Bewitching Book Tours Magazine September/October 2016

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine Issue 47 September/October 2016

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine is a publication of Bewitching Book Tours and Bewitching Books.

Editor: Roxanne Rhoads Design Editor and Layout: Roxanne Rhoads Cover Artist: Michelle Berryman Contributors include Bewitching Book Tours Authors and Tour Hosts www.bewitchingbooktours.blogspot.com Ad space rates are: $40 full page ad $20 half page ad $10 quarter page ad You can subscribe to this magazine at http://issuu.com/bewitchingbooktours Š Copyright 2016 Stock images from www.123rf.com and www.pixabay.com

Did You Read the July/August Issue?

Table of Contents September/October 2016 Page 5 The Infernal Detective by Kirsten Weiss Page 10 Do You Dare Visit These Haunted Places?

Page 12 A Murder of Vampires by Catherine Winters Page 17 The Graveyard Shift by Jamie K. Schmidt Page 19 Dream Killer - Flash Fiction By Jamie K. Schmidt Page 23 Lucy Trilogy by L.M. Pruitt Page 27 Are you brave enough to visit Coon Hollow Coven’s haunted carriage house?

With Marsha A. Moore Page 32 Oubliette: A Forgotten Little Place by Vanta M. Black Page 35 Desire Series by Roxanne Rhoads Page 37 Hooray for Halloween Page 39 Top Ten Websites to Help Authors by Lincoln Cole Page 47 Haunted Boston Harbor by Sam Baltrusis Page 54 Flash Fiction - Grandmother Always Knows by Rayna Noire Page 56 Charm City by Ash Krafton Page 61 Creature Feature: Halja’s Demons and Beasts with Jill Archer Page 66 Poetry- Halloween Night by Roxanne Rhoads

The Infernal Detective Riga Hayworth Book 4 Kirsten Weiss Genre: urban fantasy/suspense Publisher: Misterio Press Date of Publication: May 2013 ISBN: 978-0-9855103-5-0 ASIN: B00CRJDWRA Number of pages: 274 Word Count: 75,000 Cover Artist: Becky Scheel

Book Description: Murder. The undead. Irritating relatives.

When Riga Hayworth finds a dead body in the bedroom, it’s par for the course. When the corpse drives off with her fiancée… That’s a problem.

Riga knows dead. More intimately than she’d like. So when a murdered photographer walks away from her pre-wedding party, she believes there’s necromancy afoot. And when she discovers that several of her wedding guests are under the influence of dark magic, she’s certain. But how can she catch a killer and stop a necromancer when even her nearest and dearest are lying to her?

Marrying romance, mystery, and the metaphysical, The Infernal Detective is a fast-paced urban fantasy, where nothing is quite as it seems, and magic lies just beyond the veil.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/7kohhn5z3bM Amazon

BN Kobo

“A high-voltage, cleverly-spun mystery that I couldn't put down. Riga Hayworth is addictive.”Diana Orgain, Best-selling author of The Maternal Instincts Mysteries

Excerpt: Chapter 1 Riga checked her watch.

It was thirteen o’clock, and her feet hurt.

She’d never liked high heels, shouldn’t have worn the over-priced, strappy black pumps. Riga had been almost relieved when one of the heels snapped, relieved for the excuse to slip upstairs, relieved to escape.

A roar of laughter, punctuated by shattering glass. On the stairway, Riga winced, the relief evaporating. A week to the wedding and she’d already begun to feel proprietary about his things, their new lake house. But the crash was likely only a wine glass, and Donovan – they – could afford it…

Frowning, she looked again at her watch.

Nine forty-seven.

Riga rubbed her eyes. She had imagined the thirteen o’clock. It wasn’t an omen, a portent.

She limped up the steps, dangling the broken pump from one hand, the other hand grasping the hem of her gown, a sweep of formfitting black lace. She looked damn good in it, but the dress was a fraction too long for her five-foot-six form, and she’d been stumbling over the hem all night.

At the top of the steps, she walked down the wood-plank hallway to a tall door swagged with holly. She pressed her forehead against the wood, and released her hold on the dress. Riga shut her eyes. Inhaled the scent of Christmas garlands and wood polish.

Thirteen o’clock.

It had been a trick of the light, a trick of her brain.

It wasn’t magic. Not here. Not so close to her wedding.

She’d told Donovan that the wedding was the least important part of a marriage, and Riga was old enough to believe it. Donovan needed good press after a recent unfair pummeling to his reputation. So she’d pretended enthusiasm when his PR team planned their “celebrity” wedding, invited names she recognized but didn’t know, sent out press releases.

Soon they’d be married, and free. Riga smiled broadly. She could do this for him and in a week, the tumult would end. Her thumb found the band of platinum that circled her third finger, explored its edges.

A draft of cool air pebbled the flesh on her arms.

Idly, she wondered if the place was haunted, if someone had opened a door, or if they needed new insulation.

Donovan had closed on the gabled manor a month ago, and any and all options were possible. Riga was coming to learn that just because something cost a fortune, it didn’t mean it was well constructed.

“Escaping?” Donovan asked from behind her.

She turned, leaned against the door, her auburn hair pillowing about her head.

Donovan prowled up the stairs, his green eyes gleaming, a great cat in black Armani. God, he was gorgeous.

Wavy, raven-black hair, broad shoulders, chiseled features. But he had other, more important, attributes that attracted her. And he was easy, oh so easy, to love.

She held up her shoes, dangling from a slender finger. “Regrouping.”

“Hm…” His broad hands traced the curve of her hips and he bent, kissing her, slow and intoxicating. He smelled of wild things, deep forests. When he pulled away, her lips burned.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Once or twice.” She laughed. “Tell me again.”

His lips quirked, tugging at the small, cross-shaped scar on his chin. “I saw your expression when that heel broke.” His fingers traced a line from her jaw to her collarbone, and her skin tingled beneath his touch.

“Annoyance?” She tugged lightly on his crimson tie, pulling him toward her.

“Relief.” His voice was a low rumble.

“I just came up here for my Jordan McCall CD. Do you think he’d sign it for me?”

Donovan chuckled. “Star struck?”

“A little. So far, the only thing that’s stopped me from asking him is embarrassment. I don’t have any of his wife’s CDs.” “Liar. Deep in that dark little heart I’ll bet you’re an Annabelle Lee fan.”

“A sucker for country love songs? Guilty.” She arched toward him, her soft curves molding to the hard contours of his body. “It’s a lovely party.”

“I know.” He pressed against her, one hand exploring the small of her back. His mouth grazed her earlobe, his breath uneven upon her neck. “Let’s ditch.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She reached behind her, fumbling for the doorknob. The metal chilled beneath her fingers, iced, cold enough to burn. She gasped, jerking away.

Donovan took a step back, releasing her. “What’s…” He trailed off, brow furrowing.

Ice crystals spread from the knob across the surface of the door and the wall beside it, expanding outward in a circular pattern. The temperature in the hallway dropped. Riga shivered in her thin gown. Another ghost. And she had

a good idea whose. After years of exposure, she’d gotten used to them. But Donovan had only recently gained the ability to see ghosts, and if Riga was right about this particular ghost… There were issues.

Donovan groaned, his lips twisting into a snarl. “Dad. He’s more irritating as a ghost than he was as a live father. Dad?” But no specter appeared.

“Show yourself,” Donovan said in a low voice. “I’ve got some things to say to you.”

A breeze gusted mournfully down the hallway.

“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” Riga said. Both Donovan’s parents had died when he was a child. He never spoke much about what had happened after, but Riga was a detective and had pieced together a rough sketch – court dates and foster homes until Donovan came of age, and could manage a casino the state-appointed custodian had run into near-bankruptcy.

“No. I need to talk to him. But this is our time, and I’m fed up with him knocking things over, chilling rooms, slamming doors, and not telling me what he wants.”

Riga’s teeth chattered. “They may not be games. This may be the only way his spirit can communicate. If we understood what he wanted—” “Right now, I don’t care what he wants. He’s the master of bad timing.” Donovan glanced at her, and whipped off his jacket, draped it over her shoulders. Grateful, she slipped her arms inside, and pulled it tight around her.

He rattled the knob, gripped it with both hands, muscles straining. He stepped away, wiping his hands on his slacks. “He’s been dead for decades.” He tackled the door again, grunting. “And instead of acting his age, the man plays poltergeist.” His hand slipped off the knob, and his knuckles banged the door frame. Wincing, he sucked on the broken skin. “Can’t you…?” He jerked his head toward the door.

“Use magic?” She shook her head. “The last time I tried that I melted the doorknob. I could burn the whole place down. Or worse.”

“Worse than burning down our new home?”

Riga didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure what was more depressing – being haunted by her future father-in-law or the fact that her magic was still a disaster. That missing piece of her was like a wobbly tooth she couldn’t stop probing with her tongue. She told herself she could live without magic, but the loss nagged.

“Right.” He nodded curtly, took a step back from the door.

Riga backed away, alarmed. She recognized that look. “Dono—” He raised one knee and stomp-kicked the door. The wood splintered, and the door crashed inward, ricocheting off the far wall. Donovan stopped the door’s return flight with one hand. He looked at Riga. “Were you saying something?”

“No. Nicely done.” There was a trick to kicking in a door. She felt irrationally pleased that he knew it.

He strode inside, and Riga trailed behind, wary. The ghost had frozen the door for a reason – a symbol, a sign, a warning. But as she followed Donovan down the short hallway into the master bedroom, she didn’t sense anything wrong. A king size bed faced the darkened window, a faded kilim arranged artfully upon the hardwood floor. Glass doors looked out upon Lake Tahoe, a black pool at night. The waning moon was a mercury trail on the water and reflected lights glittered along the far shore. Above it, snowcapped mountains rose darkly.

“Enough games,” Donovan said. When there was no response, “Dad? Do you hear—” His voice dropped.

“Oh, hell.”

Riga stumbled to a halt beside him.

On the far side of the bed was a reading area with a stone fireplace, wide, cozy chairs, and bookshelves.

Before them lay a man’s body, a plastic bag wrapped tightly about its head, clouding his face.

“Oh my God,” Riga whispered, swaying. It had to be murder.

Donovan knelt beside the dead man, and grasped his wrist. He shook his head, pressed his fingers to the man’s neck. Donovan looked up at her, his expression grim. “He’s gone.”

Even with his features distorted behind the plastic bag, Riga knew the man was dead, could sense his spirit had fled. The body was just an inanimate object now, an empty vessel. Of late, death seemed less an old acquaintance and more an annoying relative who visited too often, stayed too long, drank her best wine and hit her up for money.

She stepped closer, swallowed. “That looks like Cam Mitchell.”

“The photographer?” A pulse beat in Donovan’s jaw.

“His wife is downstairs.” Riga leaned one hip against the bed and grasped the post, feeling sick, out of balance. “We have to tell her.”

“She’s pregnant, you know.” Donovan stood, not looking at her, and she knew he was thinking about his childhood loss, the years in foster homes.

“I didn’t know. How did you?”

“He was crowing about it to anyone who’d listen.” He slipped his cell phone from his jacket pocket, thumbed the keypad. “Let’s call the Sheriff before we notify anyone else.”

Riga nodded, ashamed at her relief at the delay in giving the widow the bad news.

“King. Donovan here,” he said into the phone. “I’m at my lake house. Riga and I found a body.”

Riga shot him a questioning look. He knew Sheriff King’s direct number?

“No,” Donovan said into the phone. “Someone helped him along… Right. Fifteen minutes.” He hung up. His eyes were hard, cold. “I should stay with the body until the police arrive. Why don’t you go downstairs, meet the Sheriff when he gets here.”

She approached the body, knelt on the soft white throw rug, placed one hand on the arm of a nearby creamcolored chair for balance. “Donovan… The killer had to be one of the guests.”

“I know.” His words were clipped. “What I don’t understand is what the photographer was doing up here.”

“I don’t see any drag marks on the rug, no sign of a struggle. And to do this…” She motioned towards the photographer’s head and the plastic bag wrapped tight around it. “He wouldn’t have let someone do this without a fight. Unless he was drugged, somehow incapacitated first.”

“We’re getting married in a week,” he said.

She flushed. “And the police will take care of this. Sorry. Habit.”

Riga backed out of the room, closing the fractured door quietly behind her. She turned and faced two elderly women, dressed in black.

“Gagh!” Riga clutched her chest, breathing heavily. “Aunt Peregrine, Aunt Dot. What are you doing here?”

Dot peered up at her through coke-bottle lenses. They inflated her blue eyes to the size of silver dollars. Her black dress sagged and bagged around her, two sizes too big for her rotund frame. “Looking for you, dear.”

Peregrine, a good foot taller than her niece, peered over Riga’s head at the broken bedroom door, drifting open. Her shoulders hunched, vulture-like, and she clutched a massive black purse in her hands.

Riga hastily grabbed the knob and yanked it shut. She smiled. “Well, now that you’ve found me, let’s head back to the party.”

“You look jumpy.” Peregrine lowered her head, studying Riga. “Is something wrong?”

“No. No. No, nothing’s wrong.” She felt sweat bead upon her lower back. Why did her aunts terrify her? She was an adult, dammit, and this was her house.

Dot tapped Riga on the arm, and Riga’s skin twitched from the contact. “Well, of course she’s nervous, Peregrine. She’s getting married in a week!”

“Yes,” Peregrine regarded Riga narrowly. “Awfully short engagement, if you ask me.”

Dot swatted her sister. “You’re so bad! Of course she’s not pregnant? At her age? Really!”

“At my… I’m only forty four!”

“Not exactly a spring chicken,” Peregrine said. “I hope you’re not rushing into things because of the tick-ticktick of your biological clock? Sometimes, it really is better to be alone.”

“No, Aunt Peregrine,” Riga said through clenched teeth. “That’s not why we’re getting married.”

“Don’t feel bad, dear,” Dot said. “What bride doesn’t feel occasional jitters? Poor cousin Lettie? What a mess she was. And then her bridesmaid fainted dead away. Knocked the ring bearer flat. What was his name? Wasn’t that Harold’s son?”

“That wasn’t Lettie’s wedding,” Peregrine said. “That was Al’s daughter, Suzy. And the groom fainted, not the bridesmaid.”

Dot covered her mouth with her black gloved hand. “Was it? I was certain it was Lettie and the bridesmaid.

Don’t you remember? The bridesmaid ended up marrying the best man.”

“No, no.” Peregrine shook her head. “She married the father of the bride. Such a scandal.”

“Oh.” Dot patted her hair, tied neatly in a silvery bun. “I don’t like thinking about those things.”

“Neither do I,” said Riga, her desperation growing. “So let’s go downstairs.” She hooked their elbows and steered them toward the steps.

Dot neatly twisted away, moving toward the bedroom. “But isn’t there a ladies room in here?”

“Not there!” Riga dodged between Dot and the bedroom door, pointed down the hallway. “There’s a guest bathroom, second door on the left.”

Dot clapped her hands together. “You have so many rooms! I do love this house.” She winked. “I suppose the casino business must be very lucrative? Your Mr. Mosse must love you very much to buy such an extravagant home.”

“Isn’t there another bathroom in the bedroom there?” Peregrine motioned with her purse and Riga ducked to avoid its arc. “I’d rather not wait for Dot. She takes forever.”

“Donovan’s in that room now,” Riga said. “There’s another bathroom in the guest room across the hall.”

Peregrine nodded briskly and clumped away. Riga watched Dot dart into the guest bathroom, then glanced at the bedroom door, still hanging ajar. All she needed to cap the evening was for one of the old dears to find the body and have a heart attack. Awkwardly, she shifted her weight, and realized she was still one-shoed. She wrenched off the second pump, placed it on the banister, and slipped downstairs. How much time had she wasted? The Sheriff’s station wasn’t far – nothing was really far at Lake Tahoe – and he would be here soon.

She darted past the wide, arched doorway to the living room, not daring to look left for fear of catching someone’s eye. The room inside was filled with celebrities and relatives and friends – mostly Donovan’s. Their laughter and the tinkling of glasses flowed toward her, a contented warmth, scented with cinnamon and wood smoke and sweat. She shied from it, through the stone-floored foyer with its massive Christmas tree decked in red and gold, and ducked through a nondescript doorway, into a claustrophobic, windowless room.

The uniformed man seated at a bank of video monitors swiveled in his chair to face her. He was middle aged, with a comb-over and a paunch, but she’d seen him in the boxing gym. The man, Thomas, was lightning with his fists. He lumbered to his feet. “Evening, Miss Hayworth. Can I help you?”

“Yes. The police will be arriving shortly. Could you let the man at the gate know?”

He grabbed a handheld radio off the narrow table. “Something I should know about?”

The floor here was stone too, and cold, and she curled her toes. “We discovered a body upstairs.”

“But you’ve called the police, not an ambulance. Foul play?”

“Possibly.” Definitely.

He glanced over his shoulder at the video monitors behind him – views of the exterior, doorways, windows dripping icicle lights. No shots of the inside. “I haven’t seen anyone come or go for the last two hours, but I’ll check again.”

“Thanks.” She shoved the door shut with her foot. “Mind if we check now?”

He rolled his padded chair toward her. “Have a seat.”

She sat, watched him queue up the videos with one hand while he radioed the gate with the other.

Thomas grunted, eased himself into a swivel chair, and they watched the videos from the last hour on high speed, the sounds of revelry drifting through the closed door. Nothing caught her eye. Aside from the guard patrolling the exterior, nothing moved. No one entered or left the house.

Riga released a slow exhale. So that was it then. The killer was one of the guests. She didn’t realize she’d clung to the hope it had been an outsider until it was snatched away, leaving behind a weight of lead.

Frowning, she checked the slim gold watch – a gift from Donovan – that circled her wrist. Fifteen minutes had long gone. What was keeping the Sheriff? “When the police arrive, will you show them upstairs? The body’s in the master bedroom.”

His expression flickered, but he nodded.

She exited, pausing in the doorway to make sure the coast was clear, then hurried past the partiers and up the stairs, stumbling near the top.

Cold. Sickening.

An invisible miasma flowed out the bedroom door, coiled sluggishly on the stairs. Her stomach twisted, and she clutched the railing.

Corpses. Rancid things. Decaying flesh.

Her skin crawled.

“Donovan?” She called softly, forcing herself forward.

She was used to ghosts. This was something different.

The hallway chandelier flickered above her, brightened. Fingers trembling, she touched the slim silver cross that hung from her neck, gathered the forces from above and below. Fueled by her fear, the energies rushed through her and outward, creating a bubble of safety around her, cutting a path through the rot and horror.

She pressed her fingers against the bedroom door. It swung open at her touch and she sidled through, barefoot and silent. Her fingers curled, palms ready to strike as she prowled down the truncated hallway, turned the corner into the bedroom.

It was empty.

Do You Dare Visit These Haunted Places?

by Kirsten Weiss, author of The Infernal Detective.

We’ve all been there – those dark woods, the fog-shrouded cemeteries, the lonely, creaking houses. And we’ve all wondered – if even for a moment – if maybe there’s something… else. Something beyond. Something haunted.

Some of us even seek out those spectral places.

For me, a deep, dark Sierra night, one of the settings for my urban fantasy The Infernal Detective, conjures all sorts of threats – natural and supernatural. My sister’s old apartment in Davis, California, is one of the most haunted places I know. But it’s also not a tourist attraction. So if you’re looking for a haunted spot to holiday, here’s a round-up of the top five around the world.

(Note: My selection was completely unscientific. I searched the Internet for haunted places and included on my list the five most frequently mentioned.)

5) The Screaming Tunnel, Niagra Falls, Ontario, Canada.

This old tunnel runs beneath a railroad. Stand in it at midnight, light a wooden match, and you’ll hear a woman’s scream. The match will blow out too, which may not be such a mysterious occurrence in a tunnel.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WcyzlQLotkA

4) Beechwood Lunatic Asylum, Victoria, Australia. Nearly 9,000 inmates died during the asylum’s operations from 1867-1995. Add to that the super-spooky architecture, and it’s little wonder the place is hosting night tours.

3) Highgate Cemetery, London, UK. All that history plus creepy gothic architecture? No wonder London is jam-packed with haunted graveyards. But Highgate Cemetery is probably the most famous, with its crooked tombstones, headless angels, and rumors of vampire and occult activity.

2) Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, USA. The sight of the bloodiest battle in the American Civil War, the spirits of dead soldiers are frequently sighted in the fields and roads around the town. A friend of mine claims when he and his girlfriend once drove through Gettysburg at night, a man dressed in Confederate battle gear suddenly appeared in front of their car. He slammed on the brakes, but couldn’t stop in time. The car went through the apparition. I’m still not sure if he was pulling my leg or not.

1) Bhangarh Fort, India. This fort came up the most frequently in my research, winning the number one spot. It’s said to be cursed by a black magician who was unable to win the love of a fair maiden by traditional means. She managed to reverse his dark love spell. In retaliation, he cursed the entire town’s inhabitants, so their souls cannot be reborn.

Have you visited any of these spots? Are there any haunted spots on your bucket list?

About the Author: Kirsten Weiss worked overseas for nearly twenty years in the fringes of the former USSR, Africa, and South-east Asia. Her experiences abroad sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.

Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes genre-blending steampunk suspense, urban fantasy, and mystery, mixing her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.

Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer re-runs and drinking red wine. Sign up for her newsletter to get free updates on her latest work at: Website: http://kirstenweiss.com Twitter: @KirstenWeiss

A Murder of Vampires The Imperial Vampires Series Catherine Winters Genre: Urban Fantasy ,Vampires Publisher: Catherine Winters Date of Publication: August, 2016 ISBN: 9781535325509 ASIN: B01KD5DUYE Number of pages: 208 Word Count: 63,000 Cover Artist: Colin Christie Book Description: Even vampires have bogeymen.

Geneviève Lacroix wasn't really made to be a leader.

Perhaps that's why she chose to form a council instead of an empire; she wouldn't have to bear the burden of responsibility alone. While the Council of the Undead was a success, her inability to face challenges head-on would affect vampires all over the world.

When Coventry Payne informed Geneviève of her intent to betray her sire, Grant Black, Gené did nothing. When Coventry succeeded, Gené ignored her own laws and Coventry went unpunished.

When Coventry showed up asking for her own House, Gené gave her New York. When Coventry began weaving myths of Grant's excessive violence and ruthlessness to keep fledglings in line, Gené remained silent. When Geneviève feared Coventry would make a play for the Paris Council House, she gutted it instead of fortifying it.

As Coventry continued to grow her power and influence, Grant lay bound in a box, alone in the dark, starved of blood, slowly going mad. Only Coventry hadn't counted on the ever-increasing population of humans, the "shrinking" of the world, the eventuality that someone would stumble upon his prison and release him.

One hundred and fifty years has seen that eventuality come to pass, and now he will have his revenge. Coventry will get the bogeyman she created — although the monster she claimed he was is nothing compared to the monster he's become.

This book is a standalone within the universe of The Imperial Vampires Series Amazon Kindle

Amazon Print

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Excerpt: The couple at table twenty-seven were not unusual for a Thursday dinner service. He was more handsome than most, and she more annoyed, but their clothes were expensively made and perfectly tailored, their shoes shiny and fashionable. She was perhaps too short for him; they looked a bit mismatched, but then, the gentleman was so tall that it was probably unavoidable. She was beautiful, though cold, refusing to smile even as her companion tried to charm everyone in reach. If they noticed the shaky hands and determined lack of eye contact from their waitress, they hadn't mentioned it; if they'd noticed the series of wait staff who had subsequently tended to them, they likewise had refrained from commenting. They were, in truth, the perfect table: neither of them ate, but both drank, and were pleasant and uncomplaining. The gentleman paid the tab, and tipped extravagantly – enough so that the shaky waitress didn't mind sharing, and even grudgingly admitted that perhaps she'd been wrong in her original estimation of his character ("Creepy.").

The couple left the restaurant, not touching each other, not even looking at each other. They were a mismatched set indeed: he was more than a foot taller than she. He towered over her, loomed, used all his great bulk to intimidate, but she would have none of that. She opened her own doors, assuming he was following, got behind the wheel of an obscenely expensive sedan, and pulled into traffic without looking.

"Is the car bugged?" He wished not to be overheard. As did she, when it came to that – the restaurant had been merely a convenient rendezvous, not a place for conversation.

"Of course not, it's mine."

"You'll forgive me if I don't have the greatest confidence in your – What is he, anyway? Is he even there anymore?"

"Not so often as to care what I do with my personal time." They spoke English with similar accents: softened consonants, narrow vowels, a superficially British sound with something more exotic underneath. It was the language they had in common, and the one in which they did the most business. "You didn't drag me to Budapest to discuss Vlad."

"True enough. I need your help."

She laughed. "It wasn't enough that I rolled back the stone from your tomb?"

"You did that for yourself."

"Did I? I can't remember what you've done for me since."

"I've been a convenient villain, haven't I? A tale told to fledglings so they fall in line."

"You could have been that lying in the sarcophagus."

"Yes, yes. I'm a terrible burden on your conscience. One has to wonder why you bothered to free me if it was going to plunge you into this ridiculous guilt."

"One does. I do. Daily."

"But I've stayed out of your way, out of Europe, like I promised, haven't I?" "I fear that's going to come to an end."

"I deserve vengeance."

She bit her lower lip, worrying it with her teeth, drawing a tiny bead of blood that filled the car with a sweetrotten scent, like berries gone slightly bad. A human wouldn't have noticed, but his nostrils flared and he turned to stare at her.

"I don't know those laws," she said, and he could hear every ounce of relief.

"It's not the law that gives me the right to kill them."

"Then you don't have that right."

"They locked me in a box for a century and a half."

"Didn't you deserve it?"

"You thought I didn't."

She shook her head, taking a sharp right turn off the main road. They'd left the city completely behind, and he thought he knew where they might end up, but allowed her to determine their course. "I…don't know if that's true."

"Then I am the villain to all of us, is that it? I'm the bogeyman, the big bad vampire?"

"We all have our roles to play," she whispered, without looking at him.

Hey, all! *waves* I'm Catherine Winters, here to promote my newest novel, A MURDER OF VAMPIRES. It's part of my Imperial Vampires universe, and a prequel to the Josephine Trilogy. I hope you'll give it a try – it's a great place to step into the series!

I'll be honest, I struggled with this guest post for a while. I just couldn't decide what y'all might want to read about. Writing? Reading? My characters? Why I love Star Trek so fucking much? (Probably not that last one. But feel free to message me if you're interested. I could talk about Star Trek for days.)

Finally, someone suggested that I should just let you all get to know me. And I figure there's no better way to do that than to see my Buzzfeed quiz results. I mean, they're clearly the most accurate personality assessments on the interwebs, right? Right. So let's get started!

I'm 40, based on my McDonald's order. But also 21, based on my shoe preferences. I'll let you guys sort it out.

I'm 100% pug, which I think is pretty damn impressive. I mean, how many pugs do you know who've published five novels? But I'm also somehow 67% cheese, which doesn't seem likely, mathematically. Though I did only get a D on a basic math quiz, so maybe don't take my word for it?

I'm 64% keen, which I think must be a British quiz, because it means, like, smart? And since I got 8/10 on the "Can you guess the animal from its French name" quiz, I'm going with smart. At least with words.

According to a visual test, I think I should live in London, but should actually live in Sydney.

Denver, where I actually do live, was not an option, which is straight-up bullshit, yo. Denver is the place to be, as so clearly evidenced by all the out-of-state license plates I've been seeing lately. I'm also never going to get married, which will be news to Mr. Winters, who thinks we walked the aisle at least a decade ago. (Fun trick if I'm 21, eh?) And our fat, grumpy, orange tabby is apparently most like a black panther. I'll believe it when I see it.

I am not a die-hard Disney fan, though to be fair, the quiz was about the parks, mostly, and not the actual stories. I know a lot of useless facts, but not a lot of them are about theme parks. Sorry,

Charlie. As for which famous redhead will play me in the movie of my life? Julianne Moore. I was hoping for Tess Holliday – she's much more my style – but who am I to argue with the Buzzfeed gods?

So. There you go. I hope you've got a pretty good idea of who I am, now, based on the world's most accurate metric: A 21-40-year-old unmarried married pug, who is kind of smart, doesn't know jack about Disney, looks like Julianne Moore, is more than half cheese, and should live with her black panther in London or perhaps Sydney.

Sounds about right. ;)

About the Author: Catherine Winters writes urban fantasy, women's fiction, and literary fiction. She is an undefeated four-time Chopped champion and the principal mezzo-soprano for the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Denver. When she's not writing or singing, she enjoys teaching French to cats. At least one of these things is actually true.

http://writingwinters.com http://facebook.com/writingwinters http://twitter.com/writingwinters http://pinterest.com/writingwinters http://plus.google.com/+writingwinters

The Graveyard Shift A Paranormal Romance Anthology Jamie K. Schmidt Genre: paranormal romance Date of Publication: 6/26/16 ISBN: 1534805680 ASIN: B0177E5Z8S Number of pages: 173 Word Count: 54,000 Cover Artist: Jamie K. Schmidt Book Description: Erotic, Sexy and Sweet tales of vampires, ghosts, mages, shifters and dreamers of dreams.

In this anthology, you will enter an adult bookstore run by two vampires and partake in the bloodletting and sex, see a witch accidentally summon a vampire who gains power through love

making, and then go clubbing with an urban vampire.

But vampires aren't the only supernatural beings in this compelling collection of stories. Ghosts jam with their favorite rock bands. A Grail Maiden helps protect Arthur's cup, and a paralyzed cyber mercenary finds love inside virtual reality.

Amazon Excerpt: DEIRDRE WAS A EUROPEAN PRINCESS whose lineage, no one dared question too closely. She kept close companionship with Viola, a dark Countess of equal renown and deadly beauty. In a time where the night was feared, they flourished and fed at all the best parties of the nobility.

The Princess was as fair and fey as a moonbeam with silver hair and cerulean eyes. She lived for excess and to play with her new found friends.

The Countess was the opposite side of the coin. With raven locks and soulless black eyes, she was a lithe viper who struck quickly and gleaned minions from the throngs of addled noblemen.

But good times always end, even for immortal royalty and when the church's mercenaries, The Prophecy of the Eye, became too interested in the beautiful thralls encircling the Princess and the Countess, the parties suddenly stopped.

This cycle continued for many centuries. Deirdre and Viola graced Czarist Russia, continued on to Gay Paris and finally to the New World in gin joints and sleazy jazz dives of the Big Easy.

While America lacked the polished old world charm and the distinct respect for one's betters, it also provided more of everything else, from money and thrills, to gambling and illegal liquor.

Its wide terrain allowed the Princess and the Countess to move from state to state until technology caught up with them and they learned the value of keeping a low profile. They were able to exploit the innocence of the forties and fifties, but were swept away into a drunken frenzy of Free Love.

By the late seventies, they reached a rhythm that was blown away by the "Me" generation of the eighties and the cynical creep of the 90's that exposed the world's monsters in vivid detail across television screens and eventually the Internet.

Now in the new millennia, there is nowhere to hide and no other frontiers to explore. They found out the luxuries of the day could be gone in an instant. Swiss bank accounts could be seized and the Princess and the Countess could be among the nouveau poor, scraping their living feeding off homeless and runaways. They have become merchants, biding their time and hoping for another renaissance of excess.

An ignoble end for two from the finest Carpathian bloodlines.

Perhaps a fitting end some may say, for however pretty the monsters are, they are still creatures of the night— or from hell as the church's mercenaries proclaim.

The church's vanguards have also migrated from Europe. And like the Princess and the Countess, they have morphed and remade themselves to fit the times. Always hunting, they are similar to the women they chase, although they would balk to see the comparison. The church mercenaries seek to destroy magic and any evil that lives outside their doctrine.

Whether their victims deserve their fate or not is irrelevant.

It was so much easier for both during the simple times, where murder was accepted and random acts of violence and carnage need not be explained for helicopters with news teams or amateur videographers. They've learned a new dance for the modern world and it is kept to a very fine line. Like the sword of Damocles, the truce poises hair thin. It is not a matter of if that strand will break, but when.

And darkness save the innocents caught between.

Dream Killer Flash Fiction By Jamie K. Schmidt I swore I was going to do it. And this time, I meant it. He had finally gone too far, pushed my last button, and said the unforgivable.

“When I married you my dreams died.”

The fight ended quickly after that. In the vacuum silence of words that can’t be taken back, he looked as stunned as I felt. But he put up his chin with false bravado and waited for my one-two riposte. I merely left the room.

The apartment shook when he crashed the door open. He peeled out of the complex driveway in a puff of smoke and burned rubber. A huge belch came from the living room and the stench of burning sulphur wafted into my study. I came out to investigate. My husband’s words had summoned forth a creature that was too small to be a demon, too malevolent to be an imp. The creature was straddling the couch. Its yellow eyes were narrowed at me. It hissed, showing pointy teeth. I crept closer and it swiped out at me, its bony arms like broomsticks. His scissor bladed claws cut the sleeve of my robe. I backed away, threw a pillow at it. It caught it and shredded it into confetti. What was warlock born could not be witched away but it also could not harm me. I hissed back at it and cast a protective spell around my cat, whose back was arched like the letter A. Three days of silence passed. My husband was grumpy and sullen, rattling the paper and slamming dishes to fill up the emptiness and the quiet. I moved like the walking wounded. There was a hole in my soul where happiness once lived. I was numb.

The creature would appear and disappear. Always watching, never attacking us. It played with itself, picked its nose. But for the most part was content with existing in the silence of our world.

If my husband noticed it, he gave no sign. I ignored it.

After a week, things gradually started returning to normal. I still pretended to be asleep when he came to bed, when I wasn’t in my office all night staring at the world map and wondering if anyone out there hurt as much as I did. We didn’t talk, but I found I could meet my husband’s eyes. I saw no apology in them, but I really didn’t expect to. The creature faded slightly, became translucent.

But as I became angrier at the unfairness, the creature fed on my emotions. As I thought, “Did he think that he was the only one who sacrificed, compromised?”, it solidified again. Its teeth and claws elongated and curved into Kris daggers. The creature followed me around and would preen when I clenched and unclenched my fist.

Back in our routine, my husband would go to work and come home. I stopped making supper or cleaning the house. He could do his own laundry and fend for himself. I made phone calls and robotically did what I had to do. He would stay in watching television or stay out late in bars. I didn’t care either way. The creature would curl up on the couch beside him or swing from the drapes, depending on our moods.

Today, I heard my husband in the shower and I walked over to the window of my study and laid my forehead against the window pane. The sensation was like eating ice cream too fast and I had a giddy recollection of summer time. The door slammed and jolted me away from tire swings and seagulls. I sipped

my coffee as I watched him get into his car and drive to work. He never looked up. I wonder if he even thought of me.

The creature plastered its tongue on the window, making huge streaks. Shortly after ten, the movers arrived. I sat on my kitchen counter and watched them professionally pack up my things. The creature, hidden by my invisibility spell, danced around them and jumped from box to box.

“No, that stays.” I said when they started towards the TV set. I directed them to my office and went back to my perch, slowly stirring a head ache relief potion.

The movers were expensive. But if I had to carry box after box into my car all by myself I never would have left him. It wasn’t the first time, I sat contemplating leaving. I would grab a handful of clothes from the closet and got as far as the bed with them. I’d sit and wonder if I should donate most to the Salvation Army before packing. Then I would chide myself for giving up. And I would talk myself into staying. It was harder to leave than in was to stay. We had been playing at being happy for a long time.

I received my power from my dreams and prayers. If I had made him impotent by marrying him, then I could rectify that by leaving him. I picked up my cat and my purse and walked out to the car.

When my husband came home tonight, I wanted him to see the living room as it always was. He wouldn’t notice that my books or my knitting would be gone. Maybe he’d watch TV for a bit. Maybe he would go into the kitchen to raid the leftovers or to pop a frozen dinner in the microwave. He wouldn’t notice my coffee mugs were missing or that my teapot collection had been lovingly removed.

But he would see the creature, formed out of his belligerence and sustained by our negative emotions. I looked up from the parking lot to see it rubbing its butt cheeks against the study windows. They would make a good couple.

The End

About the Author: USA Today bestselling author, Jamie K. Schmidt, writes erotic contemporary love stories and paranormal romances. Her steamy, romantic comedy Life’s a Beach reached #65 on USA Today, #2 on Barnes and Noble and #9 on Amazon. Her Club Inferno series from Random House’s Loveswept line has hit both the Amazon and Barnes and Noble top one hundred lists and the first book in the series, Heat put her on the USA Today bestseller list. Her dragon paranormal romance series from Entangled Publishing, has been called “fun and quirky” and “endearing.” Partnered with New York Times bestselling author and former porn actress, Jenna Jameson, Jamie’s hardcover debut, SPICE, continues Jenna’s FATE trilogy.

Facebook: www.facebook.com/jamie.k.schmidt.1 Twitter: https://twitter.com/Jamiekswriter Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/jamiekswriter Website: http://jamiekschmidt.weebly.com/

Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/Jamie-K.-Schmidt/e/B00B7CKKO6 Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/jamiekswriter/ Sign up for newsletter: http://jamiekschmidt.weebly.com/

Burden Lucy Trilogy Book 1 Winged Series Book 11 L.M. Pruitt Genre: Urban fantasy/paranormal romance Publisher: SP Press Date of Publication: July 26 Word Count: approx. 90K Cover Artist: Najla Qambler Book Description: All my life, I've had plans.

Dying the day before beginning the final year of my surgical residency wasn't one of them.

Finding myself drafted in the eternal war between good and evil wasn't one of them, either.

And dealing with friends, enemies, and lovers I don't remember?

Definitely not in my plans.

Curse Lucy Trilogy 2 Winged Series Book 12 L.M. Pruitt Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance Publisher: SP Press Date of Publication: August 27 Word Count: approx. 90K Cover Artist: Najla Qambler Book Description: The problem with plans?

Even the best ones can go awry. And when they do... all hell breaks loose.

If I've learned only one thing in the last few months, it's the past never dies.

Four plagues down. Six more to come.

We need more than a plan.

We need a miracle.

Redemption Lucy Trilogy Book 3 Winged Series Book 13 L.M. Pruitt Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance Publisher: SP Press Date of Publication: September 29 Word Count: approx. 90K Formats available: ebook Cover Artist: Najla Qambler Book Description: The problem with miracles?

They require a deity who cares.

And if you don't have one of those... you need a sacrifice.

Or the world ends About the Author: L.M. Pruitt has been reading and writing for as long as she can remember. A native of Florida with a love of New Orleans, she has the uncanny ability to find humor in most things and would probably kill a plastic plant. She knows this because she's killed bamboo. Twice. She is the author of the Winged series, the Plaisir Coupable series, Jude Magdalyn series, the Moon Rising series, and Taken: A Frankie Post Novel. http://www.lmpruitt.org

Witch’s Cursed Cabin Coon Hollow Coven Tales Book Two Marsha A. Moore Genre: Paranormal romance Date of Publication: 4-27-16 Number of pages: 380 Word Count: 111,000 Cover Artist: Marsha A. Moore Book Description: Eager to be on her own away from home, twenty-year-old Aggie Anders accepts a relative’s invitation to live in Coon Hollow Coven. Although she’s a witch from a different coven, what locals say about the Hollow confuses her. How can witchcraft there live and breathe through souls of the dead?

Aggie’s new residence in this strange southern Indiana world is a deserted homestead cabin. The property’s carriage house serves as the coven’s haunted Halloween fundraiser. It’s a great opportunity for her to make new friends, especially with the coven’s sexy new High Priest Logan.

But living in the homestead also brings Aggie enemies. Outsiders aren’t welcome. A cantankerous, old neighbor tries to frighten her off by warning her that the homestead is cursed. Local witches who practice black magic attempt to use their evil to drive Aggie away and rid their coven of her unusual powers as a sun witch.

Determined to stay and fit in, Aggie discovers not only that the cabin is cursed, but she alone is destined to break the curse before moonrise on Samhain. If she fails, neither the living nor the dead will be safe.

Amazon Goodreads A note to readers: the books in the Coon Hollow Coven Tales series are written to be read in any order. The series is about one community, and its residents may pass in and out of various books, but each book has its own unique and special story to be told.

About the Coon Hollow Coven Tales Series The series is about a coven of witches in a fictitious southern Indiana community, south of Bloomington, the neck of the woods where I spent my favorite childhood years surrounded by the love of a big family. The books are rich with a warm Hoosier down-home feel. There are interesting

interactions between coven members and locals from the nearby small town of Bentbone. If magic wasn’t enough of a difference between the two groups, the coven folk adhere to the 1930s lifestyle that existed when the coven formed.

Book One

Excerpt from Chapter One: The Homestead A shove of my shoulder pried the rusty hinges on the heavy log cabin door loose. I flung my blond braid to my back and peered inside. Beings and critters, alive and furry as well as undead and translucent, flew, crawled, or slithered across dark recesses of the hallway, sitting room, and stairwell.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is haunted.” I shuddered and looked over my shoulder at Cerise.

She looked perky as always with her dark bobbed hair and lively brown eyes beneath horn-rimmed eyeglasses. “Were those things relations or varmints?” I took a cautious step over the threshold to escape the blustery weather and unbuttoned my corduroy jacket.

“Oh, both, Aggie. Ghosts of witch kin and their talking animal familiars,” she said and moved past me to lift sheets off the sitting room furniture.

I raised a brow, curious about what talking familiars were but was too afraid to ask. She didn’t seem to think they were bad, and I needed a place to stay.

Cerise dropped the sheets in a pile and wiped her dusty hands on her skirt. “Those sorts of ghosts are in all the homes here in Coon Hollow Coven. Maybe some animal spirits, too, from the surrounding woods.

This property has at least fifty acres of forest. The ghosts are harmless, part of the family. At least no neighbors have complained, that I’ve heard.”

Eyeing corners of the parlor and the length of the hall, I wondered if I could ever get used to living with ghosts of people who’d lived here before. In New Wish, Indiana, where I’d spent my entire twenty years, we only had an occasional ghost. Usually lost souls who, for some reason, hadn’t found their peace

before death took them. Most times, those folks had been tormented by darkness and experimented with black magic while they’d lived. Or so Mom told me, but I always thought that was just her way of keeping me in line.

I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I wanted a place of my own more than anything else, and not in the tiny town of New Wish where everyone knew me…or thought they did. They all said I was the spitting image of my Aunt Faye, with the same light blond straight hair, deep blue eyes, dark brows, and quiet personality. Everyone thought I’d grow up to be like her with a houseful of kids, seven or more. Fact was, they didn’t know me. I wasn’t sure I even knew myself. There was so much I wanted to learn and do that wouldn’t happen if I stayed at my parents’ home.

Cerise struggled to open the stuck window. “Aggie, can you help me here? Some fresh air might tempt a few spirits outside. This place has been vacant since my mother passed in 2009. We might find just about anything in here after five years.”

Are you brave enough to visit Coon Hollow Coven’s haunted carriage house?

by Marsha A. Moore Coon Hollow is the setting for Witch’s Cursed Cabin, the second of my series, Coon Hollow Coven Tales, and there are a lot of strange happenings going on down in the Hollow as Samhain approaches.

The Hollow is a fictitious small valley in southern Indiana, south of Bloomington. Somewhere in Brown County near Nashville and Bean Blossom, if you’re from around those parts. It’s Hoosier hill-country at its finest.

The coven was founded on strict rules of adherence to lifestyle and customs that existed at the time of the coven’s conception, in the mid-1930s. The rationale: to keep the transmission of witchcraft from one generation to the next as pure as possible. Members dress in styles of that period and drive long sleek Packards, Studebakers, and Nashes.

Several times during the year, the coven puts on magical events open to the public as charity fundraisers for their schools and eldercare. Witch’s Cursed Cabin opens with the coven preparing for their annual Halloween haunted carriage house.

Here’s an excerpt of the night when the attraction is open only to coven members. Aggie Anders has just moved to the coven and is joining Cerise’s family at the event. *~*~* Dusk was changing to night, the gloaming time as I called it, with the sky ribboned in bands of blue-grays and inky purples. As we ascended the small hill that separated the two cabins, I pulled my hood over my head.

On the other side, a group of black forms mingled outside, perhaps fifty, but the dim light made counting difficult. I glanced down at my jeans, happy the blue color wasn’t too noticeable. A chilling scream that seemed to come from the cabin’s roof made me gawk, wide-eyed.

A hush spread over the crowd, and hoods turned upward toward the tall gable above the front door. Another scream pierced the air, this one more like the chilling, long wail of a banshee, which I knew signaled approaching death. And another shriek, as two dark shapes emerged from behind the chimney. One began the dreadful cry once again, while the other leered at those on the ground.

Little Bud tugged on his dad’s arm and whimpered.

“What is this I see?” A deep male voice growled down at us. “Intruders! You’ve broken the peaceful rest of the carriage house spirits.” He gave a guttural laugh, then shinnied down a trellis at one end of the small porch. From there, he rubbed his hands together while shuffling side to side as he scanned the crowd. His ragged cape hung in shreds around his hunched shape, and his death-white face reflected what little light the twilight offered. “Since you’ve awakened the spirits, why don’t you come in and pay them a friendly visit? I’m sure they’ll be glad to welcome you.” With a menacing laugh, he turned and opened the door. “We have guests of the best kind—willing.”

A chorus of howls and yelps responded from inside, and the banshee on the roof gave a higher pitched cry.

A small girl, no more than four years old, begged for her father to carry her.

The ragged spirit pointed to a sign posted high on the porch support post. “Heed this sign well before you go inside.” It warned pregnant women and people with heart conditions to not enter. With the wave of his arm, he spun on his heel, and the crowd moved toward the entrance.

“Looks like this year’s show will be good. Every year they try to top the last,” Cerise said and pulled me behind her, while Toby herded their boys.

Inside, ghouls lurched near, guiding us up the front staircase. Real enchanted spiders dropped onto our faces, bringing plenty of squeals and some momentary lost footing on steps. While clinging to the railings to keep my balance, oozy slime gushed between my fingers. Faced with the safe scares, screams that escaped my lips immediately turned to giggles.

Live rats ran the length of the upper hall, scampering across our feet. I was glad for my stifftoed boots, but many of the ladies wearing dress pumps jumped a couple feet. One woman landed against me, and we both fell against the wall where arms extending from paintings held us captive until we pleaded loud enough for release.

The wall hazards kept people close to the middle, regardless of the rats. At the doorway to the first bedroom, the floorboards gave way. Five or more in the line ahead dropped down a black hole, their screams reverberating after them. Bats flew up the open shoot and corralled us into the bedroom and the outstretched arms of a red-eyed goblin. His touch sent a sudden disorienting delirium through me, and I fumbled behind Cerise through a connecting hall that led into the next bedroom. *~*~*

What happens to Aggie? You’ll only know if you’re brave enough to enter the coven’s haunted carriage house!

Flash Fiction by Marsha A Moore Hello! I’m Marsha A. Moore and it’s great to be here and share some Samhain fun! I’d like to share with you one of my very popular mini-stories from my collection of fantasy flash fiction Tea Leaf Tales.

Tea Leaf Tales: The Necessary Practice Halloween Growl “Oh, come on, Grindor,” I pleaded for the third time.

“Not until Halloween,” he replied with a terse snap, his face stoic, his body frozen.

“Just one pre-Halloween scare.” I climbed beside him and peeked over the fence.

“There’s a teenage boy walking this way toward your gate who’d make a great practice target.”

“Nope,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to knock me off balance with his left wing.

“It’ll feel good to do just one little growl.”

A whiz of loud pops sailed inches above my head, and I jumped behind my griffin guardian who spread his protective wings wide.

The teen burst through the open gate, gun in hand, and Grindor let out a horrific roar, so loud that my teeth rattled.

From behind, I winked at the boy with the bb gun, my five-dollar bill showing in his jeans pocket.

Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her.

Visit Marsha’s website www.MarshaAMoore.com to read more archived episodes of the Mercantile of Tea Leaf Tales and watch her blog for new episodes.

About the Author: Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance.

Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales.

The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing, as well as other pursuits of watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher.

Her practice helps weave the mystical into her writing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors where she’s always on the lookout for portals to other worlds. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical!

Mailing list: http://bit.ly/MarshaAMooreList Website: http://MarshaAMoore.com Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/marshaamooreauthorpage Twitter: http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore Google +: http://google.com/+MarshaAMoore Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/marshaamoore/ Amazon author page: www.amazon.com/author/marshaamoore Goodreads author page http://www.goodreads.com/marshaamoore

What Makes Bewitching Book Tours Different From Other Virtual Book Tour Companies?

Bewitching Book Tours has been in business since 2010 making us one of the oldest virtual book tour companies around. We know book promotion.

Our authors are our number one priority. This is not a hobby or a side job in addition to the day job. This is our day job, which means we put our authors first.

Bewitching Book Tours offers multiple tour packages and services for authors- we have one day packages for cover reveals, release day blitzes, and one day tours. We also offer one week, two week and one month tours. Bewitching also offers Kindle Free Book Blitz tours to promote your Kindle free book for up to five days. Other services we offer are Twitter parties, Facebook parties, Press Release Writing, and radio interviews.

Custom packages are available.

Bewitching has optional special features including a monthly magazine, a BlogTalk Radio Show and we offer custom Bewitching Book swag creations such as bookmarks, keychains, purse charms and more.

The most important things about Bewitching is that your book starts receiving promotion as soon as you sign up with Bewitching. A media kit is created, tour banners are made, and a page goes up on the Bewitching Blog announcing your upcoming tour. An invitation is sent out to all the Bewitching Tour Hosts and your upcoming tour is shared throughout our vast network of social media which includes multiple Facebook pages and accounts, Tsu, Twitter, Google +, Pinterest, Tumblr, and other book social sites.

Immediately your book has been put in front of thousands of book lovers. And we don’t stop there. We continue to work on your tour scheduling tour stops, reviews and more depending on your tour package chosen.

Once your tour is set up we send you the tour schedule, materials and instructions so there is no confusion.

You return requested materials to Bewitching and we handle the rest.

Once your tour has started we promote every single tour stop every day on multiple social media platforms several times throughout the day. Combine this exposure with the daily tour hosts’ and the author’s social media promotion of the tour stops and you have your book in front of thousands of readers every day.

Even after the tour Bewitching continues working for you. Your name and web link will be listed on our blog as a client and your tour pages will be archived, not removed. So they will always be available for readers to access. If Bewitching has special events in the future like calls for submissions, holiday contests or other multi-author events you will be invited to participate.

Oubliette: A Forgotten Little Place Vanta M. Black Genre: Fiction, Thriller, Paranormal, Historical Fiction, Genre-Fiction, New Adult, Horror Publisher: Black Chateau Publishing Date of Publication: March 2016 ISBN: 978-0-9964488-2-6 ISBN: 978-0-9964488-1-9 ISBN: 978-0-9964488-0-2 Number of pages: 566 Word Count: 247,912 Cover Artist: Black Chateau Enterprises Book Description: Veronica knows the monsters aren’t “just in her head”, but no one listens to the headstrong ten-year-old as they tie her to a hospital bed every night.

Years later, after being dumped by her business-partner/boyfriend, Veronica finds herself on the verge of bankruptcy. Then a late-night call promises the perfect solution — a job opportunity decorating a castle in France.

Will Veronica risk what little she has left to chase a fairytale?

When the shadowy things that once terrorized her come back, Veronica must decide how much she’ll sacrifice for them, for her sanity, and for her life.

This epic book consists of interwoven stories with paranormal twists. A horror-filled historical fiction adventure, it spans nearly two millennia.

You'll be transported to an ancient Pagan ritual, Roman-ruled Gaul, the bloody Inquisition of the Knights Templar, France as it's ravaged by the Black Death, the duplicitous Reformation, the Paris Catacombs, and the gory French Revolution, while you unravel Oubliette’s cryptic layers.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/y0NMLzBnxKg

Amazon BN Author Website

About the Author: Vanta M. Black, author of Oubliette—A Forgotten Little Place, enjoys uncovering the dark mysteries of our Universe.

In addition to writing, she enjoys traveling to provocative places and studying all things esoteric.

Black has degrees in English, communication and art. She resides in Southern California with her husband and two pug-mix dogs, and spends her time in support of causes that empower women and advance science and technology. http://www.vantamblack.com/ https://www.facebook.com/VantaM.Black https://www.facebook.com/OublietteNovel/ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14697666.Vanta_M_Black https://twitter.com/VantaMBlack @VantaMBlack http://oublietteaforgottenlittleplace.tumblr.com/ https://www.pinterest.com/VantaMBlack/ http://www.youtube.com/c/VantamblackOubliette https://www.iauthor.uk.com/oubliette-a-forgotten-little-place:18380

Eternal Desire Desire Series Book One Roxanne Rhoads Genre: Paranormal Erotica Publisher: Bewitching Books Release Date: April 14, 2015 (2nd Edition) Book Description: Halloween in New Orleans, anything can happen…including love and magick.

Paranormal researcher Liz Beth's dreams are haunted by a sensual vampire.

She arrives in New Orleans the week of Halloween in search of her elusive dream lover, but instead finds a handsome stranger.

They begin a passionate affair. Soon she is torn between dreams and reality, lost somewhere in the middle trying to regain reason.

She aches to find the vampire of her dreams but can't seem to break free of the spell her sexy stranger has her tangled in.

Amazon

BN iTunes

Eternal Desire Excerpt: There is no place on earth like New Orleans. The sights, the sounds, and the smells all assaulted my senses.

The fragrance was like a drug. A mixture of seafood, gumbo, exotic spices, and rich chicory coffee floated in the moist air, which mingled with the sweet sounds of jazz coming my way. Add to that the feeling of fun and excitement that the city was exuding, and it was truly a unique experience. New Orleans hummed and crackled with energy all its own.

It was the week before Halloween, and the New Orleans Halloween festivities were already in full swing. New Orleans is a city that loves Halloween, and treats the holiday almost like a second Mardi Gras.

The residents love to party, and even a week before Halloween people were already running around in costume. The haunted city, full of magic and ghosts, kicked everything into high gear for the tourists. I saw signs and posters for Boo at the Zoo (for the kids), the Moonlight Witches Run, the Krewe of Boo Parade, Anne Rice’s Vampire Lestat Ball, The Endless Night Vampire Ball and the Voodoo Music Experience in City Park. Nearly everywhere I went, there were haunted history tours taking place: the Ghost Tour of the French Quarter, the Haunted Garden District Tour, the Spellbound Tour, the Voodoo and Cemetery Tour and the one I was most interested in—the Vampire Tour.

Oh, I know, it all seems so cliché: vampires in New

Orleans at Halloween! But I think that was the point. He seemed to have a sense of humor, and irony was something he used to his advantage.

Walking through some of the dark streets of the French Quarter was like taking a step back in time. The lacy wrought iron work that defined New Orleans architecture and style, the horse drawn carriages full of tourists, and the old fashioned flickering gas lamps made me feel nostalgic. I wondered whether it looked the same when he strolled along these streets over 200 ago.

Haunting Desire Desire Series Book Two Roxanne Rhoads Genre: Paranormal Erotica Publisher: Bewitching Books Release Date: February 5, 2016 Book Description: Welcome to the Inn of Amorous Apparitions where your every libidinous longing can be fulfilled by sensual spirits.

LizBeth has been hired to use her ghost whispering skills on the specters at the Castle Inn, but instead of banishing the seductive spooks Barbara, the Inn Keeper, wants them to "come out and play" with her special guests.

The Castle Inn is set to become the destination for the ghost sex fetish crowd. But first LizBeth has to convince the voluptuous visions that it is alright to participate in spectrophilia fun with the guests.

LizBeth has a special talent for seeing and communicating with ghosts but these enchanting ethereals are not cooperating with her, or her vampire boyfriend. Something odd is fueling the raunchy wraiths and they have to discover the power source or risk leaving a customer unsatisfied.

There’s more to this haunting than the average ghost. Will LizBeth be able uncover the mystery of this sexy haunted mansion?

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Hooray for Halloween Guest Blog By Roxanne Rhoads Halloween…the one day when spirits can walk this world in the flesh when those who are no longer ‘real’ once again become corporeal. A day full of ghosts, witches, fairies, magick…

I don’t know where the love of the paranormal came from, it is something that has always been part of my life. Maybe it was the books my mother read to me or maybe that just helped it along. I grew up reading fairy tales with my mom, not the Disney versions either but the real Grimm style fairy tales that did not always have a happy ending. (In the real Little Mermaid story, she turns to sea foam at the end and drifts away, there is no happily ever after).

By the time I was 10 I was already reading Steven King, Dean Koontz, and other adult paranormal novels.

At the age of 11 I found Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire at a garage sale and was forever after seduced by vampires.

As I grew older the paranormal stories became more than just a little creepy and scary but also a little…sexy.

And later… outright erotic.

Over time I have watched books transform and change from the veiled eroticism in Dracula and Anne Rice’s books to the flat out hot sex scenes in today’s romance and erotica novels. And something about creatures with supernatural powers just adds a whole new level of sexiness to the books.

Alpha male shapeshifters give us that power, control, and animal magnetism coupled with primal urges that can’t be denied, vampires have centuries of sexual experience and awesome powers that make us swoon, demons are the ultimate hotties with badditude written all over them, and then there are the other magickal men; beautiful, wicked fey: wily wizards, seductive sorcerers…

And Halloween they all come out to play.

It’s no wonder the Halloween season is my favorite time of year.

During the Halloween season I can walk around vamped out in Goth attire looking dark and spooky. I get to play dress up for all the parties and costume balls (and yes I attend a couple every year) The rest of the year I tend to hide the darkness inside only letting it out in my fiction.

But on Halloween I can let my freak flag fly high and be as sexy, spooky, Gothic and vampy as I want- and I can make my house match. Got to love that.

Halloween- the one time of year I can truly be as dark as I want and no one thinks twice about it.

Hooray for Halloween.

Many of my fiction pieces take place during Halloween including the novella Eternal Desire, the short stories- A Halloween to Remember and Halloween Surprise, and my full length novel, Hex and the Single Witch.

About the Author: Story strumpet, tome loving tart, eccentric night owl...these words describe book publicist and erotic romance author Roxanne Rhoads.

When not fulfilling one the many roles being a wife and mother of three require, Roxanne's world revolves around words...reading them, writing them, and talking about them.

In addition to writing her own stories she loves to read, promote and review what others write. She owns Bewitching Book Tours and operates a book review blog, Fang-tastic Books.

When not doing book things Roxanne loves to hang out with her family, craft, garden and search for unique vintage finds.

Author Website http://www.roxannerhoads.com Bewitching Book Tours www.bewitchingbooktours.com www.facebook.com/RoxanneRhoads http://www.facebook.com/BewitchingBooktours http://www.facebook.com/RoxanneRhoadsAuthor Twitter @RoxanneRhoads

Top Ten Websites to Help Authors by Lincoln Cole Here are a list of top websites that authors can use to help build their careers. There’s no specific theme behind them, and it includes advertising websites, review websites, services, and anything else that I’ve found beneficial since hitting that publish button on KDP. 10 – BookBub – The king of email advertising. Bookbub has been around for a long time and only takes the best of the best books with a lot of reviews, and even then only if it matches the current tastes of their readers. It can boost your book sales unlike no other program out there, and if you’ve submitted before and been denied don’t worry: everyone has. Just keep trying.

9 – Online Book Club – A website where you can submit for a free editorial review. They have a lot of promotional options as well, and if you’re willing to put in the time and effort to join the community it can really help you out.

8 – CLC – Literary Classics comes with reviews and a contest. It isn’t necessarily cheap to enter, but they put a lot of work into their annual book awards and there are some amazing people who work here. If your book is a good fit for YA or children, then this company can help immensely in building up your career and helping you expand. When they like a book, they will champion it.

7 – Reader’s Favorite – This website can help immensely for anyone interested in getting a free review or entering a contest for their works. The submission process is easy and the company has a lot of different systems in place to help indie authors to build their careers.

6 – IBPA – A very professional organization that has discounts and benefits for its members. A lot of their services are powerful and expensive, so this is something that can be hugely beneficial as an author’s career expands. The discounts alone can pay for the yearly fee.

5 – Wattpad – An online forum for authors and readers to look at works in progress and offer feedback and critiques. It’s a difficult community to work into and the site feels somewhat fractured, but it can be immensely useful.

4 – WriteOn – Similar to Wattpad, but the site is a little easier to navigate. This forum is filled with more authors and less readers, so occasionally it can feel like shouting into the abyss to get attention for your book. That being said, people can be very helpful.

3 – RRBC – An online community of authors and readers that are full of information and support for your career. When you join, you’ll find an engaged and professional group of people who are always willing to help. The more you put in, the more you’ll get. Has an annual fee, but it isn’t a lot.

2 – BookFunnel – A hosting service for eBooks you’re planning to give away, BookFunnel can help you distribute watermarked copies of your book to readers. Great for giveaways and being able to track how many copies you give a month, or for newsletter signups to track the number of people who take advantage of free offers. They have a really cheap entry level option for authors who aren’t making a lot of money, and they deliver the preferred format directly to your readers.

1 – KBoards – If you want to put your finger on the pulse of amazon’s publishing network, this is where it is. Anything that is happening in the world of self-publishing can be found here, and usually as soon as it comes into existence. The people are friendly and supportive and browsing will teach you more about writing and publishing than you ever would have expected.

There you have it: those are just a few of the websites I’ve discovered as an indie author that can help build a career. A lot of them I only found out about recently and wished I knew about sooner.

My best advice for authors is to just have fun with it. Experiment and don’t be afraid to make mistakes. If you’re having fun with your books, then other people will too.

Bewitching Book Tour Packages and Pricing Book sales will magically soar during one of our spellbinding virtual book tours Bewitching Book Tours specialize in tours for paranormal, urban fantasy, and paranormal erotica books with prices just right for any author's budget

Every tour package includes:  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus Giveaways are not necessary during tours but they are highly encouraged. Giveaways draw many more readers and viewers to tour stops plus they help increase your social media followers.

We utilize Rafflecopter entry forms so you can offer one prize package or several throughout your tourwinners are chosen at the end of the tour. $47.50 will get you the Release Day Blitz One day book release blitz includes  Posting on up to 20 blogs which will include- tour banner, your book info, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus The release day blitz can be purchased alone or added to another tour package

$50.00 will get you the week long Bewitched Book Blitz Tour Your will receive 1 week of tour stops  Posting on approximately 5-7 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus This tour is perfect for an author to get a taste of how a book tour works Great for new releases or for the backlist book that could use a sales boost $85 will get you the 2 week Cast a Magic Spell Tour 2 weeks of tour stops

 Posting on approximately 10-14 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus

$140 will get you The Spellbinding Special 1 Month Tour This is our most popular so far- with it you'll receive one month of tour stops  Posting on approximately 20 stops which will include- tour banner, your book info, guest blogs, interviews, excerpts, and fun tidbits (character profiles, music playlists, etc or whatever other materials you would like to provide)  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation  two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  distribution to our mailing list of over 600 tour hosts  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus

Kindle Free Book Blitz $50

Is your book going free on Kindle?

Get the most out of your Kindle free days with Bewitching Book Tours We are now offering a Kindle Free Book Blitz Tour- Up to 5 days of promotion just $50- this includes:  Posting on numerous blogs that will announce that your book is free is Amazon  a custom media kit  custom tour button and banners including a facebook header banner  the option to offer review copies to bloggers- the number of reviews actually received during a tour are not guaranteed- they depend on blogger participation

 two tour pages at Bewitching Book Tours (one invitation tour page announcing the upcoming tour and one final tour page with schedule)  Daily promotion throughout the Bewitching social media outlets including multiple facebook pages and accounts, twitter, and google plus

Cover Reveals are $45 Add a live Facebook party to any package for $100 A Facebook Party includes the coordination, set up and moderation of a live Facebook party (event) page.

The party will last for about two hours.

A party page will be created and moderated by Bewitching Book Tours.

This is a great way to interact with readers. They can post questions and the author can answer in real time.

The author will be responsible for providing party content (book/author facts and links, quizzes, games, and prizes). Bewitching Book Tours can help with brainstorming ideas for content and prizes.

The Facebook party can be purchased by itself or added to a tour package.

Please understand Bewitching Book Tours is not responsible for missed your stops on your tour. After the tour is scheduled and all of the tour materials have been sent out, it is the responsibility of the Blogger who signed up for the tour to post materials on their designated day.

Bewitching Book Swag Bewitching Book Tours offers custom book swag creations that can be added on to tour packages or ordered separately.

We offer high quality, hand crafted, one of a kind items made to match your book. Currently we are offering beaded bookmarks, beaded keychains, purse charms, belt loop charms, wine glass charms, and earrings.

These items can be created with colored beads to match the colors in your book cover.

We can also add small charms to coordinate with book content- we have a wide variety of charms to choose from and if we don't have something that matches your book we can get it.

Some of the silver charms available are: vampire fangs, wolves, witch hats, keys and locks, books, hearts, haunted houses, bats, foxes, hamsas, dragons, sugar skulls, rhinestone skull and crossbones, high heeled shoes, Fleur de lis, masquerade masks, owls and many more.

You can also opt to have the items completely customized by adding your book cover to a metal charm.

The book covers are encased in small metal photo frame charms and sealed in resin for a high quality charm that looks fabulous and is very durable.

Our goal is to create custom book swag that represents your book.

Haunted Boston Harbor Haunted America Sam Baltrusis Genre: Ghosts and hauntings, Local/Regional History Publisher: History Press/Arcadia Date of Publication: August 22, 2016 ISBN: 9781626199569 Number of pages: 144 pgs Word Count: 35,000 Cover Artist: Cover photo by Frank C. Grace Book Description: Ghosts lurk in the waters near Boston's historic seaport, haunting the secluded islands scattered throughout the harbor. Boston Harbor brims with the restless spirits of pirates, prisoners and victims of disease and injustice. Uncover the truth behind the Lady in Black on Georges Island. Learn about the former asylums on Long Island that inspired the movie Shutter Island, and dig up the skeletal secrets left behind by the Woman in Scarlet Robes. From items flying off the shelves at a North End cigar shop to the postmortem cries of tragedy at the centuries-old Boston Light on Little Brewster, author Sam Baltrusis breathes new life into the horrors that occurred in the historic waters surrounding Boston.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/Fgck0JI3rcM Amazon BN Introduction to Haunted Boston Harbor The Lady in Black summoned me here. However, as I searched every nook and cranny of Georges Island during a five-month gig as a historical narrator in Boston Harbor, the ghost of Melanie Lanier—as the Lady in Black is otherwise called—refused to reveal herself. She was playing hard to get.

“Something touched me in there, and it wasn’t human!” screamed a girl running out of the corridor of dungeons after a field trip to Fort Warren at Georges Island. “It was the Lady in Black,” she said convincingly. The girl looked mortified.

This was just one of the strange events that occurred during the summer of 2014 when I gave historical tours with Boston Harbor Cruises and traveled on large vessels carrying passengers back and forth to various islands in the outer harbor. I spent most afternoons during the summer searching for a repeat experience of a shadow figure that I’d seen there seven years before. No such luck.

I frequently heard screams emanating from Fort Warren’s haunted ramparts. However, it was usually one of the kids touring the dark hallway in the southeast battery.

The location that Edward Rowe Snow said was the Lady in Black’s haunt was in the front of the fort. It’s still accessible, but it’s extremely dusty and dark.

In 2007, I moved back to Boston from Florida and had a ghostly experience while touring the ramparts of Fort Warren at Georges Island. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an all-black shadow figure. I looked again, and it was gone. At this point, I had never heard the Lady in Black legend. I just intuitively knew Georges Island had some sort of psychic residue. While researching Fort Warren’s history, my interest in Boston’s haunted past gradually became a passion. History repeats itself, and it was my job to uncover the truth and give a voice to those without a voice—even though most of the stories turned out to be tales from the crypt.

Lawrence, a fellow Boston Harbor Cruises tour guide and former park ranger, insisted that ghosts do not inhabit Georges Island, adding that the Lady in Black legend was completely made up by folklorist Edward Rowe Snow.

“I spent so many nights there, I would know,” he said, as we passed Nix’s Mate en route to the mainland.

“However, I would say the island has a spirit. Some rangers say the island’s energy, or spirit, welcomes people.”

In hindsight, I’ve decided that my encounter on Georges in 2007 was the island’s spirit welcoming me.

However, ghosts can almost certainly be found nearby.

While several of the thirty-four islands have paranormal activity, Boston Harbor’s Little Brewster is allegedly the most haunted. The mysterious Boston Light, one of the five remaining Coast Guard–manned lighthouses in America, stands eerily on the rocky, two-acre island. It’s located behind Georges Island and can be spotted from the ramparts, which I explored regularly during the summer of 2014. While I was giving historical tours, the lighthouse was closed for much-needed repairs in preparation for its three-hundred-year anniversary.

Boston Light reopened in 2015 and has once again become a Boston Harbor hot spot.

Photographer Frank C. Grace, his father and I took a ferry out to Little Brewster. It was a rainy, overcast day—perfect weather for a ghostly encounter. Coincidentally, we visited hours before Boston Light’s 299-year anniversary on September 14, 2015 and the island was buzzing with excitement from both the living and the dead.

The volunteers at the historic lighthouse were quick to confirm that Little Brewster was indeed haunted. “You hear ghost stories all the time,” remarked Val, a veteran tour guide. “One day, I had climbed all the way to the top and I heard phantom footsteps behind me and there was definitely no one else in the lighthouse.”

Other volunteers have mentioned hearing what sound like congo drums, possibly Native American tribal rhythms, on the island, without a plausible explanation.

Jeremy D’Entremont, historian for the American Lighthouse Foundation and author of The Lighthouse Handbook New England, confirmed the ghostly legends associated with Boston Light. “Coast Guard keepers experienced odd things and generally blamed it on ‘George,’ meaning George Worthylake, the first keeper, who drowned in 1718,” he told me. “The Coast Guard Auxiliary Watchstanders who spend shifts there today have also seen strange things.”

On the way back, we passed by many of the islands I fell in love with during the summer of 2014. Nix’s Mate, the smallest of the Harbor Islands, seemed particularly ominous. Marked by a black-and-white beacon and completely submerged during high tide, the freakishly small island is where pirates were kept in a crude contraption known as a gibbet cage, an invention of the Puritans. They would showcase the pirates as sort of a cautionary tale.

While narrating Boston Harbor tours, I was pushed from my seat by an unseen force multiple times when passing this spot. It was so intense that I physically tied myself to my chair. One time, I was pushed so hard that I almost fell off the top deck of the vessel.

Disgruntled ghost pirates? Yep, Boston Harbor has them.

Of course, I had multiple encounters while researching the various haunts featured in Haunted Boston Harbor. The most profound was during an exploration of the USS Constitution, or Old Ironsides. The famous vessel was scheduled to be dry-docked for a three-year hiatus. I had seen it multiple times in all its majestic glory in Boston Harbor. It was breathtaking to watch the three-masted frigate sail past my vessel; it brought me to tears.

According to naval officer Wesley Bishop, Ghost Hunters was scheduled to investigate the oldest commissioned naval vessel still afloat. And yes, the uniformed crew did strongly believe that Old Ironsides was, in fact, haunted. “No enemy died on board, so if there are ghosts, they’re my fellow crew members who died long ago from battle-related wounds or the elements,” Bishop told me. “I haven’t had an encounter, but several of my [living] crew members have.”

Meanwhile, his fellow naval officer friend chimed in, “There are definitely ghosts on board.”

While I was peeking into the berthing area known as “the rack,” I swore I saw a shadow figure dart by me.

Of course, multiple reports have been made of a sailor wearing a navy blue jacket and gold buttons. Ellen MacNeil, who has investigated the USS Constitution with her team, SPIRITS of New England, confirmed that the vessel is paranormally active.

“Is it haunted? Oh, hell yes,” MacNeil told Haunted Boston Harbor. Her team investigated the Constitution in 2010 over a two-day period. “We totally freaked out the captain with our audio and video evidence. With 308 deaths on the ship, mainly from illness not battle, the ship is very much loved and protected by these lost souls who were playful, curious and responsive to us being there.”

In addition to the USS Constitution, I had an up-close-and-personal encounter with the extremely haunted Charles W. Morgan. One sunny afternoon, the last wooden whaleship in the world cruised past my vessel in the harbor. The Morgan is supposedly haunted by a nineteenth-century sailor smoking a pipe. It was so surreal to experience this ancient vessel sail by me.

I also had a few bizarre experiences on the mainland. One sunny June afternoon, I was walking up State Street near the Old State House. A Clydesdale-type horse—his name is Prince—was carrying two passengers to the heart of Boston’s Revolutionary War past. The carriage driver named Becky, a saucy brunette, was stunned when the horse stopped mid-trot, raised his hoof as if he was spooked by an unseen force and looked in my direction. “Whoa, it must be a ghost,” Becky said without hesitation. “It’s the ghosts of the revolution.”

Apparently, horses are sensitives, too. If Becky only knew.

While giving tours during the summer of 2014, a co-worker at Boston Harbor Cruises captured an electronic voice phenomenon while exploring Georges Island one afternoon. He spent the day with his brother exploring the fort and captured a voice of what sounded like a man. “You can hear breathing, and then it says something,” he told me, playing the recording over and over.

“It sounds like it says ‘get out’ or something similar,” I told him.

What’s even more fascinating is that the male voice saying, “Get out” in his impromptu EVP sounded southern. Could it be a Confederate soldier?

One year later, I ventured out to Fort Warren and crawled through the original corridor of dungeons. I found the coffin used by Edward Rowe Snow to retell the Lady in Black legend. It was covered in dust and cobwebs.

A message from the vice president of the Confederacy, Alexander Hamilton Stephens, popped into my head.

His quote: “All the genius I have lies in this.”

I laughed. It all made sense now. There is no Lady in Black. The ghost is a Confederate soldier or possibly even the cranky spirit of Stephens. I shivered in the beauty and the madness of the moment.

I crawled out of Fort Warren’s corridor of dungeons armed with my latest tale from the crypt. Melanie Lanier is totally made up. The Lady in Black is a man.

THE BAD ROOM: Residential haunts in Malden and Somerville

By Sam Baltrusis As the author of six historical-based ghost books, I hear all sorts of stories about alleged hauntings throughout New England. One of my readers, Michael Marciello, reached out to me about a haunting from his childhood home in Malden. As a kid, he called the off-limits haunted bedroom "the bad room.”

I got chills as he recounted tales of his father being pinned to the bed by an unseen force and sounds—he later described as evil and potentially demonic—echoing from a room that was unoccupied ... at least by the living.

His mother ended up putting a lock on the bedroom's door so he and his siblings would stay away from the paranormally active first-floor room."It was always so cold," he said, recalling the inexplicable temperature fluctuations in the bad room. "We thought it was an animal," he said, claiming that he would smell sulphur which is an indication of an evil entity.

When I posted Marciello's account on social media, sociolgist Michelle Willms talked about her version of a childhood bad room. "There was a room in my grandparents' house that was the ‘wicked room.’ It was my father's old bedroom and I don't see how he ever managed to sleep there," Willims explained. "It was always about 15 degrees colder than any other room in the house. I had a hard time even staying in the room by myself.”

Barbara Tolstrup, a lifelong resident of Malden and active member of the city’s historical society, interviewed me for her monthly show Malden Square on MATV. Like most typical New Englanders, she was initially skeptipical when we talked about the paranormal. However, she sheepishly opened up when I asked her if she ever experienced a haunting in her home that has been passed down several generations.

“I myself have been known to be sitting in the den and then see something at the corner of my eye through the double doors in the livingroom,” Tolstrup recalled. “I look again and there’s nothing there. This happens frequently.” Tolstrup told me that guests in her family her historic home have had similar ghostly encounters. She suspects it’s her grandfather or great grandfather keeping an eye on the family’s decades-old home. “It probably is a family member because the house has been in our family for a hundred years.”

As a paranormal researcher, I generally stay away from residential hauntings. Why? Because the phenomenon hits a little too close to home for me. I had my own experience with a “bad room” and it was my bedroom and office in a creepy old Victorian home on Hall Avenue in the Boston area.

While writing my first book, Ghosts of Boston: Haunts of the Hub in 2012, my sensitivity to what could be the spirit realm kicked into high gear. In fact, my old home in Somerville’s Davis Square apparently had a playful older female poltergeist with an affinity for scissors. One night, I invited a friend over who claimed to have some sort of psychic ability. He said that she was a seamstress and mentioned, without hesitation, the various things she did in the house to make her presence known.

While writing the book, an unseen force opened doors that were firmly shut. Lights mysteriously turned on and off without provocation. According to my roommate, scissors have disappeared and then reappeared over the years in the three-floor Gothic-decorated home. One night while I was writing into the wee hours on the Boston Harbor Islands’ Lady in Black myth, I noticed a gray-haired female figure wearing an old-school white nightgown and donning fuzzy slippers dart across the first floor. I ran downstairs and noticed that the closet door had been mysteriously opened and the lights had been turned on while I was upstairs hacking away at my computer. My roommate was out of town. No one else was there.

The poltergeist activity on Hall Avenue turned inexplicably dark around Halloween of 2012.

While writing my second book, Ghosts of Cambridge, I fled my room with a “boo!” in Somerville’s Davis Square. It was May 2013. At this point, the ghostly incidents escalated after the initial encounter.

While I was preparing for the launch party for my first book at Boston’s Old South Meeting House, the scissors sitting on the front-room table mysteriously started to spin, and one night, during an interview with Paranormal State’s Ryan Buell’s Paranormal Insider Radio, I heard a loud knock on my bedroom door. I quickly opened it, but no one was there. Oddly, the phantom knocking continued throughout the phone interview. I wasn’t afraid.

Months after I submitted the manuscript for Ghosts of Boston, a construction crew was hired to paint the exterior of the house. Apparently, the spirit I called “Scissor Sister” didn’t like the ruckus outside. What was supposed to be a month-long project turned into more than a year. The first crew of painters claimed that paint brushes would disappear and ladders would fall. One guy, tormented by a series of inexplicable incidents, asked me if the place was haunted. I sheepishly nodded, and I never saw him again. After a series of freaked-out painters, scaffolding from the top floor fell on my roommate’s car.

The gig was up. I decided to move.

Master psychic Denise Fix picked up on the spirit of the seamstress during our second interview. “She’s not trying to scare you. She wants your attention,” Fix said, sitting at a table that, oddly, was a repurposed Singer sewing machine. “She sewed for many people and felt quite tortured a lot of the time. She was celebrated by you, and she thanks you for that. She was released from whatever bound her there,” Fix continued. “And it wasn’t a good thing to be bound there.”

Two weeks later, I moved out. My last night in the house was memorable. My roommate’s exotic parrot escaped from its cage and perched on the oven’s open flame. The bird was quickly engulfed in flames but didn’t catch fire. The bird was unharmed. While carrying boxes down the stairs, I slipped. I felt something hold me back as I watched the box fall down the stairs. Glass shattered. It could have been me. I fled the haunted house on Hall Avenue and haven’t looked back … until now.

Peter Muise, a friend and fellow History Press author, posted about a bizarre cryptid encounter from the 1980s on his blog New England Folklore here.

“A young woman named Karen bought a Victorian-era house outside of Somerville's Davis Square in 1983.

She liked living there, but there were a few things that seemed a little odd. The basement often flooded, which was annoying, but Karen suspected that something else was going on,” Muise wrote.

“She often felt uncomfortable near the back wall of her house, particularly on the second and third floors.

She kept her spare clothing up on the third floor but got such weird vibes that she did not go up there at night. She had tried sleeping in the back bedroom on the second floor, but did so only briefly because she felt uncomfortable there as well. She felt that there was something in the room with her at night,” he continued.

Karen was featured in The Ghostly Register by Arthur Myers."I had a feeling of a presence at night, of its being almost like an an animal, as though it had claws or wanted to bite me,” she recalled.

According to The Ghostly Register, Karen and her roommate reached out to a Cambridge psychic who said the poltergeist-like activity wasn’t a ghost … but a troll.

“The troll was apparently connected with an underground spring that ran under the house and that caused the basement flooding,” Muise explained. “When the house was built on top of the spring the troll became trapped and would send its energy up along the back wall of the house. Karen had always felt its presence in the house, but the troll increased its activity once the roommate moved in and started to sleep near that wall.”

The troll supposedly revealed himself during the ritual and begged Karen to let him stay. She asked the cryptid to leave and the troll haunting and basement flooding mysteriously stopped.

However, did the troll have any ties to my paranormal encounter in 2012? After reading Muise’s post, it turns out the troll incident was literally across the street from old home on Hall Avenue.

“I am so curious where in the Davis Square area this happened. I lived in a Victorian near Davis Square and had what we believed to be a poltergeist who had an affinity for scissors ... maybe she was a troll?” I joked online. However, Muise’s response made my jaw drop.

“According to Myers the troll house was 35 Hall Avenue. It’s weird there is so much strange phenomena on one street,” he responded. I gasped. My old home on Hall Avenue was a stone’s throw to the troll incident from the 1980s.

Muise suggested that maybe the troll just moved across the street. Or perhaps Karen was experiencing poltergeist activity and somehow mistook it as a mythical monster. For the record, there was a movie called Troll that came out around the time of this alleged cryptid encounter.

Did whatever Karen and her roommate experience in the 1980s somehow set up shop across the street? In hindsight, I believe it did.

About the Author: Sam Baltrusis, author of Ghosts of Boston, Ghosts of Salem and 13 Most Haunted in Massachusetts, is the former editor-in-chief of several regional publications including Spare Change News, Scout Somerville and Scout Cambridge. He has been featured as Boston's paranormal expert on the Biography Channel's "Haunted Encounters," and he is also a sought-after lecturer who speaks at dozens of paranormal-related events throughout New England. http://hauntedbostonharbor.com/ https://www.facebook.com/sam.baltrusis Twitter: @LoadedGun http://www.amazon.com/Sam-Baltrusis/e/B00991S864

Initiation Pagan Eyes Book 1 Rayna Noire Genre: Paranormal Time Travel YA/NA Publisher: Sleeping Dragon ISBN: 978-0615915807 ISBN: 0615915809 Number of pages: 208 Word Count: 68,528 Cover Artist: Dawne Dominique Book Description: Being a teen witch is no sitcom with canned laugh tracks. It's especially hard when your crush's family is old school burn the witches at the stake type.

Leah decides not to mention her membership in the black hat society if it will score her points with Dylan. If only life was that easy.

Best friend Stella pulls her in to a tolerance project that tests Leah's beliefs by sending her hurtling through time where people really do burn witches. If that isn't enough, everyone back in times old and smelly recognize her as the local mean girl.

Fast thinking, luck, and whole lot of magick might get her out of her current dilemma; then again, it might not.

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Initiation Excerpt No sooner had they scooted into the back seat and slammed the taxi door than her grandmother turned to her with a knowing look. “Come into your powers, have you?”

“Nana, please.” She angled her head to the cab driver, hoping to convey her need for privacy. A snort answered her pleas as they both settled into the tobacco-smoke-tainted back seat. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of smoking ban in public places? Then again, it might have been her. Turning her head, she sniffed the shoulder of her uniform shirt again. Still smelled like wood smoke, pine trees, and that disgusting fish she’d eaten. How could that be?

Her grandmother leaned over and sniffed her clothes, too. A thoughtful look crossed her face as she pointed to Leah’s ankles, which were caked with mud and leaves. Where had that come from and why hadn’t the principal noticed? Nana said nothing, honoring Leah’s desire not to talk publicly.

Looking out the cab window, Leah noted the brown grass and the withered leaves on the trees. The drought hadn’t dealt well with the area. It took rain usually to make mud. She picked a small green leaf from her mudencrusted legs. Twirling it between two fingers, she knew it hadn’t come from here.

Where would she have encountered mud and green leaves in the few short steps from her father’s sedan to the school doors? The flight through the woods had garnered the mud and leaves. It had been real, not a vision or daydream. If her run through the woods with Sabina, Henry, and Margaret had happened, then that meant the man in the throne-like chair existed. Remembering the man’s crazed eyes and hate-filled voice caused her to shiver. How could she stop this?

Grandmother Always Knows by Rayna Noire Luna rattled the ice in her cocktail while she squinted at the wall clock. The long hand had only made it to the four. Seriously, only twenty minutes had passed. The Halloween party was the brainchild of her employer’s wife.

As a witch, she wasn’t into Halloween parties with the cheesy costumes and heavy drinking. Nope, she spent the season in contemplation or possibly divination. When the veil between the two worlds was the thinnest, her deceased grandmother spoke to her. She could have sworn Nana told her she’d meet her soul mate soon. Her granny also warned her that things weren’t as they seemed.

Calvin from HR weaved around the people to reach her. Normally, she liked the man, but his drunken leer announced his current state.

“Hey Luna, why don’t the two of us go outside and look at the stars?”

Her immediate response was to brush him off, but despite his soaked state he might remember her rudeness. “It won’t work. Too much light pollution to see anything.”

The man blinked owlishly at her, making her wonder if he understood anything she had said. Luna put up a hand. “Oh, it’s my girlfriend. I need to talk to her. Pardon.” She strolled away, questioning if Calvin could be her soul mate. She shook her head. Couldn’t be.

There were several unfamiliar faces in the crowded great room. At least no one was wearing costumes. She should be grateful for that since people dressing up as witches irritated her. Not sure if evil witch or sexy witch annoyed her more, since both were stereotypes.

A gorgeous man nodded at her and smiled. Well, well, the night suddenly looked promising. The people parted enough to reveal more of the tall, handsome…. priest. The former promising man was the final straw. Time to go home and see if she could reach Nana since she must have misunderstood the message. It could have been what she had wanted to hear as opposed to what she needed to hear.

Luna pivoted and made a beeline for the door.

“Stop, wait.”

She threw a backward glance over her shoulder, noticing the priest heading her way. She blinked.

Obviously, the clergy was more aggressive these days. He was going to either ask her when she last attended mass or ask if she had any sins to confess.

Luna managed to slip outside where she could see her namesake, the moon. The door slammed, revealing the priest had followed her.

“Hey,” she held up her hands, “Not interested. Witch here.” Usually, that line scared most away, except the very drunk.

An amused expression crossed the man’s face as he strolled closer. “Glad to hear it. I’m not a priest.”

He held out his hand. A silver pentacle ring on his pinkie glimmered in the dim light.

Luna took his hand. He wrapped his fingers around her palm and held on. An energy flowed between them, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. She knew this man; at least her soul recognized him.

“That’s a relief.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “My name’s Rowan and yours is Luna.”

“How did you know?” Perhaps he could read minds.

“Ah, well, I think my brother, your boss, set us up. He knew I hadn’t much luck finding a nice Pagan woman.”

“The costume?”

Rowan laughed, then winked. “My brother can be a bit of a practical joker, but he has a good heart.”

Grandmother knew all along.

About the Author: Rayna Noire is an author and a historian. The desire to uncover the truth behind the original fear of witches led her to the surprising discovery that people believed in magick in some form up to 150 years ago. A world that believed the impossible could happen and often did must have been amazing. With this in mind, Ms. Noire taps into this dimension, shapes it into stories about Pagan families who really aren’t that different from most people. They do go on the occasional adventures and magick happens. www.facebook.com/AuthorRaynaNoire www.twitter.com/raynanoire www.raynanoire.weebly.com https://youtu.be/3EiPyWu7nYA

Charm City The Demon Whisperer Book One Ash Krafton Genre: urban fantasy Publisher: Red Fist Fiction Date of Publication:

August 23, 2016

ASIN: B01J42MO7Q Number of pages: 174 Word Count: 48,000 Cover Artist: Ash Krafton

Book Description: The darkness is rising and one man stands against it: the exorcist mage Simon Alliant. But in Baltimore, he finally meets his match...a part-mortal divinity with the power to whisper away demons.

Simon Alliant is an exorcist who battles demons, whether he wants to or not. Sometimes it's not so bad...he gets to play with magic, after all. But for Simon, magic represents a demon of another kind. He's addicted to magic and it takes more than a handful of charms to keep that particular demon at bay.

Chiara is part Light, part Dark, and stubbornly mortal. The woman has a way with words: she literally talks demons into abandoning their human hosts. Simon thinks that's not the only trick she has up her sleeve-and that's pretty high praise coming from a mage like him.

As intriguing as that may be, Simon has too many reasons to distrust her...one of them being his more-or-less partner, an angelic Watcher. Amidst all the celestial warnings of the rising dark comes a new prophesy that makes him wonder: is Chiara a threat to him and all of mankind?

Or will she be his salvation?

Amazon Excerpt: CHARM CITY: The Demon Whisperer #1 by Ash Krafton CHAPTER ONE "You seem much improved, Mr. Murphy." The social worker folded her hands on top of his file, a fat manypaged collection of his previous ins and outs. Saint Berenice had become more than a temporary lay-over. It was starting to feel like home.

Which meant he'd stayed too long. "Feeling better, sweetheart. Time I move on."

"But you were extremely vulnerable when you arrived. I must insist." She shook her head, peering into his eyes.

He avoided that burrowing gaze and stared at the folder. A photograph was paper-clipped to the cover, the name KEVIN MURPHY printed in block letters across the top. Dark hair, dark eyes. What his mom would have called "properly Black Irish", clipped and shaved like a dandy. He snorted a soft derisive sound, knowing that he looked

nothing like that when he was at his worst. That's the picture they should have—rumpled shirt, straggly almost-beard, dark rings beneath gray ghost eyes, the magic still burning through his veins. On the wagon was such a school boy look.

"Kevin." Her voice made him look up again. "For your own sake."

"I'm not doing this for my sake. I'm doing it for yours."

She bit her lips, a look of resignation on her face. "I think that this is premature. You feel rested, don't you? You look healthier. But it wasn't just anxiety that brought you back here, or the worry of a relapse. You are avoiding the true reason you haven't attained peace."

"I avoid a lot of stuff. It's how I stay alive."

"But your addiction—" "You don't know the first thing about my addiction." Simon regretted the sharpness of his tone but was unable to soften it. "Don't presume the answer lies here among your group therapy and your Jungian theories and your psychological voodoo. If I say I'm better, it's because it's as better as I'm going to get."

A long silence passed between them. She'd never been anything but polite to him, even helpful at times; the game was different now. Truths were going to out themselves, truths that tended to drag everyone nearby down with them.

He'd hurt her, just now. He couldn't prevent collateral damage but he had a duty to minimize it. Even if it meant he had to be an asshole to do it.

"You have to sign here to discharge yourself against doctor's orders," she said, her voice heavy. She flipped open the back cover to a printed medical form.

"I checked myself in." He took her pen and signed the bottom of the paper with a flourish. Kevin Murphy. As good a name as any, but he could never get the letter v right. Maybe it was time for a new alias. "I can do the same in reverse."

The therapist sighed and closed the file. She pulled a yellow envelope out of a basket. Opening it, she tipped the contents out onto the signed paperwork.

Wallet, cell phone, wristwatch, religious medallions, the wand. It rolled toward him and he snatched it up, shoving it into his breast pocket before collecting the other items. "Ah. My worry-stick. I was looking for that."

"Kevin, I don't think a simple worry-stick is enough to conquer the demons inside you."

"We'll not talk about my demons, sweetheart. Not when they can hear you." His smile faded, his eyes going glassy and hard. "Until next time, eh?"

He snapped an about-face and strode out of her office, down the taupe-colored hallway toward the door, pausing until he heard the electronic buzz of the lock release. He left the facility, doors slamming shut behind him.

The air was balmy, remnants of sea air tainted by traffic fumes as it filtered through miles of city sprawl. Ah. He inhaled deeply through his nose. The smell of freedom. Good to be out and about again.

Then again, he'd had a similar thought when he checked himself in month ago. Shrugging, he straightened his jacket and set off toward the news stand on the corner. Freedom came in many forms.

He hadn't made it to the sidewalk before a warm wind and the scent of clean linen surrounded him.

"Simon."

He caught the whispered sound of his real name and tilted his head toward it.

His real name was nearly an unknown thing these days, especially after having played the role of Kevin Murphy, career mental case and junkie from Boston's darker side. He'd created the alias so long ago that he'd nearly forgotten the details of Kevin's manufactured life.

If only his time as Kevin allowed him to forget his life as Simon.

Looking around, he spotted a tall, pale man wearing a tunic and loose pants, leaning against a tree. Sandy brown hair fell in soft curls to his shoulders, framing a sculpted face that seemed unbeguiling.

So out of place in modern Boston. If the dude wasn't careful, he'd get mugged. Good thing he was more or less invisible to ordinary people.

The tall man straightened himself and walked toward him. A vague mist hung about his shoulders, trailing behind him like a shadowy fog.

It would have seemed unnatural if Simon didn't spend so much time hanging about on the wrong side of nature.

Odd mists weren't enough to put him off. They weren't even enough for him to mention.

"Mack." Simon looked him up and down. Sandals. Another reason to mug him. He really needed to get with the times. "Long time, no see. What, you couldn't visit even once? Not even on Tuesdays? We had Taco Tuesdays, buddy. You really missed out."

"You were trying to regain your sanity, Simon." The man's voice was smooth and melodious, a mild accent that couldn't be pinned down to any one region. Or millennium, for that matter. "I doubt visions of an angel would have helped."

"Shoot, sanity. It was good old R and R." "Was it, now?" Mack pursed his lips, eyes brows raised. He had a very human-like quality to his features, if one ignored the ghost of his wings. "I thought it was…antidepressants and group therapy."

"Well, the first week or two. But then nothing but spa days from there on out."

"Mmm." The angel smiled, a gentle radiance that elevated his already-beautiful features. "A solid month of being magic-free? How did it feel?"

Simon ruffled his hair. He couldn't lie, not to the one entity that had never lied to him. Magic and free never belonged in the same sentence. "Feels like I can use a smoke. Shall I buy my ciggies now or after we land?"

"After. We need to get your boots on the ground right away."

"I just got out of the looney bin, pal. Give me a moment to acclimate."

Mack slowly shook his head. "There was a gathering at the Ladder today. Simon…the darkness is rising."

"Why not?" Simon hung his head, defeated. "Can we just skip the Metatron light show and just have the down and dirty? They held my afternoon Valium and my head is splitting."

"But you lose the surety—" "I've never gotten anything but the straight shit from you, Mack. So let's have it."

"There is a…traitor."

He rolled his eyes. Half of Mack's heavenly announcements began with those same words. "There's always a traitor. Why does this one get divine attention?"

"Because it's an internal concern. A child of the Light has one foot in the darkness. It needs to be handled…delicately."

"And you need good old Simon Alliant to be the heavy. Figures. Nobody else willing to get their wings dirty." He cracked his neck and spared a forlorn glance at the newsstand down the street. "Where, this time?"

"Baltimore."

Simon groaned. The original Charm City. He'd taken a great deal of ribbing from an old master about previous sojourns there. A man who used amulets for a living had no business in a city with so trite a nickname. "I hate being that close to D.C." "You can complain afterwards." The angel stepped behind Simon and wrapped his arms around his chest, emitting a soft glow that began to encompass them both.

"I usually do." Simon closed his eyes, waiting for the pull and the drop.

The power hit swiftly like freefall, pulling his breath out in a gush.

For a moment, his essence was caught between two places, his molecules stretched apart, his spirit suspended in a void. Memory couldn't reach him here. His past couldn't catch up to him here. It was a perfect singularity, this being in the now.

True freedom, the shortest lived of its kind. Yet the perfection of the moment was tainted. Tainted with a dread he couldn't outrun.

He dreaded the inevitable instant this tiny reprieve would end.

About the Author: Ash Krafton is the author of award-winning urban fantasy and paranormal romance. She also the author of the Victorian paranormal bestseller, THE HEARTBEAT THIEF, which she wrote under the pen name AJ Krafton.

She recently launched a new urban fantasy series titles "The Demon Whisperer"; readers can find the first book, CHARM CITY, on Amazon today.

Website: www.ashkrafton.com

Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/ashkrafton Blog: http://ash-krafton.blogspot.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/ashkraftonauthor Twitter: www.twitter.com/ashkrafton Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/ash_krafton Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/demimondeash/ Instagram: www.instagram.com/ash_krafton Pocket Full of Tinder Noon Onyx Book 4 Jill Archer Genre: Fantasy Publisher: Black Willow Word Count: ~ 85,000 Cover Artist: Rebecca Frank

Book Description: Noon Onyx is back! In this long-awaited fourth installment, Jill Archer returns readers to the dangerous world of Halja, where demons, angels, and humans coexist in an uneasy state of détente.

Maegester-in-Training Noon Onyx feels like she’s done it all – mastered fiery magic, become an adept fighter, learned the law, killed countless demons, and survived having her heart broken by both love and an arrow, but now she’ll face her greatest challenge yet…

Far to the north lies an outpost famous for its unrest – Rockthorn Gorge. The town’s patron has specifically requested Noon’s help. Her assignment? Help the neophyte demon lord build his fiefdom and keep what’s his. The problem? Lord Aristos – Noon’s new employer – is her erstwhile lover, Ari Carmine, the aforementioned heartbreaker. And the number one thing he wants is her.

When Rockthorn Gorge’s viaduct is destroyed by Displodo, an enigmatic bomber, killing a dozen settlers and wounding scores more, Noon sets off early to aid in the search and rescue. Ari is listed among the missing and the suspects are legion. But Noon’s search is just the beginning. Her journey forces Noon to confront not only those she loves, but also enemies hell-bent on destroying them.

Some things can’t be mended, they can only be mourned…

Excerpt POCKET FULL OF TINDER Noon Onyx #4

The claw-and-ball had been chewed clean off. It lay on a patch of sunny parquet floor, just to the right of an antique, aubergine wool rug now covered with the splintered remnants of an eleventh century pedestal table and one very large, ghastly looking, somewhat repentant barghest.

Nova’s head rested on her front paws as her gaze shifted warily from me to Miss Bister, Megiddo’s dormater, or house mother.

“Megiddo’s lobby is not a kennel, Miss Onyx. That”—she motioned dismissively toward Nova—“beast can no longer be housed here.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Miss Bister continued speaking, her tone rising only infinitesimally, her back as stiff as Luck’s lance must have been, and her expression just as hard. She pointed toward the previously priceless, three-footed piece of furniture that was now a worthless, two-footed pile of kindling.

“No amount of money – or magic – can fix that, Nouiomo. It’s beyond repair. I warned you. I made an exception to my ‘no pets’ rule because you never cause trouble. You never forget your key; you promptly pick up your deliveries; you change your own light bulbs; you double bag your trash. You leave nothing behind in the bathroom; you don’t monopolize the washing machines; you are exceedingly polite to the lift operator; you don’t sing in the shower.”

I suppressed a sigh. After a year and a half of painstaking efforts, harrowing experiences, and endless hours of education, my worth had just been measured by the fact that I could change a light bulb. I’d mastered fiery magic, become an adept fighter, learned the law, killed countless demons (one regrettably, the others much less so), freed myriad immortals from an accursed, tortured bondage, and survived having my heart nearly destroyed by both love and an arrow, yet none of that meant bupkis next to the fact that I double bagged my trash. And yet…

I couldn’t really argue with Miss Bister either. Everything she’d said was true. And who was I to tell her what she should deem important? I respected that she valued domestic order and antiques. I did too, if not nearly as much as I valued the thing that now threatened our continued access to such. I glared at Nova, who swept one paw over her eyes as if she could hide from me and the evidence of what she’d done.

Barghests are giant hellhounds. They’re bigger than bears, fiercer than rabid raccoons, and uglier than naked mole rats. Their teeth are the size of railroad spikes, their claws as sharp as a sickle, their breath as foul as sewage gas.

But they are also affectionate, brave, and loyal. What barghests lack in magic, they make up for in devotion. And even though I was plenty mad at Nova for chewing up Miss Bister’s table, I also knew it wasn’t Nova’s fault.

It was mine – for thinking the lobby of a demon law school dormitory would be a good place to keep her.

“Miss Bister, please,” I said. “I’m truly sorry. I know I can’t replace that exact table. But if you would just allow me to—” “No,” Miss Bister said simply. “Either the beast goes… Or you do.”

I stared at the small, frail, magicless woman in front of me, trying desperately to think of some way to fix this problem. Wasn’t there something I could do, or say, or offer her that would make amends and convince her not to kick us out?

But all I could think of was how useless some of the things our society valued most were. As Miss Bister had pointed out, neither magic nor money would help. If I was going to repair the table, I’d need to find another way.

Which would take time. And that meant I’d need to find somewhere else for us to sleep tonight. Because if the beast was going… I was too.

“Yes, Miss Bister,” I said. “I understand.”

She narrowed her eyes, slightly suspicious of my now gracious defeat since I’d just spent the last half-hour trying to persuade her to accept various forms of reparation. But then she nodded, handed me a couple of paper bin bags, and left.

I slid one bag inside the other and stooped down to pick up the slobbery remains of Nova’s mangled chew toy.

When I finished, she came over to me and nudged my arm with her head. She let out a woofy whine.

Was she sorry? She darn well better be!

I gave her a scratch behind the ears.

“Now that you’ve sharpened your teeth on my former dormater’s furniture, are you ready to eat some real food for breakfast?”

Creature Feature: Halja’s Demons and Beasts One of the fun things about writing a dark fantasy series is that I get to create different creatures, beasts, and demons for each book. Many of the characters in my novels are true monsters. But others are harbingers, mentors, tricksters, and lovers.

In honor of Halloween, our darkest holiday, here’s a sampling of demons and beasts from the NOON ONYX SERIES.

SERAFINA FROM DARK LIGHT OF DAY In my first book, I stuck with the familiar – literally. One of my favorite bit characters from that book is Serafina, a demon familiar. Noon should have been more careful… Pandora’s box isn’t the only thing that shouldn’t have been opened.

A familiar? My hand shook slightly as I held the ball up by its chain to peer at it

more closely. There was a demon in there. No matter how small, the thought should have been mildly terrifying. But instead I felt wonderfully intoxicated and numb around the edges, like I’d drank too much wine at a party. I looked for the button but couldn’t find it. I twisted and turned the ball, holding it up to the afternoon light streaming through my dormitory window, and finally found the catch. I pushed it gently with my thumb and the ball sprang open.

Immediately the intoxicated, numb feeling went supernova. Serafina’s signature made me feel like my body had been liquefied and then turned inside out to congeal in the cold. I suddenly craved warmth and this demon was the only source that could satisfy.

I stared at her, hardly able to reconcile her with a lifetime of imagined fears. Haljan myths and legends spoke of brutish beasts hell-bent on fury and destruction. Haljan paintings, bas reliefs, and statuaries also often depicted demons as cruel fiends and vicious monsters. But Serafina didn’t look dangerous. She looked ungainly.

She belched and stretched, glaring at me through two black eyes the size of beads.

She was naked but it was no pretty sight. Her body, though diminutive, was bloated as though she’d died in the Lethe and been left too long. Her skin was a grayish, sickly looking green, and she rubbed her distended belly with one clawed hand as she grinned malevolently at me.

CURIOSITAS AND CATTUS FROM FIERY EDGE OF STEEL In the second book, I introduced two mythological characters, who underscored one of the book’s main themes – knowledge. Like many folktales, their story is playful… with a hint of deadly…

They say Curiositas killed Cattus.

But no one really knows.

Curiositas was a fairly youngish demon living in the twelfth century, only a few decades old, when he met the gorgeously supple and fiercely feline demoness Cattus.

When he asked her what she most wanted to do on their dates, Cattus kept telling Curiositas, “You don’t want to know.” But Curiositas, being Curiositas, kept at

Cattus day and night, although mostly by night, because Cattus was nocturnal.

Curiositas, on the other hand, was a day creature, all flecked with gold and shining brilliance. His preferred haunt was the Lethe and the two met at the docks every day at dusk.

Cattus would stare into the great murky depths of the Lethe, searching for any sign of Curiositas. Sometimes her ears would twitch. Sometimes her tail. Sometimes her eyes would grow big as saucers and her haunches would wriggle in anticipation.

Curiositas never fully breached the surface of the water. He liked to tease Cattus, as she teased him. He gave her glimpses only of himself: a tiny bit of fin, a stream of bubbles, a patch of orange gold twisting just beneath the surface, sparkling, shimmering, just out of reach.

There’s a romantic version of the story the Hyrkes like to tell. Some nonsense about the two demons being doomed lovers. But that’s not the version I was told, nor is it the version I believe. Unlike the Hyrkes, I don’t have any romantic notions about demons. They’re much worse than Maegesters. Much. And that’s why I know— although I wish I didn’t—what Cattus most wanted to do with Curiositas. And that’s why I believe the version that puts an end to Cattus’ hunger.

Ivy, my Hyrke roommate, never gets my version of the story.

“Ends Cattus’ hunger?” she always asks, frowning and exasperated. “What does that mean? Did Cattus finally catch Curiositas? Or did Curiositas really kill her?”

And, every time, I always wink and tell her: “You don’t want to know.”

THE BARGHESTS FROM WHITE HEART OF JUSTICE In the third book, I added barghests to the beastly mix of creatures featured in the series.

The barghests looked as horrible as their food. Only in the vaguest sense did they resemble dogs. They had four legs, a tail, claws, and jaws full of sharp canine teeth.

But barghests are to dogs the way drakons are to bats. First off, they were huge.

Everything about them was bigger and meaner. On four legs their faces were even with mine. Upon seeing them it became easy to imagine a demon like Lilith riding one. They had barrel chests and wolfish grins. Their teeth were as large as horns and their paws four times the size of Rafe’s booted foot. And their fur . . . well, let’s just say seeing it on the living creature didn’t improve its appearance. It reminded me of long, thick, tangled rat fur. I shuddered and tried to reconcile myself to the fact that, so long as I didn’t get eaten by one in the pen today, two of them would be under my care by midday.

“So which of you is first?” Linnaea said, motioning to the pen.

“Do we lasso them? Saddle them?” Rafe asked. Hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels surveying them. “Cast a spell over them?”

Linnaea snorted. “I wouldn’t cast a spell over them at first. In time, as they get used to you, you might be able to cast something simple over them, but don’t start that way. In the beginning, all you’re going to do is let them get used to you. They’ll try to push you around. See what you’re made of. They’re as curious about you as you are about them. Don’t show any fear.”

Like dogs and demons, I thought.

“I’ll go first,” I said, walking over to the gate. “What about waning magic? What’s their response to that?”

Linnaea smiled, but it wasn’t reassuring. “That depends on the user.” She walked over to the gate and held it open for me.

“You’re not coming in?” I asked, trying to ignore the growls coming from the beasts behind her.

“Nah, it’s better if you go in alone,” she said, winking at me.

Better for who? Her or me?

THE MYRIAD DEMONS FROM POCKET FULL OF TINDER The upcoming fourth book takes place in Rockthorn Gorge, a bustling mountain town where so many demons live, it’s often called a “demonic anthill.” Noon is sent there to make nice with the demons who follow the law… and to find the one who isn’t.

Shortly after sunrise, we reached the rim of the gorge. Even though I stood on solid ground and there was no immediate danger of falling into it, my stomach dropped as if I had. The gorge was enormous – a near-vertical drop into a dark chasm hundreds of feet below us. At the bottom, the Acheron River was dry. I knew from the materials in my dossier that the river had been diverted during construction. The plans and specs called for the viaduct to be converted into a dam. Gazing at the wreckage below, however, I knew the project had once again been set back. Huge stone blocks and other pieces of debris were strewn about the dry riverbed as if they were toy building blocks that had been kicked over by a child with a temper. But it hadn’t been a child. It had been a bomber – one who’d killed almost a hundred people, possibly more.

One who’d possibly killed Ari. All through the night, I’d managed to ignore my growing panic. Ari was strong and powerful… robust and nearly invincible…

Wasn’t he?

But standing at the edge of Halja’s northern-most ravine, staring down at what looked like an army of ants rather than a rescue party made up of demons and men, I could no longer ignore my feelings. I was afraid. Not of falling into the gorge, but of what I might find at the bottom.

About the Author: Jill Archer writes dark, genre-bending fantasy from rural Maryland. Her novels include Dark Light of Day, Fiery Edge of Steel, White Heart of Justice, and Pocket Full of Tinder. She loves cats, coffee, books, movies, day tripping, and outdoor adventuring.

Website: http://www.jillarcher.com/ Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bAzF7n Blog: https://jillarcherauthor.wordpress.com/blog/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/archer_jill Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jillarcherauthor Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5782149.Jill_Archer