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The Mist and the Flame
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Apple Books / Kobo -- EXCERPT: On the particular day that started it all, our tutor, Grigio, gave me something to translate which turned out to be an old recipe for a potion to be used for suppressing painful memories. It called for various common herbs which I knew Friar Lawrence grew in his garden, so I ran to him the first chance I got to ask for the ingredients. That, I found out later, was how the school at La Fortezza became interested in me. Friar Lawrence and, incredibly, my tutor both looked out for potential candidates to recruit for this secret school. Most of the tutor’s pupils, my cousin Juliet included, merely did the translation (perfectly, in her case). The very few with the curiosity to see if it would work, those were the ones that interested them. But I knew none of that at the time; I was only interested in making the potion work. Initially, it didn’t, and I figured out there had been an ingredient omitted—possibly deliberately, so Grigio’s students wouldn’t have the complete formula. That was laughable—and insulting. I immediately began experimenting on my own, trying to figure out the missing item. (This extra step, apparently, made La Fortezza very interested in me.) My creations, placed discretely in various rooms, made me sneeze (not magical), made the cook giggle (possibly magical, since she generally had a dour disposition), and made my parents look at each other in a way I hadn’t seen in years (which was uncomfortable to witness but also possibly magical). I noted these combinations of ingredients down and, not satisfied, kept trying. When I couldn’t quite come up with the perfect formula on my own, I sought the friar again. If Grigio was a young man who seemed like an old one, Friar Lawrence was, if not old, then middle-aged at least, but cheerful, jovial, and youthful in every aspect of his demeanor. To put it another way, he was possibly the only priest that people my age actually liked, someone who talked to you like a person and not just a sinner. In his little garden behind the church he welcomed me with delight, a dirt-crusted trowel in one hand and some mysterious wrinkled root in the other, immediately asking how my potion had gone. “Not well, thank you. It didn’t work, but I think I know how I can fix it—with your help, if you would.” “I would be most delighted to help,” he said, eager curiosity shining in his eyes. He put down the trowel and root, dusted his cassock off (though his hands were dirty too and he really only ended up shifting the soiling of the garment to different sections), and gestured me toward a bench where we both sat. “Now, how did you know it didn’t work?” “I tried. A lot. The closest I got was when I tried it on Bruno, but even then it still wasn’t right.” “Bruno?” “The old dog I found wandering around outside our gate. I named him Bruno. Poor thing. He had been treated very badly, we think by a man or several of them—he is afraid of men. I wanted to see if I could help him forget his suffering. He seemed to be calmer when I sprinkled one particular herbal powder mix around him, but he still growls and shrinks away when a man goes by, so he hasn’t completely forgotten.” The friar smiled. “That was kind of you to try, though a human subject might have been more able to communicate what they were experiencing.” I shrugged. I wanted to try it on the dog because I wanted to alleviate his suffering. His big brown eyes were deep with sorrow. How could I do otherwise? I went on impatiently, “I know why it didn’t work—there’s an ingredient missing, isn’t there?” Friar Lawrence tilted his head. “Yes and no. Well, yes and yes, I suppose. The recipe as you received it is in fact missing an ingredient, but that ingredient alone—stridolo petals, I believe—will not make this work. The real missing ingredient is you. Bruno calmed down because you were calm. Bruno cannot forget whatever suffering he went through, no matter what herbs you use, because you can’t forget it—because you never remembered it in the first place.” “Of course not. I wasn’t there.” Now I frowned. Did I, too, have to be beaten and starved by cruel men for both of us to forget? Wasn’t there an easier way to help my poor sad-eyed friend? There was a limit to what even I wished to experience. “How can I make these things work without, well, going through terrible things?” “It is a long and difficult journey to take, Rosaline. But I can try to show you the first steps.” He shifted a little on the bench so that he was facing me. “Think of a happy memory from your childhood, but don’t tell me about it.” His simple request startled me. Was he going to read my mind? 
GIVEAWAY! --
Coming Up for Air
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: I had lost so much over the span of the last few years. Second-guessing everything but still trying to find a reason behind why bad things happen. It’s not like I didn’t know that life wasn’t fair, but living with chronic illness and how everyone reacted differently to Lena’s disappearance really drove home the fact that I would never be able to fully trust my relationships, my health, or even my beliefs. I think that’s what scared me the most. Everything that I had believed was shaken, and I had to build a new normal. I had to build myself back up. Only, I didn’t have a solid foundation on which to do it. 
-- GIVEAWAY! --
Xonarye: Japan
-- EXCERPT: When the dojo finally came into view, Leaf’s sense of calm and safety was suddenly shattered. The main gate hung open, crooked on its hinges. Shards of splintered wood lay scattered across the stone pathway. A few windows had been shattered, with broken glass spread all around him . The paper screens of the main hall were torn and flapping loosely in the breeze. It looked like a storm had blown through but there had been no storm. Leaf’s heart pounded in his chest. He quickened his pace, stepping “Selina?” he called out, his voice sharp against the silence. “Yuji? Kenji?” Nothing but the breeze whistling through some rocks around the dojo. The rooms were upturned. Mats tossed aside, scrolls unravelled, some torn. Kenji’s study , usually immaculate , was in chaos. Books were thrown from their shelves, papers were scattered, and ink was spilled like blood across the floor. Kenji’s prized calligraphy scrolls hung lopsided, some sliced through as if by a blade. The room smelled of old ink and cold air, carrying a whisper of ash as if something had been burned. Leaf’s mind raced. Who would do this? Why? He moved quickly through each room, heart hammering. No one. No sign of life. He reached the small back garden where the snow had settled undisturbed. Suddenly, footsteps crunched behind him. Leaf spun, fists clenched. Selina stepped out from the shadows, her eyes sharp, surveying the damage. “What happened?” she asked, voice low and controlled. Leaf shook his head, the words tangled in his throat. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Barnabas Bartholomew and the Undead Freshmen
-- EXCERPT: “What in the heck is a lich?” Barney asked. “It’s a member of the Undead class, like us, except it was brought back to life by a sorcerer or a necromancer for evil purposes.” “What sort of evil purposes?” Barney asked. There was a knot in his stomach; a bundle of nerves resting on the edge of a guillotine. “Hard to tell,” Pudgy replied. “Depends on what the sorcerer wants the lich to do. He could use it as an assassin, I suppose, to knock off his enemies, or as a bodyguard. Or in this case, a guard dog over a graveyard.” “But why a graveyard? What would a sorcerer want in a graveyard anyway? And what if it’s not even there? This lich thing. Suppose it’s gone?” Pudgy shrugged. “Then it’s gone and we don’t have to worry about anything. But if it is real, and there is a lich wandering around, it’ll be looking for souls to eat. That’s why we need the crucifix, to repel it.” “’Souls to eat?’” Barney repeated. “Are you serious?” He felt light-headed for a second; the world beyond his eyes in a lazy swoon. “Quite serious,” Pudgy answered. “That’s what liches do. They eat the undead, and if they can, they’ll eat their souls too.” Barney’s face paled at the thought. An undead cannibal running around the graveyard? That’s what it was! An undead cannibal! The dead eating the dead, for Christ’s sake! Pudgy caught the look on Barney’s face; pallid, the sickly color of cream cheese left out in the sun for too long. He snickered. “Hey, calm down. It’s a legend, remember? We’ll be fine. Trust me.” Barney didn’t answer, his tongue frozen to the roof of his mouth, when Millicent cleared her throat. “Guys?” She tapped the face of her wristwatch. “We need to go if we plan on making curfew. You can discuss the ins-and-outs of liches later, but we need to move.” “You’re right,” Pudgy said. “I’ll take the lead with the flashlight. Milly, you’ll be behind me. Barney next and then Marcy, and I don’t want you two kissing back there. Agreed?” Barney blushed clear to his toes. Marcy smiled at him. Millicent laughed out loud and Pudgy winked at Barney, who was staring at the tops of his shoes with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, yeah, okay…” he mumbled. “Funny, real funny, now can we go?” And so they entered the southwest tunnel, its passages by now near memorized. It was more of a home away from home for the children; its twists and turns nothing more than well-travelled streets and avenues in their hometowns. Barney stepped through (minus his flashlight which he’d given to Pudgy), when a thought struck him like a phantom stone in the darkness: Pudgy never fully answered my question, he thought. Why the graveyard? Why would a sorcerer (or a necromancer, for that matter) want a lich guarding a graveyard for him? Hmmm… ### The trip to the graveyard took less than forty-five minutes, and the four of them arrived to find the wrought iron gates unlocked, and the tombstones shrouded in a silky mist of pale fog. A raven, with one eye missing, was perched on a spire atop the gate. It looked down at the children, as if considering their plight, then cawed in its shrill voice a single word they heard all too well: “BEWARE!” The raven took flight after its portent of doom. It did a hop and a half-skip, spread its wings, and then soared over the face of the moon reflected in the wavering mist. The raven disappeared as Pudgy opened the gate in a scream of rust. It was loud in the tranquil of the graveyard; as good as any doorbell that rings after midnight. “Smooth move,” Barney quipped. “Sorry,” Pudgy said. “I didn’t expect that. Let’s go.” They walked through the gates; their eyes blind, sinking in what they could not see. Silence–the full-time caretaker of the grounds–greeted them. Distant thunder rolled over the clouds in the east. Lightning followed and took a snapshot of the graveyard for posterity’s sake. And had there been a black cat perched on the back of a tombstone, with its yellow lamp-lit eyes and its spine arched in a splay of fur, it would not have surprised Barney in the least. The graveyard was spooky, if not picturesque in the simmering light of the moon; a mural better suited on the backdrop of a Halloween landscape. “What now?” Barney whispered. The air was dank, hollow somehow. There was no need to whisper, but the graveyard almost demanded—dared that it be so upon its consecrated ground. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Introvert
-- EXCERPT: Taking a deep breath, I walked past him and gave a mental hooray. I was doing it, chasing my dreams. As he fell into step with me, smoothly, hardly making a sound, my brow furrowed. “What were you doing under that tree anyway?” “Hiding. Same as you.” “I wasn’t—” He shot me a look, and my mouth snapped shut. We both knew I was hiding. There was no use denying it. The thought that he’d been there as I tried to work up my courage was a little embarrassing. But that wasn’t what struck me. “What could you possibly have to hide from?” I asked. We’d almost reached the bus when he paused—then cursed. Removing the sunglasses, he turned to me with the strangest look on his face. Soft. Warm. With a devastating half-smile that could melt hearts. Nothing like the guy I’d just met. “Hey,” he said. “Hey…?” “I missed you.” “What?” In the next breath, he pulled me to him in a hug. His lips were right next to my ear as he whispered, “Listen, I need your help.” “Okay, what kind of help?” “I think a kiss will do.” “What?!?” I pulled back, and he let me go. But as we separated, he still had that look on his face. “The reporters just want a good story,” he said barely moving his lips. “To escape, I told them I was coming to see my girlfriend.” I spotted them hiding in the bushes then looked around. “Well, where is she?” I asked. He gave me a real smile then, seeming genuinely amused. “Ah.” I nodded. “There’s no girl.” “I just need you to pretend with me for 10 seconds.” He reached out, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear, and I shivered in response. “Think you can do that, princess?” “That’s not my name,” I mumbled. “But okay. Since you asked so nicely and you’re desperate.” He laughed softly then pulled me closer. Raising his voice, he said, “Missed you so much.” In the next breath, his lips were on mine. 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Boy Upon Death: Reaper’s Last Call
-- EXCERPT: Prologue: The Cold Existence My existence is as cold as my birth. I was born with both knowledge and will—an inevitability for my kind. Drawn to the final moments of mortal life, we come into being. Some of us become Reapers, tasked solely with ferrying souls to their afterlife. Others crave the power of souls, calling themselves Gods of Death. They believe that devouring or absorbing souls grants them greater might, but such power only deepens their coldness and emptiness. The Veil—the great boundary between life and the afterlife—exists as the ultimate destination for souls. It does not judge or choose; it simply awaits those ready to cross. Souls unwilling to pass linger in the mortal world, their tether to the Veil slowly degrading. Once that connection is broken, they descend into madness, becoming fragmented and unstable, unable to find peace. For Reapers, our role is clear: guide the souls before they are lost. Yet even for us, there are choices. We are born as extensions of the Veil, tethered to it as both our origin and our end. At any time, a Reaper may choose to return to the Veil, to be reabsorbed into its vastness and find peace. But there is a second path—one far more dangerous and final. A Reaper may sever their tether to the Veil, abandoning their purpose and embracing free will. These fallen ones become what we call Gods of Death. Free from the Veil’s guidance, they face a choice: help lost souls or exploit them for power. Many succumb to the hunger, consuming souls to strengthen themselves. These beings often destroy themselves, transforming into husks—twisted, empty shells driven mad by their own excesses. I have not chosen to rejoin the Veil, though the option tempts me in moments of despair. And I have not severed my tether, though I sometimes wonder what lies beyond that severance. Instead, I remain a Reaper. But the cold emptiness of my existence grows heavier with each passing year. I guide souls to the Veil, knowing that my own tether will never allow me rest. The souls need us, but who guides the Reapers? Who saves us from the weight of eternity? Perhaps the answer lies in the unknown. In the countless eons of existence, I have never questioned my role—until now. The faint stirrings of doubt creep into my thoughts, like cracks forming in the ice. The time will come when I must choose: to remain a servant of the Veil, to seek peace within it, or to become something greater—or perhaps something worse. This is the story of how I began to question eternity. Of how I—a guide to the lost—found myself on a path to becoming something entirely new. 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Just Another Meet Cute by Jenn P. Nguyen #YA #Romance #Comedy @Xpresso Book Tours28/4/2025
Just Another Meet Cute
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks -- EXCERPT: “My name’s Ian, by the way.” “Nina.” He knelt down beside my bleeding leg and dug around in the box. “That’s a pretty name.” “Thanks. It’s short for Nina.” After the words popped out of my mouth, I wanted to smack myself on the forehead for sounding so stupid. Thankfully, Ian mistook my word vomit for humor or charm or something and laughed. He pulled a couple wet wipes from a pack and cleaned my leg and cut as best as he could before shoving them into a small plastic bag. Then he spread some white ointment on the cut and unwrapped a couple of Band-Aids. His fingers were long and moved quickly like this wasn’t his first time. After he put two Band-Aids on my cut, he pressed the edges down to make sure it was firm. This time I felt the warmth of his fingertips on my skin, and the goose bumps that rose on my arms in response. Rubbing my arms to make them go away before he noticed, I gently stood up. “I’m okay now. Thanks.” “Are you sure? Your face still looks kind of red.” Embarrassed, I adjusted the sunglasses until they fell lower on my face like a shield. “No, it’s just—the sun. It’s hot today.” He glanced up at the overcast sky. It was so thick with clouds that you could barely see the sun anywhere. “It was sunny earlier,” I said quickly. “Like scorching sunny.” “Yeah, Texas’s weather is pretty unpredictable.” Still crouched down, Ian leaned to the left to pack everything up. When he was done though, he still didn’t immediately get up. Instead, Ian stared at something on the rock behind me. I followed his gaze and groaned out loud in horror. There was a dark butt-shaped smudge right where I had been sitting a few seconds ago. With a puzzled expression, his eyes slid up and down my legs—which sounds way dirtier than it was. I almost wished it was dirty so at least I’d know he was thinking of me in a cute-girl-I’m-attracted-to way instead of a weirdo-girl-he-regretted-bumping-into way. I knew the exact moment when my embarrassing situation clicked in his head. It was almost like his brown eyes cleared—as impossible as it was. My first instinct was to bury my face in my arms and flee, but my feet were frozen in one spot. To my surprise, Ian didn’t immediately run away. Instead, he stood up, still digging in his bag. His head ducked down until I couldn’t see his face anymore. Especially as one hand messed with his hat, tugging it side to side. I could see that his ears were flaming red though. “Well, I think I have something else in here to help you with . . . that. If you—you need it.” “What do you—” I glanced down at my legs and his pink face. Until my eyes finally landed on the tampon and pad he held out in his hand. Oh. My. God. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Sam Squared
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: Samantha I take out my cell phone and send a quick text before class starts. Me: Hey, Mule. Need your opinion. In private, please. His chuckle resonates through the classroom, signaling to me he got my message. My phone vibrates with an incoming text. Mule: Is this about sec? Not sure what he means. Auburn is an SEC team, but there is no reason he would ask about that. I suck in a breath. Maybe he means sex. Heat rushes up my neck as I text back. Me: NO!! Will you meet me at the Green Hills Library after school? Mule: What’s it worth to you? Pondering my reply, I take a peek around to see him mouth, Well? He is infuriating, and I can’t believe I’m going through with this. Me: I won’t tell anyone you cried when Nemo’s mom died. Mule: You wouldn’t. While I relive that moment, I bite my lip to keep from laughing. He was a blubbering idiot throughout that entire movie after the first scene. It’s my word against his, but he knows it’s all true. Me: Try me. 
GIVEAWAY! --
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The Forest and the Sea: A Cinderella Retelling
-- EXCERPT: His father and Badenberg needed him to find a suitable wife. Ludwig’s solution was to host the two balls and hope Ehrhart found a wife among the wealthy and titled of Badenberg. But, though Ehrhart had agreed to such a plan, he couldn’t help but feel he’d find a wife on his own terms. Would that be Beatrice? He stared down at his hands loosely wrapped around the reins. Beatrice was certainly a plausible solution to his problem, but could she be a woman he’d love for the rest of his life? She appeared interested in him and his attention, but did he truly know her intentions? He had meant what he’d told his sisters, he was interested in more than just a pretty face. Suddenly, a loud thud echoed through the trees, followed by another and another. Then he heard a piercing crack to his left. Ehrhart peered up just in time to watch a tree fall along the path. The jarring movement and sound caused Storm to rear. With his hold on the reins so loose, the sudden jolt sent Ehrhart out of his saddle and towards the ground. He closed his eyes and braced for the impact, which came quickly. The wind was knocked out of him. He gasped and breathed deeply to restore the air to his lungs, but his vision was slow to clear. Squeezing his eyes tightly, he tried moving his limbs and muscles. His legs and arms moved without pain, but his back felt stiff from the fall. He opened his eyes, staring at the trees above him. Streaks of sunlight pierced the canopy. To his left, he heard light footsteps drawing near. Someone was attempting to sneak up on him. He was vulnerable while lying on his back. An urge to protect himself flooded his senses. He grunted as he lifted his head and reached for the dagger concealed within his boot. After drawing the knife from its sheath, he pulled the weapon into a defensive position near his face. The hilt was held securely in his palm while the blade rested upon his skin, extending up and past his wrist. He was still on the ground, but the knife gave him hope in defending himself. He waited for the steps to get closer. When they did, he swung his arm from his face and rolled to his left side, allowing him to look into the eyes of his would-be attacker. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Vibrations – Children of Atlantis
-- EXCERPT: Nada I can feel the gritty sand under my hands as I hit the ground. My battle partner lies still beside me, his chest barely rising and falling. I reach out, my fingers brushing through his blood-soaked hair, feeling the ragged rise and fall of his breath. The creatures’ footsteps grow louder, the sound of their approach heavy and unrelenting. We wait for the final blow, completely spent. Every movement sends a fresh pulse of pain through our battered bodies, blood seeping steadily from our wounds. I shut my eyes and think, Mom, forgive me. You told me to run, but I didn’t listen. The world around me starts to fade away. September 3, 2012 Sunlight streams through the windows, cutting through the pool’s surface, highlighting the rhythm of my strokes. I love swimming early, before the chaos of the swim team arrives. With my eyes closed in the water, it feels like I’m at the center of the universe, my universe. I don’t need to open my eyes to know I’m nearing the edge; I just feel it, flip, and head back. My body glides, my arms break the surface, pushing through the pliable liquid, brushing my thigh, rising into the air, and starting over again. The rhythm of my breathing, alternating between water and air, sets a gentle beat for my heart. It’s comforting, especially today. Lately, I keep having that weird feeling, like when Suddenly, everything changes, and chaos erupts. I reluctantly pull myself out of the water. I sit on the pool’s edge for a moment, water dripping from my fingertips, then turn to grab my towel. I keep my goggles on, hoping they’ll at least partially shield me from the cacophony of noise coming from the rowdy crowd of swimmers. As I’m trying to make my way out as quickly as possible, I sense someone behind me, reaching for my shoulder. I spin around, instantly on the defensive. «Hey, hey, hey! Easy…» my friend Carrie laughs, raising her hands. «Is it possible you never hear me when I call out to you?» I exhale slowly, not realizing how tense I’d gotten, smile at her, and gesture for her to wait a second. I pull off my swim cap and remove my earplugs. «Sorry C, I forgot to take these out… What’s up?» She shrugs and then nods toward the windows above the pool that overlook the school hallway. «Did you see who just arrived? I heard he starts tomorrow… and he’s ridiculously cute!» Carrie gushes. When it comes to guys, she’s always enthusiastic. I cautiously turn and spot the principal talking to a couple of parents standing next to a tall, lean guy with dark hair and an easy smile. Carrie shifts, turning her back to the pool so we can sneak a look. I sigh, watching as she effortlessly adjusts her perfect curls, which frame her smooth, deep-toned shoulders. Her confidence is something I can never quite understand. I can’t help but wonder, once again, why someone like her would want to be friends with someone as plain as me. «Who is this guy, anyway?» I ask, not really interested. «His dad is the famous Hawaiian artist Kalai Kekoa, and his mom is the Japanese author Riko Shirabe. I know you like them both!» «Oh, right… Well, you know how this is gonna go. The school’s royalty will pull him into their clique, and he won’t give us a second glance without their approval. At least, he won’t notice me, but you seem to have caught McAllen’s attention, haven’t you?» I say, giving her a wink. She giggles, a little embarrassed, and lowers her eyes. «I know you don’t trust that group, but they’re not so bad when you get to know them… They’re just kids who haven’t figured out their place in the world yet.» Gosh, she’s so sweet! I smile at her. «I think you picked the right major, you’re going to be an amazing psychologist! I just worry they might hurt you. Like my mom always says, a confused kid can be unpredictable…» She laughs. «Nah, you’re just too suspicious!» «And you’re too trusting! Together, we make one balanced person,» I laugh. I glance back at the guy, and something unexpected catches my eye. He’s talking to the principal, but the waves coming from his voice and body are unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. They’re bright, almost glowing, and take on a strange shape. I can’t make sense of it. Mom warned me, right up until the day she died: If the waves ever turn to images, run. But these aren’t images, they’re something else, and they terrify me. 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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