased. She brings closure to grief-stricken war widows and mourning families. For Letitia, it is a penance. She knows no such peace.

For Alasdair Driscoll, it may be the only way to save his niece, Finola, from her growing night terrors. But when Letitia sees a shadowy figure attached to the household, it rouses old fears of her unspeakable past in England.

When a man comes to her about his missing daughter, the third girl to go missing in as many months, Letitia can’t help him when she can’t see who’s taken them.

As a darkness haunts Letitia’s vision, she may not be given a choice in helping the determined Mr Driscoll, or stop herself falling in love with him. But to do so risks a part of herself she locked away, and to release it may cost Letitia her sanity and her heart.



Excerpt

Finola lay in a room better suited to a princess.
A four-poster bed draped in gauze shrouded the figure within. A pale pink duvet covered the slight frame, illuminated by a rose glass lampshade held aloft by a fairy cast in bronze.
Pretty as it was, Letitia focused on the girl in the bed.
Finola’s breathing was labored, her eyes twitching beneath her lids and forehead clammy, with threads of auburn hair sticking to her skin. 
Letitia studied her for several moments.
There was no darkness attached to the girl, though the room’s low light gave too many shadows for Letitia’s liking. Ever wary of self-protection, she took hesitant footsteps closer.
When she stood at the foot of the bed, and was sure there were no dark specters here, she took Finola’s measure.
Finola was drugged, but from the girl’s eyes flickering in uneasy sleep it wasn’t working. Even with the morphine, Letitia could tell what the others could not—Finola would still have the nightmares.
A nurse sat beside the bed, and Letitia looked to her, letting a sliver of the nurse’s personality in.
A warm autumn breeze regarded her, refreshing though it was weak. The nurse stared at Letitia but made no comment at Letitia’s scrutiny.
“What’s your name?” Letitia asked, coming around the bed to offer her hand.
“Nurse Hopkins.” Hopkins had curling brown hair and hard dark eyes. A firm hand gripped Letitia’s gloved one, and she maintained eye contact. There was a hardness within the nurse, and Letitia guessed she’d served in the war. Not on the front lines, but she was toughened by her experience.
“What can you tell me about Finola’s condition?” Letitia asked. Mr. Driscoll came up beside her, and Letitia held up a hand to silence him. He glared but nodded permission for Hopkins to speak when the nurse hesitated.
“She has terrible night episodes,” the nurse said, “like those of the soldiers coming back. When she’s awake she cries a lot, she…bathes often but won’t eat much.” The nurse’s glance dipped between Finola and Mrs. Quinn as though she would say more, but she pressed her lips together.
“What else?” Letitia’s gentle tone, and the retreat of Mr. Driscoll’s looming form, let loose the nurse’s tongue.
“I walk with her in the gardens,” she said. “She…doesn’t like people to touch her. Appears distracted and nervous, takes to fright, doesn’t like strange men—the gardeners and delivery men and such.”
It was succinct but what Letitia needed to hear. “Thank you, could you give me a moment?”
The nurse needed another nod from Mr. Driscoll before she took her leave.
“Well?” Mrs. Quinn asked, standing on the far side of the bed, touching her daughter’s forehead. The girl flinched, and Mrs. Quinn drew back her hand with a disappointed frown.
“Please don’t,” Letitia asked, and Mrs. Quinn’s glower turned to acute displeasure.
“She’s my daughter and she’s sick.” Mrs. Quinn’s voice held a razor’s edge that hadn’t been there before.
“She also can’t distinguish who is touching her when she’s dreaming,” Letitia said, and Mrs. Quinn covered her widening mouth, gaze darting between Letitia and Finola. She must come do this often, and what should have been the comforting gesture of a mother made the nightmares worse.




E.J. Dawson both credits and blames her mother-by reading The Lord of the Rings aloud to E.J. twice-for her complete absorption with the world of fiction. Growing up in a haunted mansion sandwiched between an abandoned mine and an endless pine plantation should have been all the fuel E.J.'s imagination needed, but her parents filled her life with stories: about themselves, their lives, and the ones they had found through the pages of books.


Giveaway Details: 
1 winner will win a finished copy of BEHIND THE VEIL & Swag, International.


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Blog Tour: Mad Magic by Nicole Conway | Excerpt | Giveaway



Welcome to our stop on Mad Magic tour for Nicole Conway. This tour is hosted by Rockstar Book Tour.

Mad Magic 
Author: Nicole Conway
Reading Level: Young Adult
Genre: Fantasy
Released: November 14th 2017
Publisher: Month9Books

Mad Magic is a beautifully dark and rich Young Adult fantasy from Nicole Conway, bestselling author of the Dragonrider Chronicles.

Josie Barton is a high school student living in terror. Invisible creatures torment her everywhere she goes, constantly getting her into trouble at school, and even haunting her apartment. But just when Josie thinks things couldn’t get any worse... she meets the guy from across the hall.

Zeph Clemmont is a changeling with enemies in all the worst places, fighting to undo a curse that threatens to end his life. Survival means he will have to swallow his pride and trust Josie with all his darkest secrets.

With the help of a gun-slinging shaman and the enigmatic Prince of Nightmares, Zeph and Josie are only a heartbeat away from defeating one of the most diabolical faerie villains their world has ever known.



Excerpt


I cleared my throat. “What does the faerie language sound like?”

Eldrick’s tense, furrowed brow went slack. His expression became
as serene and blissful as the cool surface of the moon. “Music,” he
breathed the word as though it were ecstasy.

“You mean like the chimes?” I knew that sound well.

He nodded slowly. “Ages ago, some called it the music of the
spheres. Your father possessed an exquisitely intimate knowledge of
spellsongs. He could hear the tones and translate the harmonics into
the human language.” We paused at a corner, letting a few bicyclers
pass on the sidewalk. “To be perfectly frank, I’m impressed he was
able to do such a thing. The details of our language, particularly the
ancient spellsongs that comprise spellwork, are difficult for even an
elder fae to discern. I’ve never seen so many texts about us in the
human language before.”

My head spun with questions as I tried to keep up with Eldrick’s
long strides. “What’s a spellsong? And what does it have to do with
spellwork?”

“A spellsong is, as you described it, the chimes. The use of magic
of any kind has a unique sound. A song, if you will.”

My lips parted—that was why I heard that sound whenever Zeph
or Eldrick worked magic!

“Some are more distinct and obvious than others, usually
depending on their desired effect. But each note, each melody, can be
paired with a unique shape, line, or design—something your father
quite skillfully deciphered.” He stopped at the edge of a crosswalk
and turned to face me. “It isn’t unlike how humans write sheet music.
You need to see the notes in order to understand how a song is made.”
“Do faeries have to write down all their spellwork, too?”
He smiled and opened his other hand. One twist of his wrist, and
a beautifully intricate ring of bright runes appeared. It hovered in the
air above his open hand, glowing softly while the details, designs, and
smaller rings within it moved like the inner mechanisms in a pocket
watch.

My breath caught as the familiar tingle whispered over on my
skin. I heard the soft, whispering of bells in my ear.

Other people were walking and cycling by, passing us on the
sidewalk. But no one else even seemed to notice. It was as though
they couldn’t see it at all. It was just the same as when Lumi had
kidnapped me—they were blind to it.

“Most faeries do not require a knowledge of how a spell is made.
For us, it is innate—comparable to someone who can play by ear
rather than requiring sheet music. But there are instances where we
must know how to read spellwork, such as in the case of learning a
new spell, or performing a ritual that would be otherwise unnatural
to us,” he explained, snapping his hand closed and extinguishing the
spell. “Apparently, your father had begun developing some of his own
spells; a dangerous endeavor for a human. His journals are full of
them.”


My name is Ashley "Nicole" Conway. I'm originally from North Alabama and attended Auburn University where I earned a BA in English with a concentration in Classics & Mythology. I'm happily married and have one son, Ethan.  I also have a cat, Mr. Darcy, and a dog named Phoebe.

Writing has been a passion of mine since childhood, and to be able to do it as a full-time career is something I take as a great blessing and honor. My heart is in children's literature, specifically middle-grade and young adult fantasy. I'm best known for my MG/YA fantasy series THE DRAGONRIDER CHRONICLES, which is published by Month9Books. The second series, THE DRAGONRIDER LEGACY, just launched this fall!

My other works in include MAD MAGIC (2017), THE DISTANCE BETWEEN STARS (2017), SCALES (tbd), and SHATTERBEAST (tbd).

I am represented by Fran Black of Literary Counsel.


 

1 winner will win a $10 Amazon Gift Card, US Only.
1 winner will win a finished copy of MAD MAGIC, US Only.




Week Two:

1/8/2018- Once Upon a Twilight- Excerpt
1/8/2018- Step Into A Book World- Review

1/9/2018- Blushing Bibliophile- Review
1/9/2018- Book-Keeping- Review

1/10/2018- Novel Novice- Guest Post
1/10/2018- Pervy Ladies Books- Review

1/11/2018- My Crea Bookish Kingdom- Review
1/11/2018- The Book Recluse Review- Review

1/12/2018- Owl Always Be Reading- Excerpt
1/12/2018- Abooktropolis- Review

Release Day Blitz: Kavanagh Christmas by Sarah Robinson l Excerpt l Giveaway



Today we have the release day blitz of Kavanagh Christmas by Sarah Robinson! Check out the release day festivities and grab your copy today!!


 

Title: Kavanagh Christmas

Author: Sarah Robinson

Genre: Contemporary Romance

 

About Kavanagh Christmas:

The heartfelt holiday conclusion to the Kavanagh Legends family saga revisits all the couples that readers have fallen in love with throughout the series. An angsty and loving Christmas novella, it’s the perfect goodbye to these Irish MMA fighters and a glimpse into what the future holds for them.
With the Christmas season fast approaching, the entire Kavanagh family is feeling anything but the holiday spirit. Commitments are questioned, relationships are tense, and bickering is nonstop.
However, when a crisis strikes and the family realizes that they might lose one of their own, they’ll come together to remember the reason for the season is first, and foremost, love and family.
With their own heartwarming HEAs, Sarah Robinson’s Kavanagh Legends novels can be read together or separately:
BREAKING A LEGEND
SAVING A LEGEND
BECOMING A LEGEND
CHASING A LEGEND
KAVANAGH CHRISTMAS
“Fans of Lori Foster’s SBC Fighters series will love the MMA atmosphere of [Sarah] Robinson’s Legends.”—Library Journal
“This endearing story showcases Keira and Quinn’s easy banter, familiar warmth, and unquenchable heat.” – Publisher’s Weekly Starred Review, on Chasing a Legend
“One of my favorite MMA books to date.”—#1 New York Times bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken, on Breaking a Legend
“Those Kavanaghs really know how to make a girl swoon.”—New York Times bestselling author Katy Evans
“Saving a Legend is a gripping and sexy MMA romance with characters you’ll be rooting for long after you finish reading. Buckle your seatbelts and get ready for one amazing and hot story from Sarah Robinson.”—New York Times bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills, on Saving a Legend
“Raw, sexy, and romantic, Becoming a Legend is another perfect, steamy read about the heartwarming Kavanaghs.”—Kate Meader, author of the Hot in Chicago series, on Becoming a Legend

Get Your Copy Today!

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play Other Retailers

Catch up on the Series Today:

BREAKING A LEGEND:
SAVING A LEGEND:
BECOMING A LEGEND:
CHASING A LEGEND:

Read the Free Short Story Set Between Becoming a Legend and Chasing a Legend!


Exclusive Excerpt:

Prologue Three Weeks Before Christmas
Dee Kavanagh
“You’re kidding, right?” Dee turned away from the stove to look at her husband of forty years. “Not in your health.”
Seamus grumbled something under his breath, putting the piece of bacon he’d been about to eat back on the serving plate. “One piece of bacon with breakfast won’t kill me.”
“Pfft. You’re mad.” She shook her head, and turned back to stirring the scrambled eggs she was making for her grandkids. “Plus, save it for the kids. They’ll be down for breakfast in a minute.”
Her oldest son, Rory, was away on a romantic weekend trip with his wife, Clare, leaving their two children, Murphy and Brontë, under the care of Seamus and Dee. Dee was, of course, thrilled. There was nothing she loved more than being a mother, and now a grandmother. She would spend all day every day with her grandkids if she could, and her heart was filled to overflowing to have so many now. 
At the reminder, Dee gazed at the photo go her grandchildren in a homemade popsicle-stick frame on her kitchen countertop that Murphy had made for her. The photo inside was silly and sweet—all five grandchildren making funny faces at the camera. Well, four of the five. Shea was in the back looking stoically at the camera, which wasn’t unusual for the teenager with special needs. Shea was Kieran’s wife, Fiona’s, biological sister, and when their mother passed away, Fiona and Kieran had adopted her. 
Dee didn’t care one bit that they weren’t related by blood. Being loved and part of their family didn’t have a DNA requirement, and that was something she’d raised all her boys to know. 
Next to Shea in the photo was Rory and Clare’s two children, Murphy and Brontë. Murphy was crossing his eyes and Brontë was sticking her tongue out, laughing. Gavin was on the floor in front of them, his little arm around Ava’s shoulder as they both made faces at the camera. Gavin was Kieran and Fiona’s son, and the youngest of the entire group. Ava was Jimmy’s girlfriend Sophie’s daughter from a previous relationship, and had been embraced by the family when Sophie and Jimmy began dating.  
“Have you checked your sugar yet?” Dee asked, plating the scrambled eggs and adding a serving spoon before placing it on the kitchen table next to the bacon and biscuits. 
“Not yet.” Seamus pulled a blood glucose monitor out of a kitchen drawer and began swabbing his finger with an alcohol wipe. He barely looked up at her, his answers always as succinct as possible. He’d always been brusque, but this was different.
His recent diagnosis of diabetes had thrown them a major curveball, and completely changed their lives. It was a struggle, however, because the man loved his carbs and sugar. Changing sixty years of unhealthy eating habits had caused a lot of friction between them. 
Wiping her hands off on a towel, Dee approached her husband’s side and watched as he pricked his finger and dabbed a drop of blood onto a testing strip. 
“See? Healthy as all hell.” He turned the monitor towards her when it displayed his results, which thankfully were in a great range. “You worry too much.”
“I know. I can’t help it.” Dee sighed, and glanced toward the hallway to make sure the kids weren’t about to walk in. Returning her gaze to her husband, she placed a hand on his upper arm. “Seamus?”
He grunted. Forty years and he couldn’t even respond with a word?
“Next month is our anniversary.” She blinked quickly, taming the tears that wanted to flow. “I was thinking maybe we book ourselves a trip. Or a cruise. Get away and celebrate.”
He shrugged and then began putting away his supplies. “Fine.”
That’s it. “Damn it, Seamus!”
“What?” He turned bewildered eyes to her. “What’s wrong?”
“You, that’s what. You’re being a fecking asshole. I know that I’m being strict with this new diet, but the doctor said you’d die. You were nearly in a coma, Seamus. Your sugar was hundreds above where it should have been. Do you know what that was like for me?” Her voice was cracking, full of emotion as anger and heartbreak surged through her heavily Irish accented words. “I’ve spent more of my life as your wife than I ever was anything else. Losing you…shite. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t wake up every morning and not have you next to me. I—”
“Dee…” Seamus reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her to his chest and wrapping her in a hug. “Feck. I’m sorry. You know I don’t mean it. I’m a grumpy old bastard.”
“Such a bastard,” she mumbled into his shirt, sniffling, twisting her fingers in the fabric. 
He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “I know you’re just trying to keep me healthy. I’m trying, too. It’s hard, but I’m trying. I’d never do anything to shorten my time with you on this earth.”
Dee felt her heart soften again, the tension of their recent fiction sliding away. After almost forty years together, fighting was nothing new for them. In fact, it was one of the things they did best. He was an asshole, and she had known that the day they met, but he was also a wonderful husband and an even better father and grandfather. 
“I love you, Dee.” He kissed her softly, and she felt the same flutter in her heart that he’d made her feel since the first time they’d laid eyes on one another. His voice deepened, developed a huskier lilt. “Maybe once the kids leave, I can show you how much.”
“Sweet talker,” she teased, whacking his arm before turning back to the table. 
“Grandad!” Murphy came skipping into kitchen and tossed himself at his grandfather. 
Seamus caught him just in time and swung him high above his head as the young boy’s laughter filled the air while he soared in the safety of his grandfather’s arms. “Hey, Murph! Did you sleep all right?”
“Eh.” Murphy shrugged and wiggled his way back down to the floor, turning his affections to Dee this time. “It’s okay. Hi, Nanna!” He squeezed her waist in a hug, his little head pressing into her stomach. 
Dee picked him up and covered his cheeks with kisses. “Is my grandbaby hungry? Breakfast is ready!”
“Yes! Hey, Nanna, guess how old I’m going to be next week?” Murphy held up both hands, one with all his fingers up, and the other with only one. “Guess!”
“Hmmm.” She placed a finger on her chin. “I think twenty-seven, right?”
“No!” His laughter peeled out of him, warming her heart. “Guess again!”
“Thirteen?”
“Nope!” Murphy sat at the kitchen table, kicking his feet back and forth underneath him.
His little sister, Brontë, toddled into the kitchen, still holding her favorite blanket, her thumb shoved in her mouth. 
“Hey, baby girl, do you know how old your brother will be next week?” Dee scooped up the young girl and kissed her. 
“Six!” She burst out, her wet thumb popping from her mouth.
“Is that right? Six? I can’t believe it!” Dee feigned as Murphy vigorously nodded his head in agreement. 
Dee sat Brontë in a booster seat at the table and filled both of their plates with eggs and bacon. A mournful expression crept over Seamus’ face as he stared at his bowl of oatmeal and pushed around the apple slices on top with his spoon. 
Murphy held up both hands, six fingers raised. “Six, Nanna! Mama says I’m getting too big. She cries when I say that.” 
Dee chuckled. “Well, mamas wish their kids stayed kids forever. We get sad thinking about them growing up.”
“Are your kids growed up?” Murphy asked, spooning a large bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth. 
“My first kid is your daddy, baby,” Dee reminded him, sitting at the table between her grandkids. 
“Oh, right.” Murphy looked deep in thought as he considered what she’d said. “That’s weird.”
Seamus laughed at that one then ruffled Brontë’s hair. She beamed at him, and offered him a piece of bacon which he only pretended to eat with loud, chomping noises that made her giggle. Dee loved watching Seamus with their grandkids—the love between them was so beautiful. 
“Did Daddy look like me when he was your kid?” Murphy continued his line of questioning. Actually, his questions never stopped. The boy was a sponge, asking everyone a million questions all day long. She didn’t mind one bit, though. 
“His hair was a bit darker, and he was shorter. A little stockier. You’ve got your mother’s height and slim frame. Very lucky, because your mother is beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful, too, Nanna.”
“Thanks, Murph.” She smiled. Kids were a goddamn blessing. “Do you like the eggs? You’ve only eaten one bite.”
He pushed some more around on his plate. “I think I’m not very hungry.”
“You said you were.”
The little boy sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know. I changed my mind.”
Dee frowned, but squeezed his shoulder. “Are you feeling all right?”
He nodded. “Can I be excused? Grandad said I could play Xbox today!”
Seamus grinned, ignoring the look she shot him. 
“Okay, but only for an hour. After that, no more electronics this weekend.”
“Whyyyy?” Murphy began to whine. “Just a little bit!”
“Hey, no whining,” Dee reminded him. “Santa’s coming in three weeks. We’ve got to be good to be on the nice list and get lots of presents.”
That reminder perked him right up. “I’m going to be the nicest boy on the whole list!”
“Good job!” she cheered, making a mental note to finish her Christmas shopping soon.
Murphy was already up and out of his seat, heading for the living room. They’d already made sure Rory set the games up before he left, so that the parental controls were on. For the life of her, Dee couldn’t figure out how to work the blasted machine herself. 
Brontë smiled, her mouth full of food. “Nanna, can I have his bacon?”
“That’s my girl.” Seamus laughed, giving Brontë a thumbs-up. “My genes are strong.”
Dee rolled her eyes at her husband. “You can have one more piece, baby girl. Seamus, should I text Clare and tell her Murph isn’t eating?”
“Nah,” he replied. “I’m sure he’s fine. Let them have their romantic weekend in peace.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. 
He lifted one brow, eyeing her. “You’re going to text her anyway, aren’t you?”
“Well, she’s a mom. She’ll want to know.” Dee was already pulling out her phone and scrolling to Clare’s name. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”
Seamus chuckled. “I love you, Dee.”
“Love you, too, baby.”
“I love you, both!” Brontë added herself to the conversation.
Dee smiled over her phone at the little girl, her heart overflowing.

About the Author:

Aside from being a Top 10 Barnes & Noble and Amazon Bestseller, Sarah Robinson is a native of the Washington, DC area and has both her Bachelors and Masters Degrees in forensic and clinical psychology. She is newly married to a wonderful man who is just as much of an animal rescue enthusiasts as she is. Together, they own a zoo of rescues including everything from mammals to reptiles to marsupials, as well as volunteering and fostering for multiple animal shelters.Subscribe to her newsletter at www.subscribepage.com/sarahrobinsonnewsletter Visit the author's website for more information about Sarah and her books: http://booksbysarahrobinson.net/

Connect with Sarah:

Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram |

 

Enter Sarah’s Giveaway:


Blog Tour: Tethered by Jenn Marie | Excerpt | Giveaway



Welcome to our stop on Tethered tour for Jenn Marie. This tour is hosted by YA Bound Book Tours.

Tethered
Intertwined #2
Author: Jenn Marie 
Reading Level: Young Adult
Genre: Science Fiction
Released: July 16th 2017

Elizabeth and Adam survived the century old curse that nearly claimed the lives of their counterparts, Josephine and Braden, but at what cost?

As the veil between timelines continues to diminish, they yet again find themselves in a race against time to cheat death in the past in order to salvage their futures. But with the curse given form, everything is changing, leaving them vulnerable to new threats. No longer are the dangers of their former lifetime contained to the Jefferson Plantation—a land fraught with peril and where horror reigns every summer between July 20 and August 13.

Until now ...

Having changed the past, history has rewritten itself, extending the last day of the haunting to August 31—their new expiration date. Without the aid of visions, though, Elizabeth and Adam must find a new way to uncover their past, leaving Adam to scour the plantation for clues, while Elizabeth learns how to access Josephine's subconscious.

Meanwhile, the Callahans—a vengeful family intent on keeping Elizabeth and Adam apart—will stop at nothing to preserve their bloodline and keep the curse from destroying their family. Will their ruthless antics prove tragic once more?

Now more than ever, their love will be tested as Elizabeth and Adam contend with the forces of the curse and fight to save their counterparts in 1905.

Will they overcome the odds stacked against them? Or will the curse claim them for good?

Warning: Occasional coarse language. Intended for Mature Young Adult audience.



Excerpt


A six-inch blade gleamed in the trick of light, the hilt carved in the shape of two snakes wrapped around each other so that their heads formed an S on either side of the serrated steel. A deadly weapon for more reasons than one. First—this blade wasn’t just any blade. This was the very dagger Josephine had plunged into her chest back in 1905. The very blade that had ripped her delicate flesh apart and taken the life that Braden—I—hadn’t been able to save. The very dagger Josephine had wielded in order to seal the curse that would resurrect us. Save us. Saveme. Second—this blade was no longer where it should be. It wasn’t in the depths of an underground tunnel like it had been this morning. It was no longer lodged inside Josephine’s chest like it had been for the past century. The dagger was free—to be wielded, to be taken, to be used against her, but worst of all, to destroy her. Josephine would never forgive herself. She was giving the dagger too much power. Power to strip away the woman Braden had only just begun to reignite. If she did this, he would lose whatever remnants of her fragile spirit he’d managed to stitch back together again. And yet, for all she had sacrificed, he was still powerless to save her. He’d tried. I’d tried. But it hadn’t been enough. Whatever Braden had done to rescue Josephine from that tunnel had still led to their separation. And now here she was, faced with the only option at her disposal. Murder. I felt it in my fingertips, in the uncontrollable sweep of my hand as I swept the paintbrush over the papered wall of my bedroom. The viper within shivered and undulated, my skin expanding, stretching over my forearm. It sensed everything Josephine was feeling and pushed those thoughts straight to my fingertips where my only choices were to resist—and suffer immense pain as a result—or surrender to the creature within and become one with Josephine’s mind, heart, and soul. Even separated by a lifetime, I felt her inner turmoil like a knife to the gut. She was hurting. She was scared. She was desperate. But as the image before me unraveled, I could see that she was icing over. Becoming numb. Fuck, Josephine, don’t do this. Sweat dribbled down my forehead, stinging my eyes. My blood was hot, my body trembling with the effort to stay upright. The viper released me, collapsing me to my knees. I hung my head. I didn’t want to see what I already knew she was thinking. Breathing hard, I lifted my gaze to the wall—to the painting of Josephine. She sat on the window ledge of her bedroom, her long, wavy hair wild around her shoulders. She was still in her wedding dress. Soaked. Tattered. Her eyes stared straight ahead, which I knew from this angle meant she was either staring at a closed door or at someone standing in it. One knee was drawn to her chest, the dagger’s tip poised upon it, the hilt held loosely between her thumb and forefinger. A calculated movement that promised bloodshed. She was the definition of fierce. The epitome of destruction. She would harm anyone who stood between her and saving Braden. The man she loved. The man I used to be. In 1905.

Black paint ran in swerving rivulets to the floor. I clenched my fists, breathing hard, my shirt drenched against my feverish skin. It was my fault. If I hadn’t hesitated, if I hadn’t second-guessed—I released a sharp breath, furious with myself. Had I listened, none of this would’ve happened. Josephine wouldn’t be in this position now, and Braden wouldn’t be imprisoned. Again. I had to fix this. The rickety drone of the floor fan filled the empty silence that threatened to consume me. It blew the papers at my knees, making me look down. Charcoaled eyes stared up at me. Sad. Volatile. Beautiful as hell. My body shook with the urge to find Elizabeth—Josephine’s current incarnation—here, now, in 2014. If Josephine planned to do what I suspected, what I sensed, then Elizabeth would be prone to do the same. But maybe that wasn’t true anymore. Elizabeth wasn’t as susceptible to Josephine as she’d once been. Not after today. Not after what she’d done to save us. She was stronger now. But was she stronger than Josephine? I glanced out the window, at the rippling creek that led to Elizabeth’s home only five doors down. I took an involuntary step toward the door. Yes. I believed in her, goddamn it. If anyone could stop Josephine, it was Elizabeth




Jenn Marie currently lives in sunny California with her wonderful husband and their runt kitty, Chloe. When she's not writing Young Adult Fiction, she can be found reading, plotting orspending time with her crazy, lovable family. Current obsessions include the movie, Frozen, the New Girl series, Arcade Fire's latest album, and avocados. Seriously, she can't get enough of it! Writing, for her, is a passion that refuses tobe under prioritized. No matter what's going oninher life, whether good or bad, writing is always there to lift her spirits.

 




Blog Tour: The Big F Tour by Maggie Ann Martin | Excerpt | Giveaway




The Big F Tour
Author:Maggie Ann Martin 
Reading Level: Young Adult
Genres: Contemporary
Released: August 29th 2017
Publisher: Swoon Reads


Danielle effed up. Big time.

Danielle's plans for the future were pretty easy to figure out... until she failed senior English and her single college application was denied. Suddenly she's in hot water with very few options, because honestly who applies to a safety school when their mom is a semi-famous "college psychic"?!

Determined to get her life back on track, Danielle enrolls in her hometown community college with a plan: pass her English class and get back into Ohio State and her mother's good graces. Romance isn't on her radar... until she reconnects with her childhood crush and golden-boy-next-door, Luke.

Between family drama, first love and finding her own way, Danielle can't help but feel a little overwhelmed. Thankfully she has her friendship with the snarky and frustratingly attractive Porter, her coworker at the campus bookstore, to push her to experience new things and help keep her afloat.

One thing's for sure: This time, failure's not an option.
EXCERPT

I closed my bedroom door behind me and sank against the door. The lie of my rejection was bubbling inside me, and I felt like the truth would explode out of me. It could quite possibly kill my mom. Sure, she’d probably have an emergency plan in place, but it seemed pretty hopeless. My room was already stacked to the brim with Ohio State–embellished dorm room merchandise, including a rather comfortable toilet seat cover. I flopped onto my bed, my hand reaching to that space in between the bedframe and the mattress where my shame hid. I opened it up one more time, thinking that the words from the dean of admissions would magically change by positive thinking.
Dear Ms. Danielle Cavanaugh,
It is with great regret that I inform you that we will not be accepting your application to Ohio State University this fall. After a thorough review of your final transcript by our admissions board, your final grades did not match the stipulated grades for our competitive New Media and Communication Technology program.
If you wish to retake the classes in which the competency levels were not reached, you may apply again for admission in the spring. More than 10 percent of our students join classes in the spring semester and are still able to complete their degree within the four-year time span.
Thank you for your interest in Ohio State University, and we hope to see your amended application in the spring.
Dr. Caroline Bates
Dean of Admissions
Ohio State University
Over the past month, I’d come up with elaborate schemes to get rid of the letter. I could burn it, feed it to the neighbor’s dog, turn it into confetti in the paper shredder—but nothing seemed to resonate. One of my favorite units in elementary school was this “Crafts Around the World” program, where we worked on a project that was inspired by a different country each week. The best week was Japan, when our class made paper crane strings that wound around the ceiling of our classroom for the rest of the year. The colors always stayed in my mind, and even now I sometimes make paper cranes when I feel stressed out or in need of focus. I tore off the bottom of the letter, leaving the paper in the perfect square shape to start creating the crane. Memory wasn’t normally my strong suit, but the folding technique of the crane came back to me instantly.
When I finished, it seemed much smaller than I thought it would be. I couldn’t read the words that haunted me anymore. They jumbled together into nonsense that looked sort of beautiful. I held it close to my face and could make out one string of letters on the wing. My name. Danielle.



Maggie Ann Martin hails from Des Moines, Iowa but moonlights as a New Yorker. She has a shiny new BA in English and Journalism from the University of Iowa, the most welcoming literary community in the world. When she is not writing, you can find her binge watching TV shows or passionately fangirling over fictional characters on the Internet. The Big F is her debut novel.


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Nerd Blast: Killing Is My Business by Adam Christopher l Excerpt l Giveaway




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Killing Is My Business
Ray Electromatic Mysteries 
Author: Adam Christopher
Genre: Science Fiction
Released: July 25th 2017
Publisher: Tor Books
 
A blend of science fiction and stylish mystery noir featuring a robot detective: the stand alone sequel to Made to Kill

Another golden morning in a seedy town, and a new memory tape for intrepid PI-turned-hitman--and last robot left in working order-- Raymond Electromatic. When his comrade-in-electronic-arms, Ada, assigns a new morning roster of clientele, Ray heads out into the LA sun, only to find that his skills might be a bit rustier than he expected....

Killing is My Business is the latest in Christopher's noir oeuvre, hot on the heels of the acclaimed Made to Kill.

"Robot noir in 60s Los Angeles? You had me at 'Hello.'" —John Scalzi, New York Times bestselling novelist on Made to Kill


Praise for KILLING IS MY BUSINESS

"Hits hard, spins your head around, and leaves you stunned. The Ray Electromatic mysteries are so freakin’ perfect you’d think robot hitmen and retro supercomputers had always been part of noir fiction.”—Peter Clines, author of Paradox Bound and The Fold

"Humor, action, and heart: everything I've come to expect from an Adam Christopher book, and then some. A marvelous read!"—New York Times bestseller Jason M. Hough, author of Zero World

“Delivers like a punch from a two-ton robot in a zoot suit.”—Delilah Dawson

"Atmospheric and charming as hell. Adam Christopher has an extraordinary talent for scooping you up and dropping you into an alternative LA that feels just as real as the street outside your house."—Emma Newman

Praise for the RAY ELECTROMATIC MYSTERIES

"Robot noir in 60s Los Angeles? You had me at 'Hello.'"—John Scalzi, New York Times bestselling novelist

"Gripping, funny, deadly and suspenseful."—Boing Boing

“Delivers like a punch from a two-ton robot in a zoot suit.”—Lila Bowen (aka Delilah Dawson)

"The dialogue is effortlessly swift and clever, and even the B-movie climax is a spectacle to behold. Above that, though, Ray sparks to live, and his antiheroic slant only makes him that much more compelling and and sympathetic. Knowing that there are only two more Raymond Electromatic mysteries to come is the book's only disappointment."—NPR

"Genre mash-ups don't always succeed, but this one will please fans of both gumshoes and laser beams."—Publishers Weekly

"A fun, fast read for anyone willing to take the speculative leap--a must-add for most fiction collections."—Booklist (starred review)

"Made to Kill is yet more proof that we should all be thankful for Adam Christopher and his imagination. This tale of robot noir is unlike anything I’ve ever read—Adam’s is a weird and wonderful voice and we are lucky to have it."—Chuck Wendig, New York Times bestselling author of Aftermath

"Adam Christopher has brilliantly deduced what should have been obvious all along: Classic noir and robots are a perfect match. Part Chandler, part Asimov, and part Philip K. Dick, Made to Kill is a rip-roaring cocktail of smart, sharp, twisty, cyber-pulp awesomeness."—Adam Sternbaugh, author of Shovel Ready

"Made to Kill is just the sort of exciting genre collision that marks out Adam Christopher as one of the hottest new young SF writers."—Paul Cornell, author of The Severed Streets

"A smart, rollicking noir/SF mashup. One of the best books I've read all year."—Kelly Braffet, author of Save Yourself



EXCERPT

Killing is My Business
Chapter 1

Listen to this:

Vaughan Delaney was a planner for the city of Los Angeles. He occupied a position high enough up the ladder that it entitled him to an office at an equally high altitude in a tall building downtown that was home to a number of other local government desks. The office came with a salary that was high for a city employee but nothing to write a favorite uncle about, and a view that was simply to die for.

Vaughan Delaney was forty-two years old and he liked suits that were a light blue-gray in color. He carried a buckskin briefcase that wasn’t so much battered as nicely worn in. On his head he liked to position a fedora that was several shades darker than his suit. The hat had a brim that looked at first glance to be a little wide for the kind of hat that a city planner would wear, but Vaughan Delaney did not break the rules, neither in his job nor in his private life. He had a position a lot of people envied, along with the life that went along with it, and he stuck rigidly within the boundaries of both.

Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Because the one thing that didn’t fit Vaughan Delaney was his car.

His car was 1957 Plymouth Fury, a mobile work of art in red and white with enough chrome to blind oncoming traffic on the bright and sunny mornings that were not uncommon in this part of California. The machine had fins like you wouldn’t believe and when the brake lights lit you’d think they were rocket motors. It was the kind of car you could fly to the moon in, only when you got to the moon you’d cast one eye on the fuel gauge and you’d pat the wheel with your kidskin-gloved hand, admiring the fuel economy as you pointed the scarlet hood off somewhere toward Jupiter and pressed the loud pedal.

It was a great car and it was in perfect shape. Factory fresh. It was getting on for ten years old but Vaughan Delaney had looked after it well.

And, I had to admit, that car caught my optics. It wasn’t jealousy—I liked my own car well enough, a Buick that was a satisfying ride, functional and elegant and with a few optional extras you wouldn’t find outside a science laboratory.

No, what I had for the red Plymouth Fury was something else. Admiration, and admiration for Vaughan Delaney too. He was every element the city man but that car was a jack-rabbit. Perhaps it was his mid-life crisis. Perhaps he was telling the city to go take a jump while he sat shuffling papers in his nice office with his sensible suit and practical hat. Look what I get to drive to the office in the morning, he said. Look at what I get to drive out to lunch every Wednesday. Look what I get to drive home in the evening. It was the kind of car that people would lean out of the office windows to take a look at, and Vaughan Delaney did every bit to help, the way he parked the red-and-white lightning bolt right outside the office door.

Because Vaughan Delaney had reached a certain level within the city hierarchy that allowed him to pick his own secretary based on the color of her hair and the length of her skirt and he was not a man who had to walk very far from his car to his desk.

He was also a family man. When the Plymouth Fury wasn’t outside the office or being driven to lunch on Wednesdays it lived in a two-car garage that sat next to a modest but modern bungalow in Gray Lake. Next to the Fury was commonly parked a yellow vehicle that General Motors had shooed out the door without much of a fuss, a rectangular lozenge on wheels with whitewall tires shining and seat belt tight and the sense of humor removed for safety reasons.

This was not a car to take much of an interest in. It belonged to Vaughan Delaney’s wife. Her name was Cindy Delaney.

Cindy Delaney loved her husband and let him know by kissing him on the cheek each and every morning before her husband went to work. The children loved him too. There were two of those, a boy and a girl, and both of them had blond hair like their mother and they were both a decade shy of joining the army and both of them kissed their father on the cheek each and every morning like their mother did, the only difference being that Vaughan Delaney had to go down on one knee so they could smell his aftershave. Then he blasted off in the Plymouth Fury and the quiet street in Gray Lake was quiet once more until Cindy Delaney took the children to school in the yellow boat and then came back again twenty minutes later. Then she put on a housecoat to keep her dress clean and she drove a vacuum over the bungalow while her husband drove a desk down in the city.

They were a nice family. Middle class, middle income, middle ambition. The children would grow up and the boy would play football at high school with his parents watching and the girl would play flute in the school orchestra with her parents watching and all was right with the world.

I knew all of this because I’d been watching Vaughan Delaney for three weeks. I’d been to the street in Gray Lake and had sat in my car and I’d watched life in and around the bungalow. I’d been to the office building downtown and had sat in my car and watched the Plymouth Fury come in for landing and Vaughan Delaney hop, skip, and jump up the stairs into the building and then waltz down the same steps some eight hours later.

Vaughan Delaney looked like a swell guy with a good job and a nice car and a happy family.

It was just a shame that he had to die.

© Adam Christopher, 2017



ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adam Christopher’s debut novel EMPIRE STATE was SciFiNow’s Book of the Year and a Financial Times Book of the Year. The author of MADE TO KILL, STANDARD HOLLYWOOD DEPRAVITY, and KILLING IS MY BUSINESS, Adam’s other novels include SEVEN WONDERS, THE AGE ATOMIC, and THE BURNING DARK.

Adam has also written the official tie-in novels for the hit CBS television show ELEMENTARY, and the award-winning DISHONORED video game franchise, and with Chuck Wendig, wrote THE SHIELD for Dark Circle/Archie Comics. Adam is also a contributor to the STAR WARS: FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW 40th anniversary anthology.

Born in New Zealand, Adam has lived in Great Britain since 2006.




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