Sweetheart
-- EXCERPT: “Can I ask you something?” he said. “Okay…” “Why are you dressed like that?” I lifted a brow. “Like a blueberry?” Sam gave a shrug. “I was going to say a cross between Elsa and Cinderella.” “Well, well,” I said, “the Sam Bishop knows his princesses. Who would’ve guessed?” “Thanks to my sister,” he said. “And I still don’t get why you keep saying the before my name. Makes no sense.” It made sense to me. He’d always been the Sam Bishop in my head. As in the one and only, the original, the Sam Bishop who stole my heart at age ten and refused to give it back. I couldn’t say any of that to him, though, so I just shrugged. “I was hired to play a wedding,” I said. “And they asked you to dress like a princess?” I shook my head. “The bride wanted a very specific shade of blue. Not baby blue, aqua or cornflower. Royal blue is what they asked for. This is what I had, so…” Sam nodded. “Looks good on you.” “Yeah, right,” I said with a scoff. “I’m serious.” Feeling my cheeks heat, I crossed my arms. “Gotta be honest, though, I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to fit all that in the car. That’s a lot of material.” His words startled a laugh out of me, and I gave a mental curse. I would not be charmed by him. The guy couldn’t even remember my name for goodness sakes. “Is part of it still hanging out the door or…?” he said innocently. “Ha ha,” I said, “very funny, Bishop.” “Got a laugh out of you, Kent.” Well. At least he remembered my last name, I thought. “And I’m assuming if I hadn’t been able to fit inside your inadequately-sized sports car”—he scoffed—”you would’ve just left me on the side the road?” Sam shook his head. “Nah, I would’ve just had you take the dress off.”
GIVEAWAY! A Strange Affinity
-- EXCERPT: Glory adored her new magician’s studio. The space was outfitted as a smith’s shop, furnished with a long workbench, a wall hung with gently worn but serviceable tools, and a small, portable blacksmith’s forge. She was awkward with many of the tools at first but grew better and more proficient by the day. Glory worked long into the evenings, well past the end of her classes. She came to love the feeling of being surrounded by scraps of different metals: gold, silver, copper, and iron. It felt like being surrounded by friends, or family. It was hard for Glory to describe but she felt that each metal had a different personality. Glory thrived under Jacinda’s tutelage. She went on to master a series of ever-challenging tasks she had set before her: Molding new shapes, melding metals together, and extracting the elements. Soon each new task seemed easier than the last. In a recent conversation, Jacinda had warned Glory these new skills were among the easiest for a magician. True transformation of physical properties was much harder, and in some cases, impossible without several years of further study. “Lead to gold?” Glory had asked, skepticism and humor in her voice. She remembered reading such silly tales among her father’s library. Jacinda had chuckled. “Not quite. You’re bound by the chemical properties of the source material. But with study and practice, who knows what’s possible? The magical properties of metal are vastly understudied and largely composed of myths and legends about alchemy. And because there are so few metal magicians, we still don’t know what they — you — are capable of.”
GIVEAWAY! The Secret of Sweet Treats Kingdom
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: A rumbling sound filled my ears and the ground started tilting and rolling. The light hanging over the dining room table began swaying and the wood mini-blinds rubbing against the windows sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Amber?” Ava grabbed my hand and held on tight. “Don’t worry. It’s just an earthquake.” Growing up in Southern California you got used to this kind of thing. “Remember what they taught you at school? Drop, cover, and hold on?” I pulled her toward the dining room table to hide beneath it, although I was positive by the time we got into position the quake would be over. We were ten steps away from the table when Ava stopped walking. She yanked my arm and started pulling me backward, toward the family room. I heard the crash of glass breaking on the kitchen tile and was glad I had flip-flops on. Our family portrait fell from the dining room wall, the glass splintering from the black frame sent shards of glass flying across the room. A small piece caught my ankle, sending a sting up my leg. “Knock it off, shrimp. We need to get under the table right now!” While I had been in several earthquakes, this felt different. It wasn’t slowing or stopping, like I thought it would. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was scared. Could this be the “big one” grownups talked about? Instead of letting me lead her toward the dining table, Ava began pulling me harder toward the family room. With my feet sliding on the slick tile, I couldn’t stop. “What’s that?” I had never heard my sister screech like that before, so I turned around to see what she was talking about. The small fragments of the Sweet Treats board game were hovering in midair, swirling in a circle, going faster and faster. The floor tilted us toward the flying pieces, and we were slipping toward the growing whirlwind. The edge of the vortex was expanding outward at a rapid rate, while the center was a dark, black hole. It looked like a giant vacuum hose, and it was sucking us toward it. My terrified sister started screaming, clinging to my legs. “Do something, Amber!” I started shrieking as I tripped over Ava, and we were pulled head first into the middle of the vortex.
GIVEAWAY! False Haven
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GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #The Hanging Night by Sasha Hibbs and Christina Hooker #YA #Romance @Xpresso Book Tours19/12/2023
The Hanging Night
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: You know you can’t see the air, and you don’t have to see it to know it’s there—it just fills the space, and you’re grateful (whether you realize it or not) because if it didn’t fill the space, you’d suffocate. That’s how I knew she was in the room. I had my head down, searching through magazines, when what I can only describe as a heat chill rippled in me, causing me to shiver and the skin on the back of my neck to tingle. When I heard the cooler door pop open, I stopped breathing and stayed perfectly still, hoping this wasn’t the day I got arrested for shoplifting … for stealing stale food and one lousy, domestic beer, no less. If I had to go to jail, I wanted it to at least be for something worth it—money, jewelry, a car. FYI: I’ve never stolen any of those things or anything like that—only necessary or completely useless items, which I know is paradoxical. Let me explain: I’d take a plastic bobble-head of an off-brand, generic Batman or a sandwich before I’d take something sentimental or valuable to an individual—it’s just how I roll, ya know? And only from stores. Like, I don’t want your shit, but if it’s some dumbass thing on a shelf in a Dollar General, it’s fair game, and of course, like I said, I learned to be my own chef at a very young age. And can I really be held responsible for what I do when I am hungry? Isn’t that a famous candy commercial these days? I wasn’t startled when she spoke, but expectant, and resigning myself to the fact that I was busted, I turned to face the girl. When I looked at her, all I saw was sadness. There wasn’t a stitch of makeup on her face, but she didn’t need any because even in sadness, she was striking. The circles under her eyes were so dark and deep, they almost echoed, but her brown irises were flat, like something was missing in them—a spark, maybe, and at the very end of her left eyebrow, there was a tiny, pink crystal. I immediately loved it—it gave her an edge no girl I’d seen in this boring ass town had. Her espresso-colored hair was knotted up in a bun with frizzy strands sticking out everywhere, which, though messy, was somehow endearing. Overall, she looked defeated, though, like all the air had been let out of her balloon. So, despite the circumstances, despite me being caught, red-handed, stealing my dinner, I immediately wanted to make her smile. So, I made jokes, trying to be cool. I’m not really into labels. “Put those back!” “C’mon. They’re five-day old pepperoni rolls. You’re going to pitch them anyway. I’m hungry.” She seemed to contemplate for a moment, tilting her head and looking at me, taking me all in, trying to figure me out. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and she let out a quick breath, seeming to judge that I wasn’t a threat. “And cigarettes? I know old people do, but what teenager smokes these days? News flash. They’re bad for you. And if you’re only hungry, what about the beer and the magazine?” “Uh … after dinner entertainment?” I asked, trying to justify myself. She reached out and grabbed for the 40oz beer I had, and as her hand brushed mine, my brain short-circuited. Ice formed around each of my ribs, cracking then melting, and in that moment, I felt the color red splash through me. She paused, momentarily looking dead into my eyes, and somehow, I knew she felt it too. Our hands had to have only touched for a nanosecond, but it passed in an eternity. The intensity—our brains somehow sharing the same image, as if connected by some weird fiber optic cable—was overwhelming, and I gasped, but the rest of my body was paralyzed as I got stuck in this strange moment with her. But for as quickly as it came and as long as it lingered, the cable snapped, and the moment broke, and the world spun in real time again. My body jerked at the sharp snap back to reality, causing me to yank my hand back, and when I did, the beer exploded in foam and glass shards at our feet, a kind of drunken mosaic.
GIVEAWAY! Rise Like a Phoenix
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: When Crooked Nose punched, David blocked. Then, with a quick elbow movement, he smacked the man’s face with the end of the rope before stepping back. The effect was rather comical. Crooked threw another punch. David pounced, wrapping the rope around the man’s wrist. Yanking the tied arm back made him double over. His eyes turned cold and hard. “Who sent you?” The man’s breath sawed in and out. “You’ve no idea whose daughter you’ve run away with, do you?” He pulled Crooked’s arm straight back some more. “Enlighten me.” “Make her tell you,” he hissed. David swallowed a lump in his throat. “She hides nothing from me.” He then snapped the man’s arm at the elbow, and grabbed Elisabeth’s hand, pulling her to a run. Her breath hitched, and the colorful bouquet of wildflowers dropped. “By the gods!” David led the way through a field of grazing sheep, toward a grove of trees. “Your father is here?” “No…” She shook her head in denial. “No, he can’t be…can he?” “You tell me!” Elisabeth let out an uncontrollable whimper. If Dad found out she was time-traveling—she was so grounded.
GIVEAWAY! Pariah’s Lament
-- EXCERPT: Like a flock of dive-bombing gulls, the great stones of the Yurrish trebuchets and catapults twisted and turned in the air. One jagged chunk struck the bow of a Karraban galley and splinters and shards burst forth to a chorus of cracks and screams. Another great boulder obliterated the masthead of a nearby ship, hurling those upon the deck overboard. More missed than struck. The yellow tide did not falter. Driven forward by oars, the Karraban fleet ate up the water, moving in a diagonal line. The trebuchets were taking an age to reload. From his vantage point, Jem could see those on the quay hurrying to winch back the catapults. At the sound of a frantic horn, the arms of the catapults were unleashed and clusters of iron balls, stones and rocks rained down on those ships leading the Karraban charge, puncturing hulls, sails and decks. Still they came. The trebuchets, ranges adjusted, loosed again and once more struck a destructive blow. The Karrabans still persisted. Yurrish archers upon the quay walls unleashed their first volley. Unfortunate rowers upon the open decks screamed, and the momentum of a number of ships waned, oars falling slack or tangling with others. One talented, or lucky, archer struck a helmsman and the galley veered into another, scraping its side and snapping its oars, and, no doubt, the arms of a few oarsmen too. The Karrabans answered with arrows of their own, their archers placed in crow’s nests and platforms built amongst the rigging. The air quickly grew thick with darts. The persistent shouts and cries of men were incrementally drowned out by the great crashes of stone against wood as the loads of catapults and trebuchets fell. The frenetic scene around the quay wall absorbed Jem’s attention. Creeping into the top of his vision, looming behind the chaos, came the first of the great galleons. Its rowers slowed, turned portside, level with the quay gate. “Sir, the galleon carries the thunder. You must stop it!” Jem shouted. Gundar looked to where he pointed and nodded. He dispatched messengers to the quay and artillery stations. Jem spotted hatches opening on the portside of the ship. Catapults continued to fire at the galleys, though some quick-thinking engineers had turned their aim to the galleon. Their loads fell short. The trebuchets were still reloading. They were the only ones who had a hope of hitting it, if any of their operators had the presence of mind to know where to aim. One by one, their great wooden arms swung forwards. Huge rocks hung in the air like eagles. Everyone upon the wall had their eyes upon them, hoping they struck, willing them to do so, and despairing as they watched each one splash harmlessly into the water.
GIVEAWAY! The Withering Trials of Gwendolyn Gray
-- EXCERPT: An Unexpected Party The phone rang, and Gwendolyn squealed in surprise. She sprang out of bed and dashed into the ruined living room, but she tripped over something dark and furry, and fell flat on her face. The black cat rubbed itself against her cheek. “Ugh.” Gwendolyn shoved the cat away and got to her feet. “As if destroying my home wasn’t enough. This is the last time I take in a stray.” The cat bounded away and Gwendolyn started toward the phone in the kitchen, but at that moment, there was a knock at the door. She froze, torn between the ringing and the knocking. But an unexpected knock was almost certainly a sign of trouble, the kind that made scratched up furniture seem tiny in comparison. The kind of trouble where polite men would politely tip their pointed caps and politely pack her away to the Home for Unclaimed Children. But when Gwendolyn opened the door, it was not to a man in a blue uniform and shiny badge, but one in a grey suit and black bowler hat. “Excuse me, Ms. Gray, er… Gwendolyn, is it?” Gwendolyn squinted warily. “Yes? Can I help you?” He took off his hat and held it in front of his chest. He had thinning hair and round features. “My name is Mr. Mason. I’m here on your mother’s invitation. Might we come in?” An icy rush of terror swept over her. Mr. Mason was her publisher, and one of the richest men in The City. Well, he was her parents’ publisher, or so he thought. Gwendolyn had never actually met the man before. All their correspondence had been by mail (and one awkward phone call where Gwendolyn had done a passable job of imitating her mother’s voice). If he was here, he would know that his star authors were really a fifteen-year-old fraud, and would find out that her parents were missing, and he would call the police, and the Childkeeper would come and take her away-- But a word tripped her racing thoughts. “Invitation? What invitation?” She darted into the hall and closed the door behind her, blocking his view of the wrecked apartment. Mr. Mason took a startled step back, and produced a card from the inside pocket of his coat. “Your parents’ dinner invitation. I would have RSVP’d earlier, but I didn’t see it in the mail until a few hours ago. I’d have overlooked it completely if my daughter hadn’t found it just in time, thank goodness.” He stepped aside to reveal a girl Gwendolyn’s own age, but taller, slimmer, blonder, and prettier in every way. Cecilia Forthright. Standing at Gwendolyn’s door with the posture of a gladiator who has scored a lethal blow on his opponent, and is preparing to feed him to the lions. It was a very specific sort of posture. “Ce—Cecilia, what are you doing here?” Gwendolyn tried to adopt some semblance of normalcy, but her hands decided that this was the time to start trembling violently, and had persuaded her legs to join in the shaking. It seemed Cecilia would not confine her bullying to the walls of the School. “Mr. Mason, I didn’t know… I mean, my parents never mentioned that you had a daughter.” A wicked gleam shone in Cecilia’s eyes. “Silly Gwendolyn, I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before. After all, he knows your parents so well.” Mr. Mason nodded. “I must say, I was quite flustered when Cecilia brought me your invitation. I hope you’ll excuse the state of me.” He gestured to his wardrobe, which was perfect in every respect as far as Gwendolyn could tell. “And since the two of you are such good friends from the School, I didn’t think you’d mind if I brought her along. She did quite a bit of begging, and I can never seem to say no to her.” He gave his daughter a adoring smile, and Cecilia beamed up at him, as innocent as a baby. Then she turned back toward Gwendolyn, innocence melting into malicious glee. “But…” Gwendolyn murmured. “Your last name is Forthright, not Mason.” Cecilia’s grinned even wider. “Oh, Mason is just the name he uses for business. Daddy hates it when people make a fuss over him. Always pestering him to read some manuscript or other.” Mr. Mason shifted his weight. “Er, may we come in? I’m quite anxious to meet your mother and father. They’re so terribly secretive. Between you and me, I was hoping to convince them to do some book signings. Did you know they’ve never made a public appearance?” “No!” Gwendolyn shouted to absolutely everything he had just said. “Father isn’t feeling well. I’m sure they wouldn’t want company just now, I’m sorry—” “Oh, pish-tosh. Go and fetch your mother darling, Marie and I can sort this out.” “No, but—” His tone turned hard. “Stop. I will not have my business dealings dictated to me by a child. Go and get your mother.” “I can’t! I mean, not yet. Mother’s not done straightening up, and I know she wouldn’t want you to see an untidy home. So, forgive the awkwardness, but if you could just wait out here for one moment…” “It’s no trouble, we’re more than happy to wait in the living room—” “Take your time, Gwenny!” Cecilia said, her voice dripping with sickening sweetness. “Believe me, we’re in no rush. We’re looking forward to a very enjoyable evening. Oh, and here. You dropped this at the School today. I begged Daddy to let me come along just so I could give it to you in person.” Cecilia held up a notebook. It was blue, with white flowers on it. She let the front cover flop open, and there the words Property of Gwendolyn Gray were written in a flowing hand. “I know how important it is to you. I couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you got it back.” The phone rang again. “Oh! Excuse me, I have to get that.” Gwendolyn snatched her notebook, darted back inside, and slammed the door before either of them could get a good look. She pressed her back against the door and tried to slow her breathing. Gwendolyn flipped through the notebook, noting her drawings, her stories, and more importantly, her journal entries. No doubt Cecilia had read every word. How her parents had been taken by the Faceless Gentlemen, and how Gwendolyn had spent the last two years impersonating them, making a living as a writer under their names, and dodging the clutches of the Home for Unclaimed Children. And likewise, there was no doubt as to who had written this “invitation.” Knowing all of this did nothing to fix the situation. Gwendolyn looked at the apartment. The place was an utter disaster. The torn furniture bled stuffing, the dining room was in disarray, and the kitchen wasn’t so much cluttered as it was downright unhygienic. She hadn’t exactly been the best housekeeper before the cat had ripped the place to shreds. But how long could she stall them? And what sort of dent could she make in this war zone? And that blasted phone just wouldn’t stop ringing. Maybe she could whip something together in the kitchen. She’d just gone to the store, so she could pretend both of her parents were sick in bed and send Cecilia and her father away after a quick bowl of oatmeal-- “Oh, poor Rosecap, what have we here?” Gwendolyn whirled to see someone sitting on the counter. A man, barefoot and clad in tight black trousers and a tight black jacket over an orange tunic that was open nearly to the naval. He was androgynous and beautiful, the very picture of eternal youth, with rich brown skin and a tousled mop of dark hair. He glowed, quite literally, filling the kitchen with a soft orange light. His pointed ears twitched as he casually flipped through Gwendolyn’s copy of The Annals of the Fae. He looked up, cocked one eyebrow, and gave her a fox’s grin. “Dost mischief come and pluck my ear?” Gwendolyn could not have been more surprised if a dozen dwarves had shown up on her doorstep. She stood frozen, with nothing but the incessantly ringing phone to break the silence. “Puck Robin!” she cried out when she had found her jaw and picked it up again. “A fellow now, as you can see, so Goodfellow is what I’ll be.” Robin gestured to indicate that they were currently in their male form, when they went by Robin Goodfellow. When in their female form, they preferred Puck Robin. Of course, there were those times when Robin was somewhere in between, but everything about Robin was fluid and unpredictable. For example, turning up uninvited in Gwendolyn’s kitchen. “Where did you come from?” Gwendolyn asked. Then she noticed the green book he was holding, full of the stories of the Fae. “Did you come out of the book?” Robin hopped down from the counter. “No, I’ve been here since the break of day, you brought me in and bade me stay.” “What? You certainly have not, I… No, no, no, you were the cat, weren’t you?” “You’ve seen that I can change my shape, it’s not just biped forms I take.” He started rifling through the cabinets and plucking out all the dishes. “Stop that!” Gwendolyn snatched a plate from his hands. “You ruined my apartment!” She slapped him on the arm, which she knew was only possible because he chose not to dodge the blow. Robin grinned again. “A bit of fun is all I’ve had, and what’s more fun than being bad?” “Is that why you’re here? For fun?” The faerie began juggling cups and plates, a dozen at a time. “A favor, I recall you owe. It’s time to pay, so off we go.” “I can’t leave now! This is a very inconvenient time for me to have a faerie in my kitchen, and—oh, for heaven’s sakes, hang on—” She picked up the still-ringing phone and slammed it back down again, silencing it. Robin stopped juggling, and the dishes crashed to the floor and shattered. “An inconvenient time? Do tell. Have I the chance to raise more hell?” “I don’t have time for this, I have to…” But Gwendolyn had a sudden idea. “Robin Goodfellow… How would you like to help me play a little trick?” Robin crossed his arms. “A trick, you say? A game to play? On whom shall we this mischief lay?” Gwendolyn put on a somber face. “On a girl most foul and loathsome. She has brought her father here to trap me and take me from my home. You say you can take any shape you wish. So how about my mother?” “I’m no ones’ mum, you little sprite. That is not my kind of night.” “But think it through! You can pretend to be my mother, help me with dinner, and play a grand game of pretend to fool these… uh, foolish mortals. Such good fun. And then, once our trick is played, I’ll take you to the Revels.” Robin put a finger to his chin. “A revel, eh? That just might do. Show me a good time, and I’ll help you.” “And then we’re square, yes?” said Gwendolyn. “No one owes anyone anything?” “If I have a night of fun, then we’d be square, our bargain done.” Gwendolyn was about to clarify what Robin’s idea of fun was, but there was a sudden banging at her front door. She groaned in frustration. “Just… stay here! I’ll see if I can stall them a little longer.” She dashed out of the kitchen and through the living room. “Though I’ve no idea what we’ll do for dinner…” But no sooner had she turned the handle than Mr. Mason burst through the door. “Young lady, I won’t be made to stand out here in the hall like some common salesman. I demand that you fetch your mother, and—” He stopped, glancing around the room. “Let me explain—” Gwendolyn whirled around. Then she nearly fell over in shock. The apartment was clean. More than that, it was immaculate. It hadn’t looked this good since Gwendolyn’s mother had been here to clean it. And maybe not even then. The black leather upholstery had been restored, the glass topped coffee table was clean enough to be nearly invisible, and all the chrome furniture legs had been polished to a high sheen. Pictures hung on the walls again. The carpets were free of the stains that had built up over the past two years. Even the air was fresher, carrying a hint of the woodlands of Faeoria. And then Gwendolyn’s mother came out of the kitchen. “Oh. Hello there. I wasn’t expecting you.” Of course, it was merely Robin Goodfellow under one of his glamour spells, the image of Mother no doubt plucked from Gwendolyn’s mind by magic. But knowing this did nothing to stem the impact of seeing her mother for the first time in two years, standing right there in a red evening dress with white polka dots, her platinum hair styled up and sculpted into large curls that framed her face. Gwendolyn felt as though she’d been hit in the gut by the monorail. She couldn’t breathe, her throat tightening, her eyes stinging. I don’t have time for that, she thought. She had to stay in control of herself, and the situation. She’d had enough trouble balancing her bipolar disorder today, and she couldn’t afford an anxiety attack. Yet, she still found herself throwing her arms around the woman and giving her a fierce hug. “Mother. You look lovely.” And even if it wasn’t really her mother, it still felt wonderful to hold her, to feel her, to smell her. Good lord, she even smelled right. If it was all an illusion, she might as well enjoy it while it lasted. But if she wasn’t careful, she would slip into a manic phase and start glowing as brightly as the faeries. Mr. Mason and Cecilia traded an awkward glance. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Right. Er, did you say you weren’t expecting us? I have your invitation right here—” Robin-Mother pulled away from Gwendolyn and swooped toward Mr. Mason. “No, I only meant that I wasn’t expecting you so soon. What a pleasant surprise.” Mr. Mason looked down at the phony invitation Cecilia had made, then at his watch. “But you said to be here at six, and—” “And you are right on time.” Robin-Mother took him by the arm and patted his elbow. “But punctuality is such a rarity that I’m surprised when anyone is on time for anything. There is an appalling shortage of manners these days, don’t you agree?” Gwendolyn marveled at the speed and cleverness of Robin’s lies. Of course, to Robin lies were as natural as breathing. Faeries couldn’t tell an outright falsehood, but they could bend and twist the truth in ways that would make a contortionist blush. Robin turned toward Gwendolyn. “Darling, you haven’t properly welcomed our guest.” She raised an eyebrow and gave a subtle nod at Mr. Mason. Gwendolyn took the hint, and prepared to drop some names. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Mason. Mother, I don’t believe you’ve met his daughter, Cecilia.” “Charmed.” Cecilia gave a snarky smile that was anything but charming. Robin shot back a look of mocking disdain, one that was safely hidden from Mr. Mason’s view. Then she led him to a door in the hall. “Come, Mr. Mason, I’ll show you around and we can give the girls a chance to catch up.” “This is a coat closet.” Robin shot a glance at Gwendolyn. “Of course it is, I was only offering to hang it up for you.” “But I’m not wearing a coat.” “And yet it is still polite to offer, isn’t it? I pride myself on being a gracious hostess…” And their voices trailed off down the hall. Cecilia whirled on Gwendolyn and planted a finger on her chest. “All right, oddling. What are you playing at?” Gwendolyn swatted her hand away. She wanted to snap back, to shout at Cecilia for starting all of this, but now that she knew Cecilia was her boss’s daughter, shouting hardly seemed wise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily. “Yes, you do!” Cecilia seemed to have no problem shouting. “I read your diary! I know that’s not your mother. Your parents are missing. You’ve been living here, all by yourself. Playing house, pretending to be a grown up, living off my daddy’s money, you lying little—” Gwendolyn forced a laugh, which stopped Cecilia mid-rant. “Oh, that! A bit of fiction. All those stories of monsters and men with no faces kidnapping my parents. Surely you’ve wished the same thing sometimes.” She put on a look of mocking concern. “You didn’t think it was real, did you? Silly Cecilia.” Cecilia’s eyes flicked side-to-side and she bit her lip. “No. You weren’t making that up. You… it was too real…” Gwendolyn laughed again. “Don’t be so gullible.” She leaned in close, right into Cecilia’s face. “But making up fake dinner invitations? Whatever it is you’re planning, it’s not going to work.” At least, Gwendolyn hoped it wouldn’t. There was no telling what Robin might do. And she hoped Cecilia hadn’t noticed how her hands were shaking. Cecilia narrowed her eyes. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Well, you’re not the only one who’s clever. Just you wait and—” Laughter interrupted the two girls’ argument, and Gwendolyn’s not-mother came back into the room, leading Mr. Mason by the arm. “What an amusing anecdote. I had no idea that a publisher’s accounting practices could be so funny!” “Thank you for that… little tour,” he said. “It was a very interesting, er, hallway.” Robin shot a withering glare at Gwendolyn that looked all too much like her actual mother. “Yes, this place does have much fewer rooms than one would expect… hard to imagine how one could live in such a cramped little hovel. Now, if you could all have a seat in the living room, I’ll get dinner on the table.” Robin went into the kitchen, and Gwendolyn followed. “What are you doing? We don’t have anything to feed them. Do we?” “Double, double, toil and trouble, cauldron burn and cauldron bubble,” Robin said with a wink. She did entirely too much winking for Gwendolyn’s taste. “Is that a yes?” Robin rolled her eyes. “Please, child. Who do you take me for? So far, this night has been quite a bore. Your revels best be quite the show, or my displeasure you shall know.” Gwendolyn frowned. “You’re speaking in rhymes again. You weren’t doing that a moment ago.” “That would ruin the trick, wouldn’t it? I’ve told you before, I can speak however I please.” Gwendolyn gave a groan of exasperation. “Then why do you do it at all?” “Because I’m terribly clever. Now, go care for our guests, young lady!” And she pointed to the living room. “All right. Don’t get too into character.”
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Rain Falling on Embers by Liana Gardner (Katie McCabe, 1) @Xpresso Book Tours9/10/2023
Rain Falling on Embers
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: A streak of lightning shot through the sky and brightened the area like a spotlight. And I saw it. A dark break in the stone formation. Praying it was big enough, I hurried forward. A thunderclap shook the ground, and I stumbled but managed not to fall. Before I reached the crack, the skies opened, and rain poured down. I ran toward the entrance. The opening wasn’t big enough. With gritted teeth, I beat a fist against the rock wall, then turned to look for somewhere else. What am I gonna do now? Slumping against the formation, I slid down, holding back tears. Wait. From this angle, the crack appeared wider. Maybe I could get through it sideways. The wind whipped up and sent a shiver through me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Please let this work. Wishing I had a flashlight, I wriggled through the entrance. Phew. Nothing inside but a small cave. No wild animals ready to attack. I sagged against the wall. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim light coming through the crack. I couldn’t see how far the cave went, and without light, exploring was out. The rain pelted the ground outside my shelter and the wind gusts grew stronger. Through the crack, I watched as drops were blown nearly sideways. Puddles quickly formed, but fortunately my hideout had enough of an uphill slope that the water flowed away from it. The wind changed direction and blew in through the entrance. I moved away, chilled to the bone. A violent shudder wracked my body. My fingers were frozen, and my toes felt like little ice cubes stuffed inside my sneakers. My teeth chattered. I folded my arms and tucked my balled fists into my armpits, hoping they’d thaw. Peering through the dim light, I looked for anything that might help me keep warm. Leaves and pine needles were strewn against the walls. They might be good tinder for a fire, but without matches, a flint kit, or sunlight, getting one started might be difficult. But I had to try. I scooped dead leaves and pine needles into a big pile. Anything outside would be too wet. Besides, I wasn’t going to poke my nose outside until the storm stopped. I shuffled a little farther inside, kicking a rock. It skittered across the stone floor and ricocheted against the wall. I picked it up, tossed it in the air, and caught it as an idea formed. If the rock was hard enough, I might get it to spark. Now to find another stone to bang it against. While searching for something bigger than the pebbles lining the walls, I found a few sticks that might have promise if the rocks failed. Intent on finding a good-sized stone, I moved farther into the cave. An eerie wail caused my heart to jump into my throat. Darkness shrouded me and the hairs on my arms rose. I turned back toward the entrance and my shoulders sagged. The light coming through the cave’s mouth was nothing but a dark gray ghost wavering in the distance.
GIVEAWAY! City of a Thousand Tears
-- EXCERPT: Ellio found a lot of interesting things poking around dumpsters in the Downs, but this was the first time he’d found a foot. Peeking out from under the bin, the glossy black nail polish shimmered from the light of a distant streetlamp. Getting over his initial shock, the young man breathed a sigh of relief when his further investigation revealed that the foot was still attached to a leg. A rather shapely woman’s leg swathed in black biomesh with metal grommets tracing up the seam from calf to thigh. Falling to his knees, he ignored the water from the puddle now seeping into his jumpsuit and the cold rain that dripped down the back of his neck. He pushed his goggles up into his dark-blue hair. Another, older set dangled from his throat as he leaned down. Ellio peered under the dumpster and was further consoled that the shapely leg was still attached to not only a torso but an entire woman’s body. She seemed to be all in one piece. Choppy black bangs fell in front of her eyes. Her face was flushed and smudged with dirt. Ragged gasps shuddered through her, breath puffing out as little clouds in the chill air. At least she was still breathing. Bodies sometimes turned up in the Downs, but not as often as one might expect. What on Elorah had happened to her? The young woman shivered. Ellio frowned. “Hey, you all right?” He shook her leg gently. The biomesh cloth of her pants alone was probably worth more than he made in a month. He cringed at the thought of getting grease on them, but then again, the young woman was passed out under a dumpster. Clearly, she had bigger problems. But just to be sure, he wiped his hands along the thighs of his coveralls a few times. “Hey, c’mon.” Ellio craned his neck underneath the dumpster to see her better. “You can’t stay here.” He gripped her leg more firmly and tugged. The woman’s head lolled back and forth limply; her eyelids fluttered but remained closed. After getting no response, Ellio partially crawled beneath the rusty trash receptacle. “’Scuse me, lady,” he whispered, sliding his hands lightly underneath her torso and dragging her out from under her makeshift shelter. He was careful not to let her bump her head on the way out. Ellio kept his hands to respectable areas, but a blush still crept up his neck as he cradled the young woman against his chest. She looked about his age, maybe a year younger. Ellio had just turned seventeen a few weeks back. He couldn’t help noticing she was beautiful, with full pink lips and a cute little nose smattered with freckles. She had golden eyeshadow like wings around her eyes. Ellio swallowed. Brushing her bangs back from her face, he held a calloused hand against her forehead. “You’re burning up!”
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