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I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the ORIGINS PROGENY by Diana Fedorak Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Diana Fedorak

Pub. Date: January 20, 2025

Publisher: Wild Rose Press

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 402

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/u/mea6dR

The gripping sequel to Children of Alpheios, Firebird Award Winner for Speculative Fiction, Science Fiction, and Dystopian.

Alina DeHerte thought she had escaped Alpheios, the genetically engineered city on planet Eamine. After rescuing her son from its corrupt rulers, she built a fresh life with a new fiancé in a remote sanctuary. But when word of her mother’s grave illness reaches her, Alina’s fragile peace shatters.

Returning to Alpheios means Alina must navigate rising threats in an unpredictable city. In pursuit of dominance, the city’s power brokers are jeopardizing their citizens’ lives. Alina must ally with a man she has long avoided—a Guardian officer who fathered her son. Both have a shared stake in the city’s uncertain future.

If Alina wants her mother to survive, she must unravel the city’s secrets and grapple with her conflicted past. Deep winter is upon them, and Alpheios is on the brink of explosive change.

For fans of Divergent and Gattaca

Reviews:

“Merging lively action and intrepid, engaging characters, Fedorak deftly teases and reveals political, social, and medical conspiracies that have far-reaching consequences for the entire planet. With some twists and turns, she creates an authentic world of near-future science and thought-provoking issues related to designer babies, corporate accountability, and familial commitment. A provocative page-turner.” — Booklife Editor’s Pick

“Libraries seeking epic fantasies that build upon prior books in a solid, compelling manner will find Origins Progeny a delightfully complex, thoroughly engrossing acquisition. It should be as highly recommended to sci-fi and fantasy patrons and book club as Fedorak’s prior Children of Alpheios. The seamless marriage of personal and family connections with social and political struggle is simply outstanding.” —Midwest Book Review, D. Donovan, Sr. Reviewer

“Cellular-DNA science and aching hearts intertwine in a compelling SF sequel. ..this is quality SF from a exciting, fresh voice in the genre.” —Kirkus

“With its complex relationships, relentless pacing, and heart-wrenching stakes, this book is an unforgettable journey into the heart of sacrifice, resilience, and hope. Origins Progeny is a must-read for fans of dystopian sci-fi and emotionally charged storytelling.” —James Davison for Speak Up Talk Radio

Grab Book 1, Children of Alpheios here! https://books2read.com/u/bz6MkG

Excerpt:

Origins Progeny by Diana Fedorak

As Chance entered the control room supporting Martin, Alina dashed past him for the stairs.

“No, Alina!”

In the frigid laboratory, her pulse hammered away. Lenore’s head rolled around, and she attempted to sit up. Alina crouched and pushed her shoulder forward. “Come, we must leave.” She helped Lenore stand. “This way.”

The woman hobbled to the stairs. As Alina followed, she felt a tug at her necklace. The cord cinched around her neck. A force yanked on the ring, throwing her back. She sailed through the air, helpless. Her head slammed into the gate, and Kora’s hand wrapped around her throat. Face-to-face with the kronosapien, Alina gasped for air. She tried to pry away Kora’s fingers but was lifted off her feet.

The creature studied Alina, her blue eyes curious.

A penetrating alien presence scraped at Alina’s mind. Shoving aside her protestations, it swept over her recent thoughts, through Evesborough, through the tunnels and stopped on the children in the cavern’s entrance. It zeroed in on Syriah and Mandin. Alina struggled to breathe. Her lungs were about to explode.

A wave of realization overcame Kora’s face. “You’re not one of us. But are you one of them?” She pointed her index finger, exposing a long claw.

Dizzy, Alina felt a sharp prick on her neck. Kora examined the blood on her claw’s tip and slowly licked it. Her blue eyes narrowed. “Ancestor.”

Alina’s vision blurred. She thrashed but couldn’t fight against the creature’s squeeze. Suffocating, every cell within her raced, searching for any last ounce of energy. Kora kept her blue eyes locked onto Alina’s face.

In her periphery, a flash of a baton thrust through the bars.

A jolt coursed through Alina’s body. Every fiber of her being contracted in pain, and she screamed. As the searing agony reverberated, a curtain of blackness fell over her.

About Diana Fedorak:

Diana Fedorak is a speculative fiction writer from Las Vegas, Nevada. Born in Saigon, South Vietnam, she grew up in a Pan Am Airways family who frequently traveled overseas. Her prior career was serving as an officer in the United States Air Force. She enjoys writing complex characters in high-stakes science fiction and fantasy worlds.

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon Gift Card, International.

Ends April 8th, midnight EST.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the BLOOD BETRAYAL by Eric Richardson Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Eric Richardson

Pub. Date: August 12, 2024

Publisher: Troubador

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 398

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/BLOOD-BETRAYAL 

A BRAVE NEW WORLD – AN ULTRA VIOLENT NEW WORLD ORDER

Brought up in the violent gangland life since birth brothers Mat and Nic take the reins from their father as his successor and become the gangland bosses of East London.

Mat gets involved in the illegal drug trade after laundering millions of dirty money from Brinks Mat. He becomes Pablo Escobar’s main European cocaine distributor propelling the Hunter gang into the stratosphere of an untouchable crime syndicate.

But all of this comes at the ultimate price. In a world filled with serial killers, Yardies and Ultra-Violent radical feminists, who can you trust?

Set against the backdrop of East London in the 1980s with systemic police corruption, racism and poverty, juxtaposed with beautiful women, decadence and the Docklands Development. Blood Betrayal is a gritty and darkly humorous story and the first in a duology.

INSERT YOUR POST OR REVIEW HERE!

About Eric Richardson:

Eric Richardson is an ex con who did a long stretch in prison. Started writing since release and has turned his life around & published a darkly humorous gangland thriller.

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon Gift Card, courtesy of Rockstar Book Tours, International.

Ends March 18th, midnight EST.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the MEMOIRS OF A HOUSEHOLD DEMON by Ben Logsdon Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Ben Logsdon

Pub. Date: February 18, 2025

Publisher: Red Nova Books LLC

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 385

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/MEMOIRS-OF-A-HOUSEHOLD-DEMON

Get a signed paperback with swag at the Red Nova Bookstore!

Read the book for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited membership! 

For a demonic spirit, Yuriel had scored the perfect assignment—a cozy house in suburbia, a young drug addict with an openness for possession, and all the marijuana brownies they could eat. With a selfish human like Paul, temptation was easy. Too easy. Maybe that’s why Yuriel found it so much more entertaining to spy on the Torres family next door. Something about them and the love they shared kept him coming back for more. Especially their precocious four-year-old daughter, Eva, and their guardian angel, Sarai.

But when Yuriel’s obsessions bring tragedy to the family, he begins to discover an emptiness in his soul he never knew was there, yearning for a shot to make amends. Enlisting the help of Sarai and his angelic counterpart, Goldie, he embarks on a mission to heal the grieving and earn his way back into Heaven by doing the unthinkable—tempting Paul to do good. As old comrades and a hellish past come back to haunt him, Yuriel must fight to unravel the question:

If angels can fall, why can’t demons rise?

Set in modern-day Southern California, Memoirs of a Household Demon is a tale about redemption, overcoming weakness and loss, and finding the courage to do what’s right. Its blend of action, humor and heart offers an insightful look into human behavior and spirituality through the lens of an immortal being.

Memoirs of a Household Demon is both a standalone story and the first full-length novel in the Gray Spirits series. You do not need to have read other works to enjoy this story, though the prequel novella, Prelude of a Guardian Angel, is available now on Amazon Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.

Chapter 1

A Typical Morning Possession

The fifth circle of Hell wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Countless tormented souls floundered across the muddy surface of the River Styx. They scratched and kicked, drowning each other, their anguished wails echoing off the greater cavern walls. A soothing atmosphere, I suppose, but the sheer monotony of it all was my own ration of torture. Where was the thrill? The conquest? This place was nothing compared to the evergreen chaos of the mortal realm above.

“Hey, Yuriel!” A crooked figure approached me at the water’s edge, his long, tattered cloak matching my own. He offered a cat o’ nine tails in his claw, gesturing over his shoulder to a crowd of wandering humans in business attire. “Did you wanna join the welcoming party?”

I glanced at the whip with a muted cringe, turning my gaze back to the sea of writhing bodies. “Maybe next time. My mortal should be waking up soon, and I don’t want to be late for work.”

“You sure? This newest batch of politicians just arrived from a plane crash. They still think they’re in D.C.”

A worthy temptation, but I shrugged it off, slipping from my perch atop a mound of skulls. “Give ’em a few extra lashes for me, will ya? I’m on the clock.” I stretched out my hand and tore open a swirling portal of purple flames. Its flickering glow sent shadows dancing across the surrounding wasteland, beckoning me into the dark tunnel beyond.

Grinning farewell to my cohort, I launched myself headfirst into the void. Wind whipped through my pitch-black robes and hair, excitement swelling within me at the speck of light twinkling in the distance.

Earth, my own personal playground.

That’s how I always saw it, anyway. After all, back then, I was just a regular demon. A devil. Or as we liked to be called, “celestially challenged.” It was our job to compete with Heaven’s army of jack-booted nerds for influence over humanity. While they enticed people to do good, we were supposed to inspire…well…a different kind of good. The funner kind. True, it typically ended with souls getting dragged to Inferno, but everything comes with a catch. We had to tempt mortals despite existing on a plane they couldn’t see, hear or touch. Any of us that weren’t up to snuff faced the shame of lesser tasks like torturing timeshare salesmen or grooming hellhounds.

In my case, I actually enjoyed the challenge. It helped me escape the boredom constantly threatening to drive me insane. At least it would if there was any challenge to be had. My latest assignment was a slovenly man-child from the twenty-first century. A guy by the name of Paul Meechum. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice having someone with pretty much no inhibitions to speak of, but I needed to feel something. Anything.

I finally emerged from the other end of the tunnel, drifting through a second ring of purple fire into the morning light of Paul’s living room. The portal sealed shut behind me, my boots touching down onto the ratty carpet as I surveyed my domain.

The house was still littered with last night’s pizza boxes. Used underwear and other sweat-stained laundry decorated the furniture. I’m sure the stench of weed and body odor would’ve been unbearable had we demons been blessed with a sense of smell. As expected, the junkie himself sat zombified on the couch, tripping on his latest dose of opioids in a tank top and cargo shorts. I strolled over and plopped down at his side, putting my feet up to watch the TV when an all-too-familiar groan echoed from the kitchen behind us.

“Returning so soon, foul beast?”

I tilted my head back, addressing my divine counterpart with a condescending grin. “Morning, Tinkerbell. Up for another fun-filled day of being a loser?”

Paul’s angel stormed into the living room, his eyes glowing brightly. “My name is not Tinkerbell. Be thou gone, wretched fiend!” He raised a hand over his head, materializing a gilded sword into his grasp. A flick of his wrist ignited the blade with a pale white flame, its tip sizzling through the air as he leveled it in my direction.

The two of us stared at each other, the angel trying his hardest to intimidate, but between the flowing white robes and his perfectly braided gold hair, I just couldn’t take him seriously.

“What the Heaven do you think you’re doing?” I laughed. “Put that thing away, Blondie. We both know you can’t kill me any more than I can kill you.”

The angel lowered his blade with a sigh. “Such a cruel truth.”

He dissipated his weapon in a burst of light, the glow fading from his eyes as he trudged over and sat on the other side of Paul. The human continued giggling at the ceiling, completely unaware of our little confrontation.

“My name is not ‘Blondie’ either,” the angel added.

I casually stroked my goatee. “Does it look like I care? You’re one of Daddy’s golden boys. That’s all I need to know. Besides, we’ve been at this for twenty-five years and you’ve never bothered giving me your real name.”

“Hmph!” The angel stuck his nose in the air, folding his arms. “An evil cur such as thee doth not deserve the honor of knowing.”

“Okay then, ‘Goldie’ it is,” I shrugged. “Look at us, squabbling like a married couple in front of junior here. Might as well let him join the party…”

Goldie watched in horror as I levitated from my seat, centering myself above our stupefied human. My spirit twisted and stretched into a tendril of darkness, then plunged through the top of Paul’s head, spreading to fill his appendages like fingers in a glove.

All at once, the rush of physical sensations washed over me, his body awakening to my command. I swept my newly claimed hands across the couch’s fabric, every stitch of thread a symphony against my bare skin. Beyond the din of the TV, an outside world flooded my ears with such delicious clarity. Birds chirping. Dogs barking. A lawnmower in the distance. My vision, though slightly blurry, was still so powerful and vivid. But the smells. Let’s just say the contents of Paul’s living room were every bit as putrid as I’d imagined.

“Leave the mortal be!” Goldie cried. “Fight it, Paul! Resist the power of the Dark One, I beseech thee!”

“Paul can’t hear you,” I said, curling his lips into a wicked grin. “He never does. His consciousness is buried under a fog of poison.”

Goldie pounded his fist on the lumpy cushion beside him. “Why dost thou find such pleasure in the corrupting of mortals? Is the spreading of misery thine only joy?”

I marshaled the strength in Paul’s legs, lifting myself off the couch. His muscles should’ve been simple enough to control, but the drugs in his system left them sluggish and rubbery. “How many times have I told you, Goldilocks? Your master denied my kind a chance at mortality. By casting us out, we’re doomed to remain forever numb to the physical world. That’s why we make mortal pleasures our own, temporary as they may be. What else can I say? We like to live vicariously.”

“Thou art nothing more than a parasite,” Goldie hissed. “A creature devoid of all hope and purpose. Thou blamest the Father for thy fallen state, but the choice to rebel against Heaven was thine.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You think you’re better than me? You chose eons of service to these selfish, snot-nosed humans. And for what? The promise that you’d one day become one of them? That you’d live out your brief, insignificant life with the very real chance that you’d fail and be claimed by Inferno? The best you could hope for is to die bereft of any earthly pleasures and resume your slave labor as an angel once again.”

Goldie furrowed his brow. “I would be welcomed back into Heaven. Back into the Father’s presence.”

I stared at the angel, forcing a renewed smirk onto Paul’s face. “Is that so? Don’t you have to be born first? Are you even sure that’s gonna happen? You’ve been waiting for thousands of years. What makes you expect that’ll change any time soon?”

“Silence.” Goldie looked away, his voice shaking with frustration.

“No, I think you’re going to stay right here…”

Goldie covered his ears. “I said silence!”

I leaned forward, bringing my face only inches from his. “Don’t you see? This is your fate. To be forgotten like the rest of us. Despite all you’ve ever done to fight against Hell, you’re already there.”

“ENOUGH!” Goldie sprang from the couch and erupted into a blinding white light. The sheer force of his anger threw me backward against the wall, knocking the wind from my borrowed lungs. “Release Paul at once or I’ll—”

“Or you’ll what? Burn my demonic spirit to ash? Send me back to Inferno just to regenerate and return good as new? Futility aside, Paul’s heart is too close to the darkness for you to overpower me. Even if you could, you’d have to go through him to do it. Thing is, I don’t think you’ve got the guts. You wouldn’t dare lay a finger on a poor innocent mortal, would you? Fortunately for me, I actually enjoy the pain.” I clenched a fist and made Paul slug himself square in the jaw.

The angel’s light quickly faded to reveal the most amusing wide-eyed stare.

“You don’t like that, do you?” I chuckled. “Stand down or your precious Paul gets it.” I underlined my threat with another punch to the face.

Goldie winced, reaching out in supplication. “Stop that. Please.”

“What? You want more?” At this point, I had Paul going at it with both fists. “Quit hitting myself! Quit hitting myself!”

Then, to my surprise, a new voice shouted over me. “Dude, what the fuzznut are you doin’ over there?”

I froze mid-punch, realizing too late that Goldie and I weren’t alone. We exchanged glances, peering down the hallway to find a young man around Paul’s age trudging through the empty beer bottles.

James “Slim Jim” Peot. He wore a filthy bathrobe over his boxer briefs, tangles of rusty brown hair peeking out from beneath his wool beanie. For some annoying reason, Paul had a habit of letting this gangly bum sleep over in the laundry room and eat all our food. It probably had something to do with Slim’s virtually infinite supply of drugs and booze, but considering his strange lack of both an angel and a demon, there was only one thing I knew for sure—he was a lost cause.

“Oh, hey, Slim,” I said, sheepishly lowering my fists. “I was just…um…waking up.” Trying to impersonate Paul during a possession was always an issue for me. Good thing he was usually so wasted that nobody knew his real personality in the first place.

“Interesting method you got there,” Slim replied, scratching his head. “Is punching yourself some kind of new morning ritual?”

I nodded confidently. “Heck yeah. The doctor says, ‘a good punch a day keeps the sleepies away.’ Really gets the blood pumpin’, you know? It’s great for getting past a hangover.”

Goldie may have been invisible to Slim, but I could still see the angel facepalm out of the corner of my eye.

“Dude, that’s awesome,” Slim said, actually believing me. “It’s like an alarm clock for your face. Let me try.” He gave his chin a savage right hook, knocking himself back into the hallway onto his belly.

“Well done,” I said, stifling a laugh.

Slim groaned on the floor. “Son of a—come on, Paul, how could you do this to me?”

I shrugged. “Just trying to give some helpful medical advice, dude.”

“Nah, man, not that…” Slim reached under a pile of beer bottles and pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette. “You left a perfectly good phatty on the ground, brah!” He flopped onto his back, whipping a lighter from the pocket of his robe. After sparking a quick flame, he put the joint to his lips and took a nice long drag. “Acapulco Gold…and is that a hint of Sour Diesel I detect? Good stuff.”

I tapped Paul’s foot, no longer amused by Slim Jim’s antics. “Hey, ‘brah,’ I’m glad you’re enjoying the vintage, but unless you’ve brought me something fresh, I’m gonna need you to pack it up and—”

Slim threw his hand in the air to cut me off. “Say no more, dude. Ol’ Slim Jim’s got ya covered.” He picked himself up and sauntered into the kitchen, his recovered joint hanging from his lips. “You’re not feeling quite yourself right now, are you, Paul? I can tell.”

“Y-you can?”

Slim paused to shoot me a knowing glance. “Of course, dude. You’ve got a burnin’ case of the ‘hangries.’ But don’t worry. I brought just the thing.” He reached under the counter, presenting a large glass cake pan covered in aluminum foil. “Ta-da!”

I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay, you got me. What’s on the menu?” I hobbled to the kitchen bar, pulling up a stool as Slim placed his offering in front of me. He carefully peeled back the aluminum cover, revealing a neatly sectioned grid of chocolatey brown squares. The mere scent of them was enough to get Paul’s mouth watering. “Sweet Lucifer, are those—?”

Slim nodded with a chuckle. “That’s right, my dude. Behold my incredible, edible pot brownies.”

“Oh, it’s go time.” I scooped up two brownies at once, greedily shoving them into Paul’s gullet. As a demon, the sense of taste was an amazing experience no matter what my host was eating, but the combination of weed and fudgy goodness was almost more than I could bear. Every bite was pure ecstasy and I made sure to let Goldie know. “Mmmmm, yes. That’s the stuff. Yes! More!”

Slim stared at me with eyes wide, clearly disturbed, yet pleased by the reception of his culinary masterpiece. “So…I guess you like them?” He drummed his fingers together, anxiously waiting to grab a brownie for himself. “You mind if I…?” Slim tried to reach into the pan, recoiling in shock as I slapped his hand away with a menacing glare.

“MINE,” I said in a deep demonic growl.

He retreated to the far end of the kitchen counter, trembling in dismay as I continued to gorge. An animalistic urge had taken over Paul’s body, demanding to be fed, driving me into a frenzy. It wasn’t until the pain of fullness hit me that I finally stopped scarfing.

“Now can I have one?” Slim asked timidly.

I sat back and glanced down at the pan. Its only survivors were half a brownie and some drool-coated crumbs. I let loose a reverberating belch, then nodded with a smile. “Yes. Yes, you may.”

Slim reached out and snatched the half brownie, clutching it like a frightened squirrel.

I peered at the clock above the oven. 8:46 AM.

Almost time for the weekly festivities next door. I knew it wasn’t the best move to leave my human while he was awake. Under normal circumstances, it would risk my angelic rival getting the upper hand on me, allowing him to counter my influence without restraint. But Paul was far from normal. In minutes, I’d already met his daily quota for gluttony and selfishness. How much good could he get into with only a few hours to himself?

With a swift jolt, I popped my spirit free of Paul’s head and landed in the living room beside Goldie. The angel scowled, muttering something as I started for the exit.

“How long will it last?”

I paused, cupping a hand to my pointy ear. “Come again?”

“This game thou playeth. Toying with the souls of others. How long before victory loses its savor? What happens when the last drop of satisfaction evaporates from thy tongue?”

The question gnawed at me for a moment, finally prompting a mischievous grin. “I guess I’ll simply have to find a new game.”

I turned to get one last look at the humans before heading out. Slim Jim was hunched over the remains of his cake pan, licking up the crumbs while Paul stared at him in dazed confusion. Neither had the slightest clue as to what had just happened, oblivious to my ultimate form of dine and dash. Even now, I think back on that morning with the most fervent affection. My only care in the world was the next good time as I passed through the nearest wall into the front yard.

About Ben Logsdon:

Ben Logsdon grew up in Yucaipa, California, where he learned the subtle charm of small towns and nerd culture. He’s been a saxophone player, a driving instructor, a sci-fi connoisseur, a mechanical engineer and also a lover of cocktail shrimp. After serving a Christian mission to the country of Panama, he picked up Spanish and developed a penchant for storytelling. Since then, he’s started a writing platform (Red Nova Books, @rednovabooks) and authored multiple books in the genres of urban fantasy and science fiction. Ben enjoys playing tennis, watching anime and keeping up with the latest video games. If he isn’t spending time with his wife and three kids, he’s probably out back pitching ideas to his adopted Calico cat. 

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a signed finished copy of MEMOIRS OF A HOUSEHOLD DEMON & swag in a book box, US Only.

Ends March 11th, midnight EST.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the THE QUEEN’S REAPER by Cole Hopkins Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Cole Hopkins

Pub. Date: January 7, 2025

Publisher: Cole Hopkins

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 628

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/THE-QUEENS-REAPER

Read the book for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited membership! 

“In this debut fantasy, a legendary assassin seemingly aligns himself with a young princess determined to claim her throne… Remarkable characters headline this epic tale of duty, treachery, and never ending battles.” –Kirkus Reviews

Are some men born evil, no chance of redemption from the moment they draw breath? Perhaps, perhaps not. Grim doesn’t seem to think so, and yet, he knows better than to believe that knowledge alone would curb a cruel man’s intent… Even if that man is himself.

He’s made a life, no a legend, out of hunting and killing the conceited nobles of Harth. His sword always answering to the highest bidder. This isn’t because he desires to walk the bloodstained path laid out before him, at least not usually. To him, he’s merely playing the hand he was dealt. Using the skills of his dark and convoluted past as a means to provide for and protect the one thing he holds most dear–the only thing he holds dear–in this world. The shadow of the woman he loves…

But what will Grim do when that shadow is taken from him? Ripped from his grasp and exploited against him. Will he answer the demands of those who have betrayed him so completely, even if to do so means to perform the unthinkable, throwing the Kingdom of Harth into a spiral of chaos it’s not likely to survive?

Well, of course. It’s not like he gives a damn about the kingdom anyway… right?

Grab the series now!

Chapter: 1

Greet the Reaper

            Grim slid through the shadows like a specter. The hour was late, and the moon sat high in the night sky. In spite of that the streets of Everharth bustled still. This was the city that never stopped after all—the capital of the Kingdom of Harth. The crown jewel of the West…

Grim had spent most of his adult life here, and here was where he had mastered his profession—killing. He was an assassin by trade and a damn good one, too. Taking his time to remain completely undetected, he crept from one back alley to another, always on the move. Sometimes a group of city denizens would walk within inches of him and not notice his presence.

The assassin was so stealthy, obsessed with perfecting his art, he would avoid alerting even the local drunks who roamed the capital’s dark streets at night. And not just drunks, but horses and livestock as well. Anything with a pulse was a challenge for the dangerous man to overcome.

His target this night was a nobleman—as was often the case—by the name of Orven Ogle. He was not a particularly rich man, though certainly better off than most of the poor souls who roamed the streets alongside Grim this night. What was this Orven guilty of?

The assassin had no idea. He rarely asked those kinds of questions. Easier to let his imagination convict his victim than hear the truth of why these pathetic noble’s peers might want him dead. Grim almost chuckled out loud at that thought. The noble lords and ladies of Harth were a petty bunch and hardly needed a good reason to want someone dead. All that mattered to Grim was that they paid him sufficiently for the deed.

Although, this particular contract had managed to pique his curiosity. The man who wanted Orven dead was not another noble, but a godly man—a rather revered Father of the Cathedral of Thondel. It wasn’t uncommon for the church to be involved in nefarious business, Grim thought, but assassinations were a bit extreme for them. No matter, he had been paid to do the job and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Pushing the thoughts from his mind, the assassin continued his silent trek through Everharth’s Water District, until he came to the base of the wall surrounding Orven Ogle’s villa. The wall stood twice Grim’s height and was made of strong, thick stone, likely mined from the caverns that snaked through the mountains just south of Everharth.

The assassin wore no armor, other than an iron gauntlet on his left hand, and sturdy, flexible leathers which were complimented by a heavy black riding cloak. Grim briefly considered unfastening the cloak and scaling the wall without it but decided against that course of action when he saw a trio of torch-bearing guards round the corner of the villa, some forty yards away. Their torchlight blinded them to his presence for the time being, but Grim knew that would not be the case for long.

Not waiting to be discovered by the guards, the assassin quickly and quietly took a step back, before launching himself at the wall and half running half climbing, pulled himself atop the thick stone barrier. He made almost no noise during his ascent and the trio passed underneath him, completely unaware of his presence.

Grim quickly surveyed the interior of the villa before him. Directly beneath him was a large courtyard, dimly lit by scattered torches, which were all burning extremely low. On the far side of the courtyard was the main building, a large two-story complex, surrounded entirely by an elegant patio on the ground level, and a high-ceilinged deck atop that.

From where he crouched, Grim could make out six guards: two in the courtyard, two more by the front door, and the last two patrolled the balcony. Without a second thought, the assassin slipped down the wall on the inside of the villa and disappeared into the shadows cast by the dying torches. Within moments, he was pulling himself up one of the elegantly designed pillars that supported the second-story deck. At the top of the pillar the assassin waited, hanging from only his fingers, and bracing himself with his toes.

After several seconds, the first of the two guards on the deck passed above Grim. The guard was tired and likely thinking of dawn, which was not far off, when he would be able to return to the comfort of his bed and finally get some sleep. The man marched passed without suspecting a thing.

With little effort, Grim pulled himself up onto the deck and moved to open the window across from him. Locked. Knowing he had less than a minute before the other guard turned the corner, the assassin pulled out a small pouch containing his lockpicking tools and deftly went to work. After only a few tense seconds, the lock clicked open and Grim slid through the window, quietly closing it behind him.

            Orven Ogle sat alone behind his large oaken desk, playing a game of chess against himself in the light cast by the many candles that dotted his personal study. The room was covered with books, both old and new. They filled shelves all along the walls and even sat in piles on the floor. He was filled with many regrets that night, but perhaps the greatest of all was the fact he would never have the chance to read all those books. To learn their secrets and envision the glorious tales their storied authors had to tell.

Orven was moving the white queen’s knight when he suddenly felt another presence in the room. He had heard nothing, and when he looked out over his desk, he saw nothing, but he knew he was no longer alone. Swallowing his rising dread, he called out into the darkness, “Show yourself, assassin. I know you are there.”

As if Orven’s words had summoned him out of thin air, the assassin confidently strode forward into the light. Grim was a tall man, olive skinned and dark haired. He sported a full beard that looked to be meticulously maintained and well-trimmed. His hair, although long, was also well kept and hung down just past his jawline. The man’s eyes were dark gray and intimidating, and his facial features were strong and angular, reminding Orven very much of a predator’s.

All and all, the assassin struck quite a handsome figure, and somehow it put the nobleman at ease, knowing he wouldn’t be butchered by some leering thug looking to make a copper. This man was no thug. No, this was a true assassin. One Orven knew well—or rather, knew of. The nobles called him Grim. He was distinguishable by his tall, lean figure, and his unique black gauntlet and intricate sword.

Orven eyeballed that sword now. This was the weapon that would ultimately end his life unless the assassin had some other method in mind. It was a long weapon, almost too long to be an assassin’s blade, but the hand-and-a-half sword fit the tall man well. Hanging diagonally from his waist, it cleared the ground with several inches left to spare. It was the handle of that weapon that truly identified Orven’s soon-to-be killer.

The grip was long enough for the assassin to hold with both hands and simple enough in design. The pommel at the end of the hilt, however, was painstakingly carved into the figure of a wolf’s head, and the crossguard was decorated with tiny reliefs telling the story of one of Harth’s mightiest legions.

“My lord,” the assassin greeted. “The hour is late. You should be in bed.”

“Hard to sleep knowing death courts you.” Orven replied, almost chuckling at the hopelessness of it all.

“Death courts us all, my friend,” Grim responded, in a tone dripping with disinterest. He stalked toward one of the bookshelves in the chamber and began sifting through the spines of the many novels housed there. “The key is to die of old age before it catches you.”

Orven released a shaky sigh. “I suppose that is an opportunity I won’t be granted this night?”

“No,” Grim admitted, finding a book that caught his interest. “I’m afraid not.”

Nodding in reservation, Orven asked, “How much?”

Glancing up from his book, Grim replied with mock surprise, “My lord, my loyalty cannot be bartered for. It would ruin my reputation.”

“I don’t mean to buy you out. I haven’t the money left for it,” Orven declared. “I mean how much is he paying you, how much is my life worth?”

Grim chuckled. “Seventy gold coins, a small fortune. Though, the church is infamous for overspending their followers’ hard-earned gold.”

“Seventy gold coins,” Orven mused. “Is that really all my life sums up to?”

“Yes,” Grim confirmed, placing the book back on the shelf and presenting Orven with his undivided attention. “Or at least, Father Bezind seems to think so.”

“Tell me,” the assassin continued. “And I know this is a bit unprofessional, but what does someone have to do to make a man so devout as Father Bezind want them dead?”

“I put out a hit on him first,” Orven admitted. “I nearly emptied the family vault to pay for some mercenaries from the Oval Islands to kill him.”

This drew a raised eyebrow from Grim. “Hiring men to kill members of the clergy, that is an interesting way to spend your family’s fortune…”

Orven’s calm demeanor finally diminished, and he stood up, outraged. “Members of the clergy?” the nobleman scoffed. “What a jest! They’re liars and hypocrites, all of them. They take and take, until there’s nothing left. Then they try to take more! And for what? Hope? The chance of a better afterlife? Unlikely.”

Orven’s sudden outburst had Grim on edge, and he glanced toward the door, wondering who else might have heard the angry nobleman. “Lower your voice, my lord, I implore you.” The assassin whispered rather dangerously.

“What does it matter?” Orven smirked. “My fate will not change. It seems I am to die regardless.”

“There are many different ways to die,” Grim warned. “Some much more painful than others. I get paid the same, either way.”

Taking the hint, Orven lowered himself back down into his chair, glaring daggers at the assassin.

“Obviously, the mercs failed,” Grim continued. “Even a pompous fool like you should have anticipated that, so why do it? Why forfeit your life so knowingly?”

“You want to know why I did it?” Orven asked, his voice once again filling with rage. “I did it because I had to. I did it, because that bastard had to be made to pay for what he did to my little girl, Aleigh.”

“What did he do to your girl?” The assassin asked, his demeanor suddenly darkening.

“He forced himself on her,” Orven said, through gritted teeth and teary eyes. “He forced himself on my little girl, five nights ago, when she was staying late at the cathedral for one of her lessons. And this wasn’t the first time. He’s done… things to her before. He said it would help her be closer to Thondel. That it would secure our family a place in High Hathborn—in the afterlife.” He paused, holding back sobs. “So, you see, assassin, I did what I did, because I had no other choice.”

Grim seemed very distant then, as if he was reliving an old memory, or was simply lost in thought. “We do what we must.” the assassin finally declared. Slowly, he began drawing his hand-and-a-half sword.

Orven finally broke into sobs and lowered his head, defeated. Grim walked around the large wooden desk. He stood behind the nobleman and placed the tip of his blade on Orven’s collar, just above the man’s heart. The noble was prepared for death then in that moment, but the assassin hesitated and leaned down to whisper into Orven’s ear, “May it comfort you, Orven Ogle, to know that Father Bezind is not long for this world either.”

The nobleman sucked in a shaky breath between sobs and even managed a triumphant little smirk before Grim’s sword plunged down into his heart, killing him in an instant. The assassin stood there for a moment before removing his sword and wiping it clean on Orven’s fine pajamas. As he placed the sword back into its sheath, he heard a quiet voice from the door to the study.

“Father? Father is that you?”

Grim felt his heart sink. In walked Aleigh, Orven’s daughter.

“Who are you?” she asked, her panic growing as she took in the scene before her. “What have you done to my daddy?”

Grim knew what he had to do, but for some reason he could not force his body into action. The little girl before him was young indeed. No more than twelve years old. Even though she was recovering from what appeared to be the bruising of a black eye, he could tell she would grow up to be a very beautiful woman.

What would that future look like now that he had robbed her of her father, and that sick bastard, Bezind, had robbed her of her innocence? The assassin knew he should kill her, if not to protect his own vile skin, then for mercy’s sake alone, but he could not do it. He related to this little girl, and he saw some of himself in her as he looked her in the eyes and witnessed the hatred and fear that was rising within her.

“Why did you kill him?” she demanded, her voice cracking as she choked down tears. “Why did you kill my father?”

“I’m sorry,” was all Grim could offer as he rushed out of Orven’s study.

“Stop!” Aleigh yelled, grabbing the assassin’s cloak as he passed her and attempting to hit him—to hurt him in some way.  “Stop! I hate you—I hate you!” she screamed. “Guards, he killed my father! Guards, help!”

Her screams soon became incoherent and Grim grabbed her hands, yanking them away from his cloak before shoving her to the ground. He took one last look at the broken little girl, before charging down the stairs and rushing toward the front door. Aleigh’s screams haunted him the whole way and he knew his cover was already blown. It seemed he would be fighting his way out.

The assassin drew his sword as he approached the door and kicked it open with all his strength. The door flew open, and the guard who had been attempting to open it was launched back down the small set of stairs leading up to the patio of the villa.

“Intruder!” the second guard shouted. “Intruder in the house!” He charged straight at Grim, kite shield leveled, hoping to bowl the assassin over.

Grim was filled with anger and unsettling emotions from his encounter in the house with Aleigh and her father, and he channeled that now, into nothing but pure rage. Quick as a viper, the assassin sidestepped the charging guard, and brought his sword down in a powerful vertical slash that chopped the man’s shield arm off at the shoulder.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Grim grabbed the now screaming guard by the face and slammed him into the wall of the house, before shoving him into the first guard, who had recovered and was moving to join the fray. Both men fell backwards, but before the assassin could finish them, the guards from the upstairs balcony crashed through the front door, and advanced toward the intruder.

Realizing the confined balcony favored the guards with their overwhelming numbers, Grim leaped off the patio and into the courtyard, where two more guards were waiting for him. Both the guards from the balcony and the initial door guard followed him out into the courtyard. The man whose arm he had severed remained on the patio, motionless and quiet.

Five on one Grim thought. It was a fair fight. But in the silence before the ensuing clash of steel, the assassin could hear Aleigh’s incoherent screams of grief coming from the inside of the house, and they wounded him more than these doomed men’s blades ever could.

Unwilling to wait for his adversaries to go on the offensive, Grim lunged toward the man on his right, launching a storm of blows the guard couldn’t hope to defeat. Overwhelmed, the man tried to fall back behind his fellows on either side of him, but the assassin was too quick. Slashing him across the knee with a crooked swing that brought his longsword above his head, Grim stepped to the side as the man fell. The assassin brought the blade back down in a clean slash decapitating the helpless guard.

Grim was being pressed from all sides now, and he had to fall back into a defensive stance to defeat the remaining four guards’ aggressive blows. Twirling his blade, the assassin picked off the first three guards’ sword strokes with simple deflects. On the fourth guard’s swing, he grabbed the end of his long blade with the iron gauntlet and caught the guard’s blade just above the intricate crossguard of his legion sword.

The assassin slammed the wolf headed pommel of his weapon directly into the guard’s forehead, before shoving the man’s sword down low, and thrusting his own blade back up into the man’s gut. Quickly disengaging from the dying man, Grim reset into a defensive stance where he waited for the next attack.

Realizing they were outmatched, the guards slowed the fight down and began to attack less aggressively. One man started a slow chop for the assassin’s head, but Grim saw it for what it was—a simple feint to distract him from the dangerous thrust of the man’s sword behind him.

Without missing a beat, Grim stepped forward and kicked the man squarely in the chest, before quickly rotating back around to knock the true threat of the other guard’s thrust aside with his iron gauntlet. The now unbalanced man was an easy target for the assassin, and he made short work of him, stabbing the guard under his outstretched sword arm, and viciously ripping the blade free to parry the slash of the third guard. The man was hardly ready for the brutal counter and fell to the ground when Grim deftly kicked the man’s legs out from under him, finishing him with a powerful two-handed downwards thrust.

Now there was only one guard, and he had recovered from Grim’s kick and was running for the main gate. Suddenly it swung open and the three guards patrolling outside the villa came rushing in. The fleeing man found renewed hope and quickly turned to meet Grim’s onslaught. The sound of steel on steel rang out in the early morning air before three of the guards fell dead.

The fourth was actually quite skilled and was putting up a decent fight. Unfortunately for him, quite skilled was not nearly enough to keep him alive against Grim, much less defeat the man in one-on-one combat. After a particularly fast exchange of blows, the assassin disarmed the man with a wicked slash to the fingers and finished him with a second slash across the throat.

As that last guard toppled to the ground, Grim took a few steps back. His skin glistened with sweat in the early dawn light. He threw his head back, inhaling deeply and catching his breath. Feeling his breathing return to normal, the assassin glanced around the courtyard, taking in his handiwork. The scene before him was gruesome indeed. The nine men’s bodies lay torn and bloodied all about the entrance to the villa.

These guards didn’t have to die, Grim thought. They were soldiers—not so different from himself. But so be it. The assassin refused to let their deaths eat at his conscience…

Grim could hear the birds beginning their morning songs, and he knew it was time to move. He had already spent far more time in Orven’s villa than he should have, and the sun peeking over Everharth’s distant walls was another, not so subtle, reminder.

The assassin collected himself and prepared to leave, when he heard a shout from behind him, shattering the overwhelming silence of the crisp autumn morning.

“Murderer!”

Grim turned, knowing what he would see, but still hoping, praying to whatever god might be listening, that he would be wrong—that somehow, he would see someone else, something else, anything else, standing there. There was no god, in High Hathborn or anywhere else who answered the assassin’s prayer. There stood young Aleigh, still wearing her pajamas. They were covered with, Grim could only assume, her father’s blood and she held one of the guard’s arming swords. The girl pointed it directly at him.

“You killed my father and all of his guard’s, but you won’t kill me!” Aleigh’s eyes were red, and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Despite that she stood defiantly across the courtyard from the assassin, unafraid.  “Fight me, you murderer,” the young girl shrieked. “Fight me!”

Grim just shook his head and turned to walk away. He had killed this little girl’s father for money, and he had killed all his guards in self-defense. Men who had families of their own—little sons and daughters who would grow up never knowing their fathers. He had killed countless innocents to make it as far as he had in life, and he was content being that monster. But to kill this little girl? For some reason, that was a monster he could not be—denied being.

“I’ve seen your face,” Aleigh desperately screamed. “You have to kill me, or I’ll turn you in to the legions!”

Grim paused. She was right. She had seen his face, and it was because he had been sloppy. Maybe he already killed this girl when his arrogance allowed him to charge through this villa like a foreign invader…

Suddenly, Aleigh rushed forward, her eyes burning with hatred, as she leveled her sword for Grim’s gut. Hardly thinking, the assassin caught the sword’s short blade with his gauntleted left hand and knocked the weapon down and out of Aleigh’s grasp. Without slowing at all, the young girl pulled out a kitchen knife she had been concealing in her sleeve and stabbed it directly into the side of Grim’s leg.

Cursing in surprise and pain, the assassin reflexively backhanded Aleigh away from him and grabbed the knife, yanking it out of his leg and dropping it to the ground. Consumed by a fury he could not suppress, Grim readied his sword to finish off the little girl and end both of their suffering. The moment he raised his weapon, the assassin instantly regretted it, and he hesitated as he looked upon Aleigh, lying on the ground with a fresh nosebleed. She looked back up at him with such intense loathing, that he thought he could almost feel the pain she wished so dearly to inflict on him.

“I’ve seen your face,” she quietly said, for a second time.

Grim wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t kill her, even if that’s what she truly wanted now. He would not grant her that wish. The assassin’s sword was still raised when he heard a horn sound out from the gateway to the villa. That was a legion horn!

“Fuck,” Grim muttered under his breath.

“Fire!” came the cry from an officer standing just outside the main gate.

Grim heard the clicks of crossbows and he reflexively spun, grabbing his heavy riding cloak, and flaring it out behind him as he turned. Three bolts were stopped, catching, and hanging in his cloak. A fourth managed to punch through the thick leather and nail him in the shoulder. A fifth flew past him, dangerously close to his wounded leg and hit Aleigh square in the chest, drawing a pained shriek from the young girl. Grim looked down at the child, likely mortally wounded, and then back up at the advancing legion of men, marching into the villa five abreast, silver armor adorned with embossed eagles.

The assassin fled. Sprinting to the back of the complex before the crossbows could be reloaded and clambering up the wall, to drop painfully to the other side. Grim knew his way around the Water District well, and quickly lost any pursuit by taking back alleys, rushing through people’s yards, and eventually taking to the rooftops, where he finally slowed to evaluate his wounds.

The kitchen knife had been fairly dull and not ideal for stabbing, and the crossbow bolt had barely managed to pierce the hardened leather cuirass, probably thanks to his little cloak trick. Grimacing, the assassin ripped the bolt out and smelled the tip. Not poisoned, as he had suspected. Poison, for the most part, wasn’t really the legion’s style after all. Which brought him to his second question—what was the legion doing here? There was always at least one Harthian legion in the capital, but very rarely did they patrol the Water District, and in such force!

Normally each district of the city, five in total, was protected and laws were enforced by their own garrison of soldiers. A much smaller and far less trained group of men than a legion, but effective, nonetheless. The regalia worn by the soldiers at the Ogle’s villa indicated that they were a part of the Legion of the Eagle. A legion that was supposed to be camped out to the north of the city, defending from naval raids led by the Oval Islands.

This turn of events disturbed the assassin greatly, but even more so, he couldn’t shake the image of Aleigh, pinned to the ground by a crossbow bolt. The missile hadn’t been slowed by his cloak at all, and Aleigh wore no armor to deflect the shot. She was likely dead. The thought should have comforted him. It was the fate she had wanted. The fate he had been too weak to give her. Her death conveniently tied up his only loose end…

Grim was far from comforted by the thought. Instead, he felt guilty. A guilt he was all too familiar with. The child’s death rested heavy on the assassin’s shoulders, and he dwelled on it for many hours that morning. He waited for the bustling crowds of Everharth to take to the streets, so he could slip away to collect his payment from Father Bezind…

About Cole Hopkins:

Cole was born in Tennessee in 1996. His love for fantasy started at a very young age, fueled by the many movies, video games, and of course books he enjoyed all throughout his youth and still to this day. He loves chess, cars, and soccer– the latter of which is a passion he shares with his wife, Lindsey. Together the two recently welcomed their daughter Cecilia into the world. The three now live happily in Northern Kentucky, along with their two Black Labs, Ziggy and Eevee.

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $100 Amazon Gift Card, US Only.

1 winner will receive a signed finished copies of THE QUEEN’S REAPER SAGA, US Only.

Ends March 11th, midnight EST.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the STEVEN F SEAGULL & THE MISSING CHIPS by Kitty May Gruchelska Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Kitty May Gruchelska

Pub. Date: June 13, 2024

Publisher: Magnetic Lion Productions

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 240

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon

Get the eBook for .99! 

In Chips We Trust
The chipocalypse is the greatest mystery to hit the seaside town of Fry Cove. Join Steven F Seagull on the adventure of a lifetime in this Pencraft Best Book engaging read about courage, friendship and teamwork, which reviewers hail as ‘an unexpected delight.’

Who stole the chips? Was it the Deny the Fry colony, who want all seagulls to quit eating chips? Or was it the seagull mafia boss, Stefano Giacomo, who has concocted a dastardly plot to convert all seagulls to pizza and pasta? As part of the newly formed CIA (Chips Investigation Agency), our reluctant hero, along with Charlie, Steven Colton, the karate chopping Bart, and Steven Rhys pit their wits to solve the mystery.

Whether you’re a fan of whimsical tales or simply in need of a feel-good read, this Readers’ Favourite 5 Star ‘war of the best carbohydrates’ book is sure to leave you smiling.

Reviews:

Five stars!
‘…a war of the best carbohydrates!’
‘…a wonderful, family-friendly story that was an absolute delight to read.’– Jamie Michele, Readers’ Favourite

‘…a delightful and whimsical adventure…’
‘Throughout this fast-paced tale, readers will meet gannets, pasta-loving Italians, and even robots… Ultimately, “The Great Chip Hunt” is a fun tale of adventure and a heartwarming reminder of the importance of friendship…’ –Authors Reading

Five stars!
‘Gruchelska’s storytelling is engaging, reminiscent of an animated movie… (her) ability to craft a charming world filled with memorable characters makes the book a joy for readers of all ages.’ –Literary Titan

Book Trailer:

 

Excerpt 1

Nervous, I flew alongside my dad, wondering what to expect. Fry Cove looked so peaceful and calm from the air, hiding the chip chaos. Dad took me to a rooftop on the edge of Fry Cove, where we found a hole and squeezed inside the lair of his ex-crime fighting friend.

It was dark inside, except for the light coming through the hole. A seagull emerged from a shadowy corner, smoke surrounding him in a cloudy haze.

“Who goes there?” he grumbled.

My dad held up his wings like he was surrendering.

“It’s okay, it’s me, Steven Petronius.”

A bedraggled seagull hopped forward, a twig drooping from the corner of his beak.

“Hmph, long time no see,” he said. “How long was it since we were both in the seagull police force?”

They slapped each other on the back, and began chuckling.

“This is Steven Sherlock,” my dad said. “He’s a very old friend.”

Both of them tipped their heads back and cackled, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!”

“Remember the time we busted that American fries racket?” Steven Sherlock said.

“Oh yeah,” Dad said. “Our finest hour.” He beckoned to me. “This is my son, Steven Fitzgerald.”

The ex-detective’s eyes scanned me.

“A fine boy,” he commented. “What can I do for you? Is it anything to do with the chipocalypse?”

“Still as sharp as ever!” my dad said. “My boy just joined the newly formed CIA, or Chips Investigation Agency. Its mission is to solve the mystery of our missing chips, and restore order in Fry Cove.”

I gulped, my mind racing at the thought of the responsibility I had accepted.

“That’s brave of you,” said Steven Sherlock. “Pull this off, and you’ll be the hero of Fry Cove.”

I hung my head low, knowing I was far from heroic.

“Unfortunately, Steven Zeus put the Artful Dodger in charge of the CIA,” Dad said, shaking his head.

“That fool,” Steven Sherlock scoffed. “So, it means you need all the help you can get.”

He finished his twig, and stubbed it out on the floor.

My dad asked, “Have you got any old tools of the trade to get my boy started?”

Steven Sherlock lifted a wing tip in a lightbulb moment.

“I have something that could help.”

He waddled to the side of the room, which received light from the hole. Pulling out a drawer, he dipped in, lifting something out. It was shiny, but dusty. He dropped it on the floor with a clunk.

“You’ll find this useful when looking for clues,” he said. “It’s my old spy glass.”

He demonstrated by picking it up with one foot, peering through it.

“You can see many things not visible to the seagull eye. It makes tiny things bigger.”

“That’s…great,” I said, not sure how it would help.

“Hmmm,” Dad said. “What else do you have in your arsenal?”

Steven Sherlock rubbed his wings together with glee.

“Glad you asked! I have the full Chip Stealing Investigation tools here!”

He used his beak to pull a cord. A series of drawers and cupboards popped out, revealing a full range of crime fighting equipment.  There was so much technology, it made my mind boggle.

“Here, we have a sophisticated tool for analysing wing tip prints.”

I stared at the equipment wide-eyed.

“While over here,” he added, “I have some special cement for making casts of footprints, chalk for drawing around dead gulls, and a poop splatter examination kit. It can also analyse ketchup, mayonnaise, and even barbeque sauce smears.”

“It’s so…hi-tech,” I said.

“You’re in the best of wings,” Dad said. Turning to Steven Sherlock, he added, “Where do you suggest my boy starts?”

He pulled the cord again, and the equipment rolled back into its secret location.

“Go to the places of previous chip sightings, and use the spy glass to find clues. Take samples of any ketchup smears or small items that you think are suspicious, then bring them back to me in these little bags.”

He passed me some empty chip bags.

“Okay,” I said, my voice quite shaky.

“You can do this,” Dad said. “I believe in you.”

It was time to show Fry Cove my capabilities, but could I live up to my dad’s expectations?

 

 

About Kitty May Gruchelska:

Kitty May Gruchelska loves creating fantastical worlds for her readers, full of diverse and quirky characters. In a past life, she was probably a cat because she likes tuna, dislikes water, and frequently knocks things over, but luckily, she has nine lives. Kitty May teaches in a magical desert kingdom full of sunshine, camels, and rice dishes. She loves travelling, which also inspires her to write.

Sign up for Kitty’s newsletter and get Stefano Giacomo & The Three Ghosts for FREE!

Website | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon

 

Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a finished copy of STEVEN F SEAGULL & THE MISSING CHIPS & A $25 Amazon Gift Card, US Only.

4 winners will receive a finished copy of STEVEN F SEAGULL & THE MISSING CHIPS, US Only.

Ends March 4th, midnight EST.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the OF THREADS AND OCEANS by Camilla Tracy Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Camilla Tracy

Pub. Date: August 17, 2023

Publisher: Pudel Threads Publishing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 326

Find it: Goodreads, https://geni.us/OfThreadsandOceans

An exceptional life leads to extraordinary challenges. Especially with a tiger, dog, and snake.

In a world of ancient secrets and mystical powers, Thali, a famed merchant’s daughter conceals her true identity. After her brother’s sudden death, Thali must stay safe and navigate a new school and unfamiliar faces. As she struggles with whom to trust, strange things start to happen around her, and the animals refuse to be ignored as she’s tempted by the draw of her own magic.

Every day threatens to expose her secrets as she’s torn between embracing her magic and remaining in the shadows. Especially when she meets a mysterious boy who is a match for her in all forms. With her friends, magic, and identity at stake, Thali must confront the truth she has been avoiding.

As Thali battles her inner demons and the mysteries of an ancient world unravel around her, will Thali embrace her true self and harness her magic’s potential, or will she succumb to the evil dangers that lie ahead?

Top 5 Writer Must Haves

Mood music: Lately, I’ve been into Imagine Dragons while I edit and get business stuff done. I’m finding it energizing and motivating to get my tasks moving. But, I can’t write with lyrics playing. So while I’m writing, it’s always instrumental, and lately, it’s been this fantasy instrumental list that helps me get my words in. 

Beverages : At least two drinks, maybe three. Water to hydrate, something fun like tea or coffee, and a protein drink for nutrition to keep yourself going through your those writing sprints. I believe it’s known as being a drink goblin and I am definitely that.

A favorite pen: My favorite pen is the Sarasa zebra gel pen in blue. Whether it’s to make notes, write something down to remember later (like the color of a dress in a scene), a pen you love using makes it all the more lovely to do.

Favorite notebook : Now I know I can’t be the only one who collects notebooks and is usually too afraid to use them. But just like it can be a pleasure to write with your favorite pen, it’s also a pleasure to write ON your favorite paper – the smoothness, the thickness, please tell me I’m not the only one.

Furry friend: please don’t get a furry friend if you don’t already have one, or weren’t planning on getting one. Or maybe get a stuffed animal friend. I’m an animal person through and through, but I do think they make the best office co-habitators. My doggos remind me to get up and empty my bladder, stretch, and move around. I also love to grab a few treats for a quick training session for a mental break. And there’s nothing better than doggie snuggles!

Many of us readers/writers have pets and while they make great snuggle buddies and reading companions, if you’ve ever wanted something quick to do with your dog (or cat), I’ve put on my other hat as a pet professional to give you a few things to try below:

Five quick games to play with your dog:

Treat hunt: put your dog in another room, put three-five treats in little piles around your space – the easiest is in the middle of an open space, the more difficult being near furniture corners. Let your dog use their sniffer to find and eat the treats!

What do you know: Does your dog know the hand signal, or the verbal cue? Try asking for a sit – both verbally first, and then with your hand signal and see which your dog listens to fastest. This one gives you homework to know which you need more practice with.

Random tricks: Write each of the behaviors your dog knows on a cue card, shuffle them up and pull each out at random to see which you should practice. Or make it fancy by seeing how many you can do in a row!

Nose boop: Put a treat in your hand. Close your hand around it and place your hand right in front of your dog’s nose. When they move to investigate and touch your hand – open your hand and let them eat the treat! Once your dog practices this a few times, make it harder by moving your hand further away, or to the left/right, or up/down. 

Good dog: Dogs don’t usually like to be pet, especially a hand touching the top of their head. But you can teach them it’s awesome! Pat your dog’s head and then give them a treat. You’re creating a positive association with touching the top of their head! You can do this with touching their collar too. Because usually, when we grab our dog’s collar, we take them away from the fun thing, so many dogs learn to shy away when a hand moves in.

Bonus: Recall: The power of your dog’s name comes from all the previous instances – and what happened after. Grab ten treats, call your dog to you, give them one from your hand and toss the second treat away from you. Takes seconds and you’ve just put five great coins into the ‘come when I call your name’ account. 

About Camilla Tracy:

Camilla is a lover of many mediums of storytelling. She loves to write YA fantasy with strong heroines who can kick butt, find love, and adventure with their animals sidekicks. She always has projects on the go and loves to consume stories of all kinds – books, shows, movies, plays, amongst many others.

When she is not writing, Camilla is often found exploring animal behavior, crafting, drinking a hot beverage, and clicker training her animals.

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Giveaway Details:

2 winners will receive a book box with a finished copy of OF THREADS AND OCEANS & swag, US & Canada Only.

Ends March 4th, midnight EST.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the BECOMING MARIELLA by Janet Constantino Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Janet Constantino

Pub. Date: February 4, 2025

Publisher: She Writes Press

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 376

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/BECOMING-MARIELLA 

For fans of Elena Ferrante’s The Lying Life of Adults and Jean Kwok’s Girl in Translation comes a contemporary coming-of-age tale about a young Italian immigrant’s desperate journey to find her personal freedom.

It’s unprecedented, even in the twenty-first century, for a young Sicilian woman to defy the centuries-old mandate, “Family is everything!”—but twenty-two-year-old Mariella Russo is desperate to escape Sicily. She’s being relentlessly coerced into an engagement with her wealthy college sweetheart—a young man from a prominent, powerful family—by her envious and erratic mother, who hopes the match will increase her own ignominious social status. Suddenly, Mariella’s lifelong home has become a claustrophobic island. In a bid for independence and an attempt to escape entrapment, she flees to San Francisco.

But Mariella’s bête noire—entrapment—follows her to San Francisco, where everyone wants more from her than she wants to give. Her American roommate, Leslie, turns out to be a gay man rather than the woman she imagined; her employer/lover is pressuring her to live with him; and her neurotic mother is haunting her, wreaking havoc and embarrassment. An urgent return trip to Sicily puts Mariella to the ultimate challenge: will she submit to tradition, or choose a life she wants for herself? 

Reviews:

“Readers will easily relate to this enjoyable and honest depiction of the conflicting desires and expectations faced by many people in their 20s.” —Kirkus Reviews

“. . . Constantino’s prose effectively carries the story . . .” —BookLife Prize

“Janet Constantino creates a host of unforgettable—and delightfully unpredictable—characters in this wise and lively novel full of romance, passion, true friendship, and deliciously detailed descriptions of authentic Italian cooking.” —Mary Helen Stefaniak, author of The Cailiffs of Baghdad, Georgia

“Janet Constantino has created a character of wonderful complexity.” —David Chandler, stage, screen, and voice actor

“Becoming Mariella speaks to any woman or man who has ever wanted more of a future than what was already laid out for them.” —Morgan Ray, author of Sticks and Stones and Unsolicited Greetings

“You’ll end up considering them your friends and want to invite most of them over for dinner.” —Susan Salenger,author of Sidelined

!

About Janet Constantino:

Janet Constantino is a former a competitive Latin Ballroom dancer and journalist, and has been a licensed psychotherapist since 1983. In 2015, she earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Pacific University, and in 2021, she won second place in the MFK Fisher Last House writing contest. A practicing Buddhist, Janet has a grown son and twin granddaughters. She and her husband of twenty-five years live in the beautiful city of Sonoma, California, with their beloved Labradoodle and tuxedo cat.

Subscribe to Janet’s newsletter! Scroll to the bottom of the page. 

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a finished copy of BECOMING MARIELLA, US Only.

Ends February 22nd, midnight EST.

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the GREETING CARDS FOR EXES by Rebekah L. Purdy Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Author: Rebekah L. Purdy

Pub. Date: February 4, 2025

Publisher: Rowan Prose Publishing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/u/bQlRpD

“Purdy presents a beautifully complex array of characters that touch your heart.” –A Bookish Escape

Piper Mishner has spent the last year trying to get over her ex, which is hard to do after he decides to move into the apartment next to hers with his new fiancé. As if she needs the reminder of how painful the breakup was. Not to mention, her job as a greeting card writer is now at risk due to her cynicism about love.

 
“I’m bored with you and need a change.” The infamous words of Kerrie Holloway’s ex-husband, who doesn’t seem to understand the concept of being an “ex” since he wants her to pretend for their kids and family that they’re still together. While dating others and living in the same house. She gets a job in sales at a greeting card company, and is finally on the way to saving for her own place.

 
Maude Gilchrist has spent over fifty years married to the same man. A man who, one day, just leaves. No goodbye. No explanation. He was just gone. Bitter and alone, she decides to postpone retirement from the greeting card company. Although writing sappy cards about love is the last thing she wants to do.

Through lunch hour talks, weekend getaways, and drunken brawls, the ladies of All For You Greeting Cards Company help heal one another’s wounds and learn there are more important things in life than having a man. There may be a generational gap, but they all have the “ex-factor” in common. Everyone needs a friend by their side. Someone to talk to, laugh with, complain to, watch your back…and to go to jail with you. 

Fans of Ashley Poston, Colleen Hoover, Emily Henry, Christina Lauren, Mia Sheridan, and Kristin Hannah will enjoy “Greeting Cards For Exes” by Rebekah L. Purdy.

Book Trailer:

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About Rebekah L. Purdy:

Rebekah L. Purdy is an army veteran, born and raised in Michigan. She works full time for the court system and, in her free time, she writes YA stories across many genres, with more than 15 titles to date. She has a large family, including furbabies. “Greeting Cards for Exes” is her first women’s fiction book.

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon Gift Card, International.

Ends March 8^th, midnight EST.

Writing Through Grief: Greeting Cards for Exes is my first book to be published since my husband passed away at the end of 2018. I feel like this was my “healing” project. I don’t think anyone totally understands the impact of grief until they go through something traumatic like this. Prior to my husband’s passing, I had like 2-3 books coming out a year and things were going really well. Once he passed though, I was in such a writing funk. It’s like I lost my creativity, and I couldn’t make myself write anything. I’d sit down with the intent to put something on paper and the words just wouldn’t come. I started getting into my own head, about maybe not being able to do it anymore, that maybe the mojo had run dry. And of course, during this time, I took a step back from my social media sites, places I’d always used to interact with my readers, some of whom I’d even become friends with. I felt as if, I’d lost touch with all the things and people who’d made my writing career so special. This for me was really hard, because for the 7-8 years leading up to my husband’s passing, writing had been a huge part of my life. But I knew I wasn’t in the right mind frame to write, and I really struggled with that.

The thing is writing had always brought me so much joy, so the thought of never being able to write again made me sad. It’d always been an outlet for me, since I was a child. But I feel like I needed to work through the grief, which took me time as I was trying to be strong for my kids and figure out how my life was going to look now that my husband, who was my best friend, wasn’t here now. It was a long process, and is still a process that I will probably continue to work on for the rest of my life to some extent. 

But I remember getting the idea for Greeting Cards for Exes and the excitement I felt being able to write again. I called my sister and was like: “Hey, I’ve got this idea, and I wanted to bounce some things off of you.” We spent a few hours on the phone discussing everything and I was like, whoa, I think I’m legit ready to do this. And so, I started to write. I believe the cast of characters kind of allowed me to work through some of those moments of grief I’d still been clinging to. Because in a way, the characters were working through their own sort of griefs, with their breakups and relationship endings. But there were still these deep friendships they had, and they kind of anchored one another, which in my own life I had my own “cast” of friends and family who really came alongside me as I worked through my emotions. Whether it was to let me cry or vent or laugh, they had my back and were my daily reminders that there’s no right or wrong way to grieve. 

As I wrote Greeting Cards for Exes, I laughed over scenes and cried over scenes, and it was amazing to just “feel” again. When I look back to typing the words: The End for this book, it was honestly the most freeing and therapeutic thing I’d felt. I had tears streaming down and I recall sending the last chapter overfor my sister to read, then messaging my agent that I’d finished writing my first adult book. It was proof to myself that I could still do this and that I’d just needed time to truly give myself closure and time to heal. This book will always be close to my heart because it truly was the spark and outlet I needed to jump start my creativity again. The characters kind of allowed me to fall in love with writing all over again. I think there will always be days that don’t feel the greatest, but I’ve proven to myself that I can still do this, and I want to still do this. 

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the WINTERS HAVEN by E.S. Scrivner Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited membership! 

In a realm where gods whisper and shadows come alive…

Ilfair never asked to be chosen. But when ancient runes appear on his arm and voices invade his mind, he’s thrust into a world where myth and reality collide. As the reluctant bearer of a divine message, Ilfair must embark on a perilous journey across the realm of Erlan to bring forth a child of the gods—one that could usher in an Age of Knowledge or spell doom for all.

With the help of Embrey, a determined priestess, and Ao’faer, the enigmatic Athenomancer, Ilfair must navigate treacherous waters, both literal and figurative. From the towering Atheneum Isle to the mysterious Whalefall grove, he’ll face challenges that will test not just his courage, but his very sanity.

As dark forces spawned by the unearthly Aberiths close in, Ilfair must master his newfound abilities and unravel the secrets of his destiny. But in a world where knowledge is power and memories are magic, who can he truly trust?

Dive into Winters Haven, a spellbinding tale of cosmic balance, ancient prophecies, and one young man’s struggle to find his place in a world on the brink of transformation. Perfect for fans of medieval fantasy, this epic tale will keep you turning pages long into the night.

Will Ilfair embrace his destiny and save Erlan, or will the whispers in his mind lead him astray?

Get your copy now and embark on an unforgettable journey through a world where every shadow holds a secret and every choice could change the fate of the realm!

Excerpt:

Ilfair awoke at the bottom of a deep rift, in a land completely unknown to him, and noticed light snow collecting in his red hair. The moon shone down through the snowflakes which fell heavily from invisible clouds high in the night sky. He sat up, disoriented, a dim ringing still filled his fuzzy head.

He stretched his arms, rubbing them a little to warm himself. Some of the snow that had gathered on him while he slept melted and dripped from his thin hair. His wet bangs hung limply over his face, covering his light eyebrows and obscuring his view slightly. He smoothed it back away from his face and took in his surroundings. This cold, dark landscape was a far cry from his home in Fayrest.

The land around Fayrest was red and green hued from the oxidizing iron and nickel in the earth there, especially in the deepest mines of the Fenrik Hills created by the divine power of Iroin’s Runeminers. But this place was black.

As he remembered the scene from within the moon and took stock of his surroundings, panic flared in his chest again and the familiar and terrifying images of dark, eel-like creatures whispered incoherently in his mind. He closed his eyes, looked down, and took eight deep breaths to calm his heart and thoughts.

“One… two… three… four…” Ilfair focused on his breathing, counting each breath carefully to avoid the slithering whispers.

“Five… six… seven… eight…” On the last exhale, he opened his eyes, the pupils and sky-blue irises reversed, as only his could, to allow him to see clearly in the darkness that had swallowed him. His shadowsight.

The mental assault persisted but was at least manageable enough for him to take in his surroundings. All around him were unearthly black structures. Sheer and tall black rift walls flanked him. Nearer to him, eight rune-covered standing stones rose up about him like dead trees from the shiny, wet, black ground.

An itching feeling on his arm took his eyes from the eldritch mystery of the scene. He looked down at the underside of his arm, the source of the unpleasant sensation, and gasped at what he saw. Black runes spiraled and twisted on the pale underside of his exposed and lightly freckled forearm.

About E.S. Scrivner:

Known by his alien kin as Es, he fell to Earth when the skies were still dark. For ages, he burrowed beneath the surface of this simple world. But over millennia, as the weird sphere warmed and shifted, Es emerged, slithering out from beneath a rock sometime in the early 1980s. Sustained by a diet of comic books, fantasy role-playing games, and caffeine, he evolved into a sometimes-likable young man with auburn hair and freckled skin. He adopted the name Eric Scrivner and began crafting works of fantasy. Without these creations, he risks reverting to his slithering form, cursed to hide beneath some cold, lonely rock once again.

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Giveaway Details:

1 winner will receive a $10 Amazon Gift Card courtesy of Rockstar Book Tours, International.

Ends February 11th, midnight EST.