RELEASE DAY: J.F. Jenkins "Inquest"

 

Blurb:

Teague Willam was sent on a mission from the future. He must go back in time to save his family. But in doing so, he might unleash the greatest evil the world has ever seen. The fine balance between the natural and spiritual is in his hands as he tries to not only save the life of a dear loved one, but also keep a rogue demon from taking control of the land of the liv-ing and the dead.

One wrong move and the demons win.

 

Author:

J.F. Jenkins lives in Minneapolis Minnesota with her husband, son, and two cats. She graduated from Bethel University in 2006 with a degree in Media Communication with minors in both writing and film

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Teague Willam watched Persephone the First. She huddled in the corner of the small room that made up her "cell", curled into a ball as she hugged herself. With one hand, she held her head, as if in some kind of pain. Tears streamed down her face.

"Keep it together. You have to keep it together," she whispered to herself.

He wanted to offer her words of comfort, but in the dream world, all he could do was observe and take note of everything happening around him. As a Fate, Teague often dreamed about different events in vivid detail. Most of them were of the past — that was his specialty. Each Fate had a time frame they saw the most. His father Anj saw the present most often but was known to have visions of all three time frames: past, present, and future. However, Teague's abilities were nowhere near as strong , even though his visions were much more detailed than anything his father experienced. The few times they'd talked about it, Anj described his dreams as being short and to the point but not necessarily specific.

While Teague may have been dreaming about the past, it was also his present — confusing, but that was how time travel worked. He'd been sent to the past to right a terrible wrong. Whatever was happening to Persephone was technically occurring in the time frame his body was presently in. Because he was from the future, the incident represented his past. He wasn't about to complain. The more information he had, the better. He needed all the help he could get to complete his quest.

Teague couldn't provide Persephone with any direct comfort, but maybe in some small way, she could sense his presence. Magic had a way of making itself known even if no one could see it at work. If anything, it made him feel better inside.

"You're not alone," Teague said. "I won't leave you if I don't have to." He sat next to her, wanting to touch her but unable to do so.

When Persephone lifted her gaze, she did so and looked directly at him. Though, the young woman he saw wasn't Persephone but Cheyenne Loveless, the teenage girl Persephone had possessed. The whole possession thing confused Teague. There were a lot of pieces he was still trying to put together. From what he did understand, Cheyenne was the chosen vessel for Persephone to be reincarnated into and a long lost descendant of the original deity. Persephone's true love, Hades the First, was reincarnated into a teenage boy named Denver Collins. Together, they would fulfill an ancient prophecy that was supposed to bring back power to the Divine Council, the ancient political circle of the gods and goddesses who controlled the laws of all magical beings.

Poor Cheyenne. There was so much sadness in her gaze, and confusion. Teague felt sorry for her. She didn't always make the best decisions, but she also wasn't always in control of her life. The part of him that wanted to hate her for all of the pain she'd caused his family, got shot down by the compassion he held for her in his heart. Seeing her sad, fear-filled eyes, he realized she was nothing more than a girl and no different than himself. Because even though he was a teenager, there were days when he felt like a small child — and the world was a big place for him to get lost in. She was the same, a pawn being used for a greater scheme that she didn't understand. The world of magic was foreign to her — a fact he hadn't realized until that moment.

Footsteps could be heard from outside of the room. Cheyenne was still in control of her body, and she gazed at the door with a whimper. "He's coming. Stay strong."

There was a jingling of keys in a lock. The door opened and in walked the dark angel Lucien. Teague had seen him a few times before in other dreams. He could never forget what the creature looked like. On first appearances, he was just like any other normal young man. Lucien could have passed for being around twenty years old and was the typical tall, dark, and handsome thing that supposedly made girls swoon.

On his back was a pair of large, blood-red, wings speckled with flecks of silver that brought out his cold, lifeless, steel-gray eyes. First encounters with him suggested he was innocent enough, that he meant well. But the demon had a manipulative tongue and an evil heart. Nothing he said could be trusted. He didn't flat-out lie, but in every deal he proposed and in every truth he spoke, there was also a hidden loophole present, and he had no qualms with using it for his advantage. Or at least that was what Teague had observed over his many visions of the monster.

RELEASE DAY: Ariella Moon "Spell for Sophia"

 

Blurb:

Sophia Perez-Hidalgo’s survival depends upon her mastering magic and the supernatural before her lawless parents and their vengeful boss catch up to her. How far must she flee to escape them forever? Sophia runs until she’s out of stolen money, then…Fate delivers her into the arms of Louisiana teen Shi-loh Breaux Martine, and his grand-mère, a reclusive voodoo priestess living deep in the bayou.

 

Breaux knows Sophia is trouble — but he’ll travel through time, battle zombies, and risk his bright future to protect her. While Ainslie, best friend extraordinaire, will jeopardize her sanity to find and aid Sophia. When friendship, magic, and love are not enough, Sophia will have to save herself. But first, she must believe she’s worth saving.

 

 

Author:

Ariella Moon is the author of the Teen Wytche Saga, a sweet Young Adult paranormal series. Ariella writes about magic, friendship, high school, love and time travel, in Spell Check, Spell Struck, Spell Fire, and Spell For Sophia from Astraea Press.

Ariella spent her childhood searching for a magical wardrobe that would transport her to Narnia. Extreme math anxiety, and taller students who mistook her for a leaning post, marred her youth. Despite these horrors, she graduated summa cum laude from the University of California at Davis. Ariella is a Reiki Master, author, and shaman. She lives a nearly normal life with her extraordinary daughter, two shamelessly spoiled dogs, and an enormous dragon.

 

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Prologue

Two-and-a-half years ago

I'd thought escaping would uncoil the fear and worry squeezing my heart. I figured I'd stop looking over my shoulder once I crossed the California state line, or Arizona's, or New Mexico's, or the border between Texas and Louisiana. But I hadn't. Terror and hunger dogged me. I reeked of desperation. My head throbbed from all the bad decisions I had made since I'd found my bio-parents.

I could still pull out of this; save Christmas. Call Ainslie, the voice inside my head urged. I bet he'll loan you his phone. My gaze zeroed in on the leader of a ragtag group playing basketball on the schoolyard. His short black curls had been coaxed away from his face, revealing warm nutmeg-colored skin and kind, dark eyes. Fifteen years old? I wondered.

He handed the basketball to a young white girl, then glanced my way. His head-to-toe sweep took in my gaunt face, long inky hair, grungy jacket and jeans, scuffed ankle boots, and the school backpack at my feet. He glanced protectively at the little kids who shouted at the girl to pass the ball. Then his gaze migrated back to me. His mouth twisted to one side. I could hear the word tolling inside his head. Trouble.

I hunkered against the side of the school building and tugged my gray knit cap low over my forehead.

"Who's she?" A little kid with Christmas bows stuck on her wooly ponytails wrapped herself around the teen's leg. Her fearful stare gutted me. I'm pretty sure I had worn the same expression the first time I'd entered foster care.

Kick it. I pushed away from the wall. My vision blurred. My hollow stomach whirled and the schoolyard spun like a carousel ride. I braced myself against the cool bricks until the dizziness passed. Pull it together. It will be dark soon. I needed to find a restaurant or fast food joint — any place open on Christmas where I could dumpster dive for food scraps.

I lowered my eyelids and tried to picture the route I had walked from the train station. I hadn't planned on wandering through a lush Louisiana neighborhood. The children's shouts and laughter had lured me to the brick school and its asphalt playground. School had been my favorite place, before…

My thoughts torpedoed back to the barren southern California desert. Some developer had gone bust, and all that remained of his planned subdivision was a paved road dead-ending in sand. "Hide in plain sight," Mamá had said as Papá parked their pink-and-white vintage camper. The vehicle stood out among the sagebrush and creosote like a slash of bubblegum paint.

Hide what? I had wondered. I soon had my answer: a methamphetamine lab.

I rubbed my arms, creating an X over my chest. Embarrassment heated my cheeks. How stupid and naïve I had been. My parents hadn't gone legit. They were trying to evade the local cops and the Drug Enforcement Agency. They had planned to flee northern California without phoning my caseworker or me. If I had waited just one more day to contact them…

"See, the cops would be looking for a couple, not a family," I later overheard Papá boast to his boss.

"Weren't you worried they'd issue an Amber Alert?" one of the boss's henchmen asked, casting a sideways look at me.

"For a foster teen?" Papá scoffed. "They run away all the time."

My heart accelerated. Heat flooded my body. Gasoline fumes seared my nose and throat as if I still held the peanut butter jar full of siphoned petrol.

I forced my eyes open. The skin grafts on my throat and arm tightened like a noose and tourniquet. I managed a shaky step. The basketball thudding against the pavement stilled.

"You okay?" the boy called out.

My brain hunted for an answer and came up empty. When did I eat last?

Footsteps, rapid and rhythmic, raced toward me, growing louder with each footfall. My stomach whooshed. My eyes rolled back inside my head. The schoolyard went black and blinding starbursts flashed before my unseeing eyes. My legs floated away and I freefell backward.

The earthy scent of musk cologne and male sweat jolted me awake. Minutes must have passed. Sinewy arms carried me against a damp, solid chest.

"She's waking up," the white girl reported.

"Good." The boy's voice enveloped me like a fleece-lined blanket. "Everyone hold hands. We're going to cross after this truck."

My eyelids refused to open. I registered the rattle of a slow-moving pickup as it drove past. The boy's arms tensed. He tightened his hold on me, then stepped down off a curb.

"I can walk," I mumbled, pretty sure I felt like dead weight in his arms.

The boy chuckled. "Sure you can." He crossed the street without breaking stride, tensing again before he stepped up on the far curb. His heart drummed steadily against my ear. My eyes wedged open a slit.

"I'll fetch Miss Wanda," the younger of the two white girls said. She had the same heart-shaped face and blond braids as the older girl. She raced up the steps of a two-story house with pearl-colored siding. "Miss Wanda!" she shouted. Her sister followed, stooped beneath the weight of my backpack. She held two small children by the hand — Christmas Bow Girl and a boy who appeared to be about four.

RELEASE DAY: Nicole Zoltack "Love before Honor"

 

Blurb:

Honor. Truth. Loyalty. Love. All of these matter most to Sir Gerald. To avenge his love's death, he challenges her murderer to a duel. Her twin, however, feels that Alice never loved Gerald and gives him a tea. Alice had also given him teas, which enhanced his love for her, but this tea is different. This tea sends him to into the future, to the Regency era.

Lady Vanessa seeks a Christmas treat when she hears something outside the manor. Upon investigation, she sees a man dressed in armor. Unwilling to turn away a confused man with the approaching holiday, she convinces her parents to house Gerald until the new year.

Scandal has forced her parents to accept William as their daughter's best chance at marriage. Although rich, he does not understand her or her love of books and only sees her for her looks, whereas Gerald listens to her, confides in her and she him. With the approaching holiday, nothing is certain – not whether Gerald can discover a way back to his duel, whether he can move on from Alice, and not whether this Christmas will be a happy one for either Gerald or Vanessa.

 

 

Author:

Nicole Zoltack loves to write in many genres, especially romance, whether fantasy, paranormal, or regency. When she’s not writing about knights, superheroes, or zombies, she loves to spend time with her loving husband and three energetic young boys. She enjoys riding horses (pretending they’re unicorns, of course!) and going to the PA Renaissance Faire, dressed in garb. She’ll also read anything she can get her hands on. Her current favorite TV show is The Walking Dead. To learn more about Nicole and her writing, vis-it http://NicoleZoltack.blogspot.com.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

Honor. Truth. Loyalty. All noble. All good.

Most of the time.

Sir Gerald sharpened his blade, the clashing sound of metal on metal, the sparks flying pleasing him. He had never dueled before, but a few hours' time and that would change.

Blood pounded through him, hot and steady, a constant reminder of all he still had and all his love had lost.

"I can do that," Edwin said. Shadows from the flickering flames within the smithy covered his hand that reached toward the sword.

Gerald merely glared at his squire. Competent, yes, if a tad overeager. "I do believe I told ye several times now that your services are not required this day."

"I will not leave ye." Edwin lifted his chin. A gesture of both defiance and loyalty at the same moment.

He grunted.

"The blade willna sharpen more." The blacksmith picked up a hammer. Evidently some aspect in the fire told him the temperature now burned hot enough to temper new weapons.

With a great deal of reluctance, Gerald handed the fourteen-year-old his sword.

The blacksmith nodded and returned to his work.

The smithy felt like the gate to Hell, the heat immense and growing ever hotter. Still, Gerald did not move, mesmerized by the licking, greedy flames. It had been a fiery night when he first met her. Ever since, he stopped by the smithy daily, paused whenever he saw a flame, and lingered by the dying embers of his campfires.

It was she who necessitated his duel.

"Are ye certain about this?" Edwin asked.

A question the boy had asked many a time after Gerald laid down the gauntlet.

"Quite." Ever his reply. How could he not? As a knight, duty dictated his actions.

"But…" Edwin shifted his weight from side to side. Always boundless energy. His tongue never stopped wagging. It could cause him trouble down the cobbled road if never did he learn to appreciate silence.

For now, at least, Gerald would humor him. "Go on."

"Ye and she… Ye were not even promised to one another."

True, but in their hearts they were. The problem lay with that, that and jealousy.

Gerald filled his broad chest with a strong inhale. "One day, ye will understand. Honor, truth, and loyalty will only get ye so far. Love, though, it lifts ye up, alters your very outlook on life, changes your life itself. Love is all that matters."

The hammering stopped. Although the smithy was loud and prone to echo, Gerald and Edwin had long ago learned how close to be, how loud to speak to be heard despite it. The silence now prevailing in the smithy unnerved Gerald far more than the prospect of dying that late afternoon.

Almis the blacksmith grunted. "Love be not so grand. Love be trouble." His dark eyes fixed on Gerald. "Love be death."

"Death is release," Gerald countered. Perhaps death would be best. Not that Victor would grant him a merciful one.

"Sir Gerald will not fall."

Edwin's confidence lifted a small smile to Gerald's lips. "Is my armor ready?"

The red-haired boy jumped up. "A-almost!" He scampered away, out of the smithy faster than a hare chasing its supper.

The redness of the flames only served to remind Gerald of blood, and he turned away, for once finding no comfort here, wishing for mead to swallow instead of his sorrows.

The dings and clangs resumed, its steady beat almost matching his steady heartbeat. No matter what the outcome, he would do all he could. She, and her memory, deserved that much.

She who never should have felt the sharp end of a blade. She who never stepped near such a place as this. With its burning stove and already forged weapons hanging on the walls, the smithy proved as dangerous as any duel ground. Mayhap a second weapon would not be remiss. Bow and arrows would be less than worthless. A spear or lance, though...

New Release: The Test of Time

THE TEST OF TIME

by Nicole Zoltack

All that stands between Katia and finding the love of her life is the test of time.

Katia jumps at the chance to go to England with her best friend after Rose ditches her deadbeat boyfriend. While walking through the market, she spies a large mansion and recognizes the guy out front as her high school friend Tony. Just as they start to reconnect, Katia passes through times and lands in the arms of Lord Landon, who looks like Tony but certainly doesn’t act like him.

Soon, Katia learns that this 1815 is different from the one in history books. Trapped in a parallel world, Katia struggles to not fall for Landon but his charm proves too much for her. Just when she is about to confess her love for him, Katia travels through time yet again.

The course of love never did run smooth and if Katia can’t figure out and master the test of time, she’ll never see or friends again, or worse, never be reunited with Landon.

**** 

About the Author:

Nicole Zoltack loves to write in many genres, especially romance, whether fantasy, paranormal, or regency. When she’s not writing about knights, superheroes, or zombies, she loves to spend time with her loving husband and three energetic young boys. She enjoys riding horses (pretending they’re unicorns, of course!) and going to the PA Renaissance Faire, dressed in garb. She’ll also read anything she can get her hands on. Her current favorite TV show is The Walking Dead. To learn more about Nicole and her writing, visit http://NicoleZoltack.blogspot.com.

Available for purchase at:

Amazon US     Amazon UK     Smashwords     Kobo     Barnes & Noble     iTunes

Excerpt:

Katia Willgrave stared at the vendor's products. A blue silk scarf drew her attention, but the price the British salesman asked for was more than she could afford. Not if she wanted to be able to buy dinner tonight.

She glanced up. Most of the rest of her travel group had already made their way down the street, but still she dawdled, enjoying the sights and the sounds. She and her best friend had settled on this trip after Rose ditched her jerk wad of a boyfriend. Originally, Rose and Derek had planned it together.

His loss, my gain. She breathed in the fresh air. Some moisture hung in the air, but she did not mind, having spent a good deal of her childhood in Seattle. Then her father's job relocated their family to the East Coast.

But she did not want to think about her father right now, think about her own losses.

Rose was haggling with another vendor, and Katia smiled. If anyone knew how to get their way, it was Rose. She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder, and Katia snickered. The vendor didn't stand a chance. The pink tips of Rose's hair caught the last streaming remnants of sunlight.

After catching Derek hooting around, Rose had dragged Katia to the beauty parlor. In solidarity, Katia had the last inch of her almost black hair dyed a midnight blue. Only when the light caught her hair just right was the blue visible. She had expected to hate the color and figured she'd have it cut off in a week, but it had lasted a month now, and she often thought about dying it all to match.

Wouldn't Bob die if I did? Her boss was a stickler for everything. The editor-in-chief of the biggest newspaper in Philadelphia, he was no-nonsense and expected the same from his employees. I'm just glad he gave me the time off.

Her feet had continued walking as her mind wandered, and she reached the edge of the street. The rest of the group headed to the east, following their guide like lost sheep.

Feeling impulse, Katia moved to the west. The land stretched out here, into soft hills, and she just wanted to see the sights over the ridge. She'd keep the tour group in sight.

She reached the crest. A tall, mansion stood in the distance, majestic and awe-inspiring. Before Katia could grab her camera, a hand touched her arm. Rose, wearing new huge dangling earrings, sported a wide grin. "You wanna get lost?"

"Why not?" Katia smiled back. She had never felt more relaxed since she had come. Between the stress of deadlines and the incompetent nature of her staff—Bob liked to hire those with less qualifications to save a few bucks—Katia needed this as much as Rose did, albeit for different reasons.

"Find a hot English guy first," Rose reasoned, her grin growing wider.

"Like that guy you were chatting up at the café at lunch?"

They fell into step together as they rejoined the tail edge of the group. "Precisely. He's taking me out to dinner tonight. Henry." She all but swooned.

"You and your rebounds." Katia shook her head.

"Hey!" Rose knocked her hip into Katia's. "Okay, well, Derek had been a rebound. Maybe a rebound of a rebound is different. I mean, it's not like I want to marry the guy. Just hear him talk. Gotta love an accent."

Katia couldn't disagree there.

"Besides, you haven't gone out in forever yourself."

"I've gone out," Katia protested.

"I don't mean with me." Rose pursed her full, pink-painted lips. She had no problem getting guys to ask for her number or to buy her drinks. Katia, on the other hand, didn't. Work was all she had time for. Especially after…

Not now.

"Don't worry. I promise I won't eat dinner by myself since you're ditching me."

Rose's eyes took on a faraway look. "Henry… Remind me to ask him if he has a brother."

Katia laughed. Their tour guide shot them a "hurry up" look but they meandered, taking their time. What else was the point of a vacation? Their first time in Europe. They definitely wanted to take it all in.

Maybe after dinner, she could come back and snap a picture of that mansion. Ever since she was a little girl, she had always imagined she'd live in a place like that. Strange how similar the mansion resembled her dream one.

****

By the time dinner rolled around, and Rose had left for her date, looking like a model in a slick red dress and cute wedge sandals, Katia opted for a stroll by her lonesome. Their tour guide had repeated to them all endlessly not to stray from the group, but it would not be late for hours, and besides, this was England. Everyone spoke English. It wasn't as if she was in Germany or Spain. She'd be fine.

Her own sandals soon dug into her toes, and Katia untied them and carried them over her shoulder. Down into market she went and beyond, back to the same hill as before. The mansion crept into view like a castle floating above a mist. A fog had rolled in, making the mansion seem more dreamlike than before. With turrets and towers on either end, numerous windows, arches and flags, the building seemed too perfect to be real.

Mesmerized by its beauty, almost unaware of what she was doing, Katia moved toward the mansion. Despite the distance between them, she drew nearer far quicker than she would have thought. Rose bushes lined the paved walkway leading up to the front door, the grass trimmed short and impossibly green.

One perfect rose caught her gaze, and she bent down to sniff it. The floral scent filled her nose, and she closed her eyes, drinking it in.

"Can I help you?"

Broken from whatever trace had called her here, Katia jerked up and backward until she bumped into the twin bush on the other side of the walkway. A thorn snagged her skin. Not completely perfect after all.

"I…" She took in the man before her, his bare chest and heaving muscles. A bead of sweat eased down the ripples of his abs, and she forced her gaze up to his face. "Tony, is that you?"

Nearly impossible to recognize the scrawny, nerdy boy from high school as the man standing in front of her. A lot had happened since they graduated in six years.

"In the flesh." He glanced down at his bare chest, and a flush colored his cheeks. "What are you doing here, Katia?"

Knowing she couldn't return his question although she was dying to know why he was here—perhaps he works here—Katia gestured to the mansion. Up close, mansion did not seem to fit how massive the house was. "I wanted a closer look," she explained lamely.

He chuckled and ran a cloth over his face before draping it over one huge shoulder. "Want a tour?"

"I would love one."

Tony Wilson moved toward the front door, but she hesitated. "I had assumed you wanted a tour of the interior." He cocked his head to the side, his eyebrows raising, disappearing within his bushy brown hair.

In high school, he'd always sported a crew cut. This style, wild and crazy, just begging to be fixed, suited him quite well. Ugh, I'm going to turn into Rose at this rate.

She cleared her throat and stared at his mud-coated sneakers.

"What is it?" He crossed his arms, his muscles flexing with the simple movement. "You have that look in your eye."

"What look?"

"The 'I'm dying to ask a question' look." His chuckle was as warm and inviting as it had been in high school, and she joined in, just like old times. She had never had this flutter in her chest back then, though. Each year, she had had a different crush, but she had never fallen for her good old friend Tony.

Unable to hold back any longer, Katia burst out, "What are you doing here? What is this place? What have you been up to? Why didn't you go to our high school reunion last year? You never kept in touch like you said you would."

Tony laughed again. "Poke a hole in the dam and a flood of questions pour forth. Should've known better. I'm here because this…" He held out his arms. "…is mine."

Katia lifted her gaze from him to the mansion to the rose bushes to the lawn and back to Tony. "All of it?"

He nodded. "My grandparents lived here for years. There was some kind of mix up with the deed for a while and then my parents died and somehow, yeah, Philamore Mansion is mine."

"Wait, your parents died?" Curse her and her reporter mind for wanting to know every detail. She crossed the distance between them and placed her hand on his arm. Wow, rock hard biceps. "I am so sorry."

A veiled look crossed his eyes for a moment before disappearing. "So once the deed was changed to be in my name, I moved here. Wasn't making any name for myself with my screenplays anyhow. Too tough a business. Instead, I've been fixing up the place and working here and there, doing what I can." He nodded to the left, where a hole was dug. "Gonna plant a tree there, for shade. Far enough to not block direct view of the mansion. I'll plant another over there." Tony pointed to the right. "I forget what question was next."

Her mouth turned dry. How she wanted to open up to him, to share with him her own misery so that he didn't have to feel so alone, but she couldn't bring herself too. The hurt in his eyes had been so great as it was. She would not risk adding to it. "Our reunion."

But the pain returned to his blue eyes. "Too busy," he said, his voice clipped and curt. "Next."

"Wasn't a question so I'll rephrase. Why didn't you keep in touch after we graduated?"

"It takes two to keep in touch," he pointed out.

True. Oh so true. Katia could have called or texted or emailed. She was just as much to blame as he was. A lump formed in her chest, and she failed to rub it away. "I'm here with my college roommate, Rose. She's into sports medicine. A real fitness nut. Thought about being a fitness model but she likes chocolate a little too much."

Tony nodded politely. "And you? World famous reporter yet?"

"Have you read any of my articles?"

He shook his head. "Can't say I have. Not any that weren't under the heading Mount Holly High."

"Then I'm not world famous yet. I am a reporter though."

"Good for you. Now, about that tour…"

At that moment, Katia's stomach grumbled. Heat rose to her face, and she crossed her arms over her stomach, praying he hadn't heard it. Her mother used to say her stomach could wake the dead.

And of course, Tony heard it. His grin erased her discomfort. "I'm hungry too. First stop, the kitchen."

"No, no, I don't mean to impose."

That laugh again. So relaxing, the antithesis of his anguish. She'd do anything to keep him happy. "You marched on to private property but no, you didn't mean to impose." His gaze traveled over her body, noting her summer dress, her bare feet, and windblown hair. A strand blew into her face, and he caught it. Another gust of wind blew it out of his hand. "Blue," he noted, his voice colored with surprise.

"You like?"

"It suits you. Now, before you stomach demands substance again…"

She scowled.

He held out his arm for her to take. Once she did, he led her toward the house. "Don't act like this is the first time I've heard it. Come."

They passed pillars on their way to the front door, which creaked upon opening. A few boards groaned beneath their feet as they walked inside. Katia gasped. They were standing in a ballroom straight out of the days of old.

"My grandparents kept this floor in great condition. The others, not so much." He removed his sneakers and allowed her a few minutes to walk around, to see the various paintings up close, to take in the ornate crown molding, before moving past a curtain to a concealed hallway.

"I thought your grandparents lived in Manhattan."

"My father's parents did. This belonged to my mother's parents. I never met them. They hated planes, or so I was told."

Planes. Katia shuddered.

"Are you cold?" Tony entered the massive kitchen. The island in the center alone was a large as the kitchen Katia and Rose shared in their apartment back home. No, the island had to be larger. Despite being outfitted with a double oven, as well as one built into the island, and other modern commodities, even the kitchen had an old-time feel to it. "I can get you a coat."

"I'm fine." But she wasn't. Her mouth had grown so dry Niagara Falls could not moisten it. Her breathing grew short, and her vision spotted. She had attempted to sit onto one of the stools near the island, but she missed. Down she fell, and her head connected with the ground.

RELEASE DAY: Shea McIntosh Ford "The Stone of Kings"

Blurb:

Twelve year old Ardan is hopelessly distracted because he wants to meet a real faerie. But when he gets his hands on a mysterious red book loaded with faerie spells and accidentally sends himself three hundred years into Ireland’s future, he soon learns that there are more important things on which to focus his attention. Throw in some immortal druids, fun storytelling, a touch of forbidden romance, along with the music and antics of the legendary Irish harper, Turlough O’Carolan, and you’ll become swept up in a very real Irish mythological adventure.

 

 

Author:

Shea McIntosh Ford lives in Florida with her loving husband of eleven years and their two boys ages four and five. Growing up she lived under the delusion that prejudice and bigotry were no longer being taught to children. Oh, how much she has learned. After feeling powerless as a first year teacher when one student adamantly said that Americans should send ALL Mexican’s back to Mexico, Shea has found her voice through her writing. While she knows that bigotry probably won’t be eradicated altogether, at least she’s doing her part to help decrease it.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

Prologue

Going Blind

County Mead, Ireland 1688

“Haste Charles, or I shall have you purchase all the drinks,” Turlough O’Carolan said as he hurried ahead of his friend.

“Don’t be daft. I am already purchasing your drinks.” Still, he quickened his steps to a light run.

“’Tis me birthday, I doubt I would receive rejection if I offer to have you purchase everyone’s drink.” Turlough pulled his coat tighter around him to block out the chill wind. In the dim twilight, he stumbled on a stone in the road and narrowly escaped landing on his face.

“If you don’t keep your eyes on your feet, I may only have to purchase me own drinks. Why I keep your friendship, I shall never know.”

“Because without my friendship, your life would be dry as powder and you know it.”

“Ha, you shall set the Good People against you with your antics one day, and I shall not be around to save you.”

“If I ever meet the Good People, I don’t think I shall want you around. Sure you would try to steal the attention away from me.”

The two young men continued their banter as they ambled up to the public house, and when Charles opened the door, they were given a boisterous greeting in honor of Turlough’s birthday. The smell and warmth of the peat fire gave the room a comfortable feel. After thanking the well-wishers, Turlough addressed the fiddler. “Hey now, Geoff. Are you my birthday present?”

Geoff laughed and poked his fiddle bow at Turlough’s chest as Charles handed Turlough his pint of ale. “I am here for your musical bidding, my friend. Someday you shall have to learn to use more than that voice o’ yours.”

“Give us some—“

“’Molly MacAlpin,’” Geoff and Charles said together.

Turlough burst out in laughter. “What if I had been about to say ‘jigs?’”

“We would have checked you for fever then called on the doctor anyway,” Charles said.

“I would have fainted dead away from shock.” Geoff put a hand to his forehead and pretended as though his knees were about to buckle.

“Well then, Geoff, get on with the music, and let it fill your soul.” Turlough spun round and let his words fall on the ears of all the party guests. “For you shall find no finer Irish tune anywhere in our fair land. ‘Tis just what I need to feed me own spirit and forget what those oppressive Englishmen took from my family.”

“Here, here!” Every pint of ale was raised in salute to Turlough’s speech. Geoff took the cue and began playing Turlough’s favorite.

During his party, Turlough gave warm greetings to his friends and engaged in several lively games of backgammon. All the while, he insisted Geoff continue to play “Molly MacAlpin.”

“Come now, Turlough,” Geoff protested. “I’ve played it eighteen times tonight. I know. I kept tally. I have allowed it that much because ‘tis your eighteenth birthday, but I think I can speak for your party guests, that a change would be nice.”

Turlough stood, upsetting the game of backgammon he had been playing with Charles. The pieces clattered and rolled away across the floor. He felt the flame of the brew he had been drinking fill his face. Had he been sober, he would have ground his teeth. “Nothing is nicer than ‘Molly MacAlpin.’”

Someone stepped between the fiddler and Turlough. “Geoff has the right of it. We would like to hear anything else.”