Wednesday, September 1, 2021

Author Interview - Illusions: Ravens of Darkness by Elle Preston #YoungAdult #PNR #paranormalromance


- What is your “day” job if you are not a full-time author?

My day job is a 24/7 position called “mom to five kids between the ages of five and fifteen.” My family comes first unless I’m trying to edit, then the kids have to fend for themselves. Editing is hard. 

- If you wrote a book about your life what would the title be?

Grateful.  I've been very blessed. 

- What is the hardest thing about being an author?

For me, the hardest thing about being an author is finding time to write. I wish there was a quicker way to get ideas from my head onto the computer.  So I have to get creative, writing on my phone when I’m waiting for kids to get out of their activities, dictating scenes into my phone while making dinner, doing my research while I sit with them doing their school work.  

- What is the best thing about being an author?

Working in my pajamas.

- Have you ever been star struck by meeting one of your favorite authors? If so who was it?  

Star struck, no. But I did get to meet my favorite lyricist at a concert once. It was a quick “Hi. Love your words. Thank you.”  It was unexpected. It would have been great to have more time, but I’m not sure what I would have said.  

- What book changed your life?

There isn't one book. But many. I think when we love something we’ve read, it sticks with us in profound ways and changes us.

- What were some of your favorite books growing up?

I loved the Little House on the Prairie series, Judy Blume books, Beverly Cleary. I always liked the Choose Your Own Adventure books because I got to control the direction of the story a little. I loved Edgar Allen Poe at a young age because my dad was an English teacher and would read it aloud. 

 What books are currently in your to be read pile?

Before Versailles, by Karleen Koen and The Razor’s Edge, by W. Somerset Maugham

- Which do you prefer ebooks, print, or audio books?

I'm old school. I love print books -- the weight of them in my hand, the way they smell.  Old books are the best. I do appreciate audiobooks as well.  They are great for road trips.

- If you could live inside the world of a book or series which world would it be and why?

There’s not a single book I would choose to live in, but rather specific scenes from various books, for example: Chapter Three of The Great Gatsby, Or Act 2 Scene 2 of Romeo and Juliet.  I read a lot of historical fiction and while fascinating, I wouldn't necessarily want to jump into Henry the Eighth’s world. And when it comes to dystopian novels, reading the books is enough.

A fictional place I would love to live in that is not from a book is Stars Hollow from Gilmore Girls.  How fun would that be? Everyone is witty, troubadours abound, and literally the worst thing that could happen is Taylor raises the price of grapefruits to pay for some revolutionary war reenactment. 


Illusions: Ravens of Darkness 
Ravens of Darkness 
Book One
Elle Preston 

Genre: Young Adult; Paranormal Romance 
Publisher: Lark Publishing Crew 
Date of Publication: November 14, 2020 
ISBN: 978-0578661230 
ASIN: B08NGC23MS 
Number of pages: 269 
Word Count: 84,000 
Cover Artist: Lark Publishing Crew 

Tagline: Nothing is what it seems. Not even love. 

Book Description: 

An ancient cult. A supernatural addiction. A forbidden love. Sixteen year old Evie Willow is terrified of drowning but she's even more afraid of her own feelings. 

When the charismatic and telepathic lifeguard, Talon Renwyck, suddenly turns his affections toward her, Evie’s ability to rein in her feelings is threatened. Talon knows a secret which plunges Evie into the deep waters of her hidden emotions. As she drifts away from the life she knows into Talon’s beckoning arms, Evie learns that Talon is much more than just the handsome guy she’s falling in love with. Caught in a dark and supernatural addiction and tied to a secret cult, Talon is crying out for help. Can Evie save him from himself? 

Is their love the real deal or is it an illusion? 

Nothing is what it seems.

Illusions is the first book in the Ravens of Darkness Series. 

If you like character driven, paranormal romance sagas with supernatural elements, darkly dynamic love relationships, and a hint of magic and mystery, then you'll love the Ravens of Darkness Series. 

Book Two, Reflections, to be released November 2021 

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/EpJdxBUs4Ac  


Amazon      Apple     Kobo     BN


Excerpt

It's freezing here at the top of the sand dune in the dark with the wind off the lake. Alex pulls a hoodie out of his backpack and tosses it to me. I put it on and get a sudden shiver through my body. I tighten my arms around my knees to keep warm. He leans closer to me,

"What are you thinking?" Alex says for the second time tonight. I laugh at that.

“You’re a telepath.  Don't you know what I’m thinking all the time?”

"You wonder why Talon chose you?” he says.

“Maybe.”

“My guess is he’s hung up on you because you’re wound so tight."

"Are you insulting me?"

"No. Just making an observation. Your repressed feelings; not crying for ten years. That’s a lot of tension. You’re a whole bunch of canned heat. You’re probably an amazing rush."

That sounds vaguely obscene like something scratched into the wall of the men’s room at the Cosmic Bowl. For a good rush call, Evie. I shudder to think. “Rush. Why do you call it that?"

"It’s the feeling you get as the energy sweeps through you. There’s nothing like it." Alex looks me in the eyes. I was addicted. I was a morphi, He thinks to me.

Was. Alex said he was an addict, but doesn't that mean he’ll always be one? I ask him how it works. How does a person take another person’s energy? What are the mechanics of it?

What’s the procedure? He says that the human body has energy vortices just like the Earth does. There are seven of them, basically starting in the pelvis and going up the spine to the crown. Morphi (energy addicts) access energy through the vortex at the neck. The throat is the easiest portal to access.

That sounds a lot like vampires to me.

"You girls and your vampire fetish,” he rolls his eyes. “I think it’s where vampire mythology started,” Alex says. “Morphi are the real vampires. Psi vamps. Cultures evolved the myth over time into bloodsuckers, but it all started with energy.”

“Describe it. What happens?"

He tells me to imagine what it’s like to be gasping for air and just when you think you can’t hang on anymore someone gives you oxygen. "It’s insanely satisfying, but hard to explain." He rubs his hands together.

"C’mon, I want to know," I pester him.

He takes my hand and rolls back the sleeve of his sweatshirt I’m wearing. He gently turns my palm face up. “Here.” He rubs his thumb in a circular motion on my inner wrist. "You put your pulse point on the base of the throat near the thyroid gland. It’s one of seven energy pools on your body." He touches his own throat, guides my wrist toward it, holds it against his skin for a moment. His skin is soft against the inside of my wrist.

"After a few seconds your wrist gets warm, your pulse quickens, your nerve endings start to tingle, your blood feels hot." He stretches my arm across his lap and squeezes my wrist. His grasp is strong. "The tingling feeling starts to move, slowly at first, all the way up, getting stronger and faster as it travels."

He slides his finger up my arm, holding me with his eyes and rests his hand on my shoulder. "It overwhelms you as it shoots through your heart and lungs. You gasp for breath and for a moment it feels like drowning. Scary, blurry, helpless. Then you stop gasping and you breathe deep."

Alex closes his eyes and I notice the corners of his mouth turn up as he remembers. "Electric energy floods your body from the top of your head to the bottom of your spine. It rushes through your mind, stimulates the pleasure center of your brain and suddenly you have unbounded energy to do whatever it is you will: manipulate water, control fire, levitate." His hand is still palm to palm with mine and he looks at me with those strange grey eyes. "When it’s over, you can’t think of anything else except how much you want it. Do you know what it’s like to want something so bad?” “Oh...um...I don't know," I lie.

I slide my hand away and wrap my arms back around my knees, but I’m no longer cold.



About the Author:

Elle Preston is the author of the Ravens of Darkness series, a young adult, paranormal romance saga. Illusions, Book One, is her debut novel. Book Two, Reflections, is set to be released November 2021. She is currently working on the third book in the series. Elle lives with her husband, five kids and several fur babies near the shores of Lake Michigan and the Indiana Dunes where she sets her novels.




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Saturday, August 28, 2021

Saturday, September 4 A Festival of Oddities 2021



A Festival of Oddities 2021

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2021 AT 11 AM EDT – 6 PM EDT

Eaton County's Museum at Courthouse Square



Roxanne will have copies of 
Haunted Flint, Pumpkins and Party Themes 
and The Ghostly Tales of Flint available for purchase.

Thursday, August 26, 2021

Ghost Hunting Tips from Loren Rhoads #GhostHunting



Some of my ghost adventures appear in This Morbid Life, but here are the things I've learned from interacting with ghosts.

1) When you live in a haunted house, remember that the ghosts were there before you moved in. They have as much right to be there as you do. If the ghost(s) are malevolent or dangerous, then yes, by all means, chase them out. But if the most they do is startle you or harmlessly move things around, consider letting them stay.

2) In my experience, most ghosts just want to be acknowledged and can be bargained with. When I told the ghost who touched me at the Haunted Mansion Writers Retreat that I was glad to know she was there but I needed to get some sleep, she left me alone. One of the other writers wasn't so lucky—but then, he was a former skeptic that cursed her after she shook him awake. There's a lot to be said for not being hostile to invisible entities.

3) Is there a message they are trying to communicate to you? Before his death, my friend Blair promised to come back if he could. When I saw his ghost the last time, he was full color, wearing black jeans and a red plaid shirt, as he had in life. He made me jump, grinned at me, then vanished. He looked healthier than he had in the whole year before his death. I got the feeling he just wanted me to know that he wasn't suffering anymore.

4) If you go looking for ghosts, have a ritual to make it clear that they can't follow you home. After ghost hunting at Oakland, California's Mountain View Cemetery, I felt the atmosphere change when I left the cemetery through its pedestrian gate. Still, I poured a little water out of my bottle for anyone who was thirsty.I told them that they had to stay behind. No one was welcome in my car. It helped that I had to drive across the Bay Bridge to get home. I was certain nothing would cross all that running water.

5) Some ghosts won't come, no matter how much you would like them to. I've never seen my brother's ghost. Because he died suddenly, we never got to say goodbye. I would've really liked the chance to talk to him one last time, but I didn't want to interrupt his peace to comfort myself. It didn't seem fair to him.

This Morbid Life
No Rest for the Morbid 
Book One
Loren Rhoads

Genre: Non-Fiction/Memoir/Horror
Publisher: Automatism Press
Date of Publication: August 22, 2021
ISBN:  978-1-7351876-2-4 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-7351876-3-1 (ebook) 
ASIN: B09C11J43W
Number of pages: 200
Word Count: 58 K
Cover Artist: Lynne Hansen

Tagline: What others have called an obsession with death is really a desperate romance with life.

Book Description:

What others have called an obsession with death is really a desperate romance with life. Guided by curiosity, compassion, and a truly strange sense of humor, this particular morbid life is detailed through a death-positive collection of 45 confessional essays. Along the way, author Loren Rhoads takes prom pictures in a cemetery, spends a couple of days in a cadaver lab, eats bugs, survives the AIDS epidemic, chases ghosts, and publishes a little magazine called Morbid Curiosity.

Originally written for zines from Cyber-Psychos AOD to Zine World and online magazines from Gothic.Net to Scoutie Girl, these emotionally charged essays showcase the morbid curiosity and dark humor that transformed Rhoads into a leading voice of the curious and creepy.




Excerpt from "The Ghost of Friends":

On Thanksgiving morning, I was making coffee when Jeff strolled out of his room. I debated what I should say. When my hands were busy filling the pot in the sink, I said, “I saw Blair’s ghost last night.”

“I haven’t seen him,” Jeff said, “but I’ve been pretty sure he was here.” I don’t know what I expected to hear, but that wasn’t it. Jeff is very down-to-earth, feet on the ground. If he could sense the ghost, then something must surely be there.

He told me, “One morning I was lying in bed in that half-awake state, thinking about the ghost. I felt a blast of wind blow straight up the length of my body into my face. When I opened my eyes, there was nothing to be seen—and nowhere for the wind to have come from.”

I shivered. Jeff slept in the bed where Blair suffered and died. It was all I could do to make myself sit on the bed when we watched a movie.

“Did he speak to you?” Jeff asked.

“No.”

“I wonder what he wants.”

Of course, it could all be shrugged off as the power of suggestion on susceptible minds. I was very high, then sleepy; Jeff was half-awake. But it makes sense to me that if you don’t have a corporeal body to affect real space, you have to work in those times and spaces when people will be most likely to sense you. Or maybe he’s there all the time and we’re only able to perceive him when we’ve lowered our resistance.

*

The last time I saw Blair’s ghost, he was full color. He wore a red flannel shirt over black jeans, just as in life. His hands were linked behind his head as he lounged on the bed, ankles crossed. His black hair had grown out to the velvet stage. He looked healthier than he had in the entire last year of his life. His dark eyes sparkled as he grinned at me: Gotcha.

Immediately, I turned back to the stereo. It was Monday. Blair had died on a Monday. He’d died in the afternoon, in this room, on that same side of the bed.

All that flashed through my mind, followed by a rush of fear. I did not want to have my back turned to Blair’s ghost.

I whirled around so fast that I stumbled against the bookshelf and had to reach out to steady myself. The bed was empty again. Blair was gone.

I reached the incense down from the bookshelf and lit a stick of Blair’s favorite sandalwood. I waved the smoke over the bed and myself before leaving it to burn on the bedside table.

“Be at peace,” I wished him, but I had the sense that he was.


About the Author:

Loren Rhoads is the author of 199 Cemeteries to See Before You Die, Wish You Were Here: Adventures in Cemetery Travel, a space opera trilogy, and a duet about a succubus and her angel. She is also the editor of Morbid Curiosity Cures the Blues: Tales of the Unsavory, Unwise, Unorthodox, and Unusual and Tales for the Camp Fire: An Anthology Benefiting Wildfire Relief. This Morbid Life, her 15th book, is the first in the No Rest for the Morbid Series. Book 2, Jet Lag and Other Blessings, will be out in 2022.




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Wednesday, August 25, 2021

The Accidental Psychic by Carol-Anne Mason #ParanormalMurderMystery


What is your “day” job if you are not a full time author?

I’m only a full time writer because my husband and I are now retired, but if you’ve read my author bio, you would know that I’ve had many professions over the years. So, I feel I deserve to do the job I have always wanted to do … And that’s writing. But of course, “A woman’s work is never done,” so I’m still running a household and all that goes with it, although recently I’ve trained my husband to take the load off of my shoulders while I write, and he bizarrely enjoys it!


If you wrote a book about your life what would the title be?

I’d do it all again in my next life too!


 What is the hardest thing about being an author?

Sitting down for hours at a time, but I love everything else about being an author.


What is the best thing about being an author?

Putting words together down on paper, that have never been combined in the same way before.


What book changed your life?

There are two books that equally changed my life. And I’m sure that I am the first person/woman ever to say Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’ and Tolkien’s, ‘Lord of the Rings,’

… but I can’t choose between them. I was about 15 years of age when I bought
both with my pocket money, and kept them hidden just in case my parents or brother saw them. Two very weird books for a young girl to read, but seemed so
 
much more exciting than Shakespeare which I was studying at the convent school I attended.
Even though Dracula scared the bejeebies out of me, I was enthralled by the storyline and dreamt of writing my own equally scary novel one day.

Lord of the Rings took me many months to finish, but it was my go-to book when I
needed mentally to forget school for a while.

My love for horror grew, and I progressed onto Stephen Kings ‘Carrie’ in 1974, and have collected his books ever since, along with James Herbert’s and Shirley Jackson’s. But I do like the odd crime thriller nowadays too.

What books are currently in your to be read pile?

The Sultan, the Vampire and the Soothsayer by Lucille Turner, who writes mainly historical fiction. Her last book, award winning Gianconda, about the life of Leonardo Da Vinci’s life, is still a firm favorite of mine.

Stephen King’s 2021 two novels (Of course!) ‘Billy Summers’ and ‘Later’ are already on my shelves.


Which do you prefer ebooks, print, or audio books?

As an older writer, ebooks and audio are still new innovations to me, and although they are hugely popular amongst the younger generations—rightly so—I will always gravitate towards print. There’s nothing quite like holding a paperback and thumbing through the pages to have a peek. I love purchasing old books too, as I can almost feel the countless eyes that have read the pages within; these books also seem to hold on … to the very essence of their readers.

The Accidental Psychic
Annie Prior Series 
Book One
Carol-Anne Mason

Genre: Paranormal Murder Mystery
Date of Publication: 20th August 2021
ISBN: 978-1-8384305-0-4
Number of pages: 424
Word Count: 89,560
Cover Artist: Miblart

Book Description:

A horrific train crash turns Annie Prior’s life upside down, by triggering an extraordinary psychic ability that had lain dormant since her childhood.

After being rescued in more ways than one by a dark haired stranger from the train, two fatalities from the accident return to haunt her; and as Annie’s new Clairvoyant and Mediumship abilities grow, she is immersed into a realm of both needy and malevolent souls.

Despite an ongoing battle with her narcissistic family, and a boss with a dark past which continues to plague her, she comes to realise her strange new powers are also there for reasons beyond the present.

She embarks on a life journey helping both the living and the spirit world to gain closure.

But, not all are happy with Annie’s new vocation.



Excerpt

Prologue Southampton

A cold morning in early spring 2017

Unbeknownst to Annie, a mundane commute to London on a train — will change her life forever. A fatigue crack in one of the front wheels of the train’s control car had started to open up, and further up the frozen track, a set of points were waiting for the fail...

Chapter 2 The Crash

The previous babble of voices had now risen to a headache-inducing hullabaloo, prompting Annie to put her earphones in to listen to her favourite track ‘Human,’ from the new Rag’n’Bone Man album. She closed her eyes to concentrate on the haunting words.

Suddenly, the train shuddered, then jerked violently. Annie sat bolt upright and yanked her earphones out. The carriage had fallen silent, everyone froze; all eyes widened just before fear kicked in. Then, an unprecedented sound as loud as an overhead thunderclap exploded through the carriage. The screeching of brakes set the students screaming and running for the exits, tumbling over each other like waves. Some commuters stood still, straddling the aisles, and holding onto anything that was bolted down.

Annie could only watch in terror and disbelief; none of it seemed real.

Then, the impact came. A jolt so violent it sent bodies crunching onto the floor of the carriage. Annie was forced backwards with a massive thud into her seat, knocking the wind out of her. If she had she been facing forwards, she would have been horribly smashed.

The screaming in the carriage had become unbearably loud, with commuters slamming into solid objects. The train rocked on its tracks and tilted violently over to her side; and just—kept— tilting.

Annie grabbed a pole on the aisle side of the seat and instinctively lifted her legs from the footwell below the table, tucking them under her. There was a combined screeching and scraping, whilst brakes and metal sparked and twisted, before the train succumbed to gravity.




About the Author:

Carol-Anne Mason is an artist, writer and at the age of 64, author of the new award winning novel The Accidental Psychic.

She has lead a busy and full life with many professions under her belt including: dancing, writing songs and performing. Hair salons, tutoring at college, running a night club and antique shop. Although, has continued throughout the years with her painting and writing.

Her strong belief in spiritualism has grown since her early teens, after realising her premonitions and intuitiveness was a family trait going back many generations. And after immersing herself into the paranormal world and researching all aspects of spiritualism, she felt herself well equipped to write on the subject. Also her love for reading horror stories from the likes of Stephen King and James Herbert has also influenced her writing.

Carol-Anne works from her home in the rural Hampshire countryside of The New Forest UK. Where she lives with her eccentric husband and Maltese terriers, and spends much of her time with her two grown children and new grandson. Also, res- cuing any animal in need—large or small—often to the annoyance of her patient husband.











Monday, August 9, 2021

The Light Through the Pouring Rain by James Ruvalcaba #LoveAndLoss #RealLifeRomance


The Light Through the Pouring Rain
James Ruvalcaba

Genre: Love and Loss, Romance
Date of Publication: 12/21/2020
ISBN:979-8575160397
ASIN: B08PF23TF1
Number of pages:124
Word Count: 28,000
Cover Artist: Dar Albert

Tagline: A true story about a young couple's battle with cancer

Book Description:

An emotional page turner that gives a firsthand look into the lives of a young couple madly in love and eager to start their lives together, only to have it all halted by a cancer diagnosis. 

With no clear road map on how to navigate their new normal, James and Anabel proceed into uncharted territory, hand-in-hand, with the love of their families and their faith in God to guide them.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/CSlRECKmS2Y


Chapter 1: The first few months

It was April, and a couple months had passed by. At this point, everybody knew. Our friends and family knew and had been brainstorming on our game plan. Her first chemo session was April 2. Unfortunately, her family was not equipped to handle taking care of her. They had no experience with cancer and the pain that was upcoming. Unfortunately, my family and I had experience. Not that we wished we had, but it was an asset for this upcoming challenge. Cancer runs in our family. We’d lost our fair share of members, and the best place Anabel could recover was at our home. I had to talk to my family about the situation, and they agreed. My mom was the best man for the job. I couldn’t be more thankful for her. Mom was ready for the task at hand in a moment’s notice, without hesitation; she was the only one I could truly turn to in these times.

Anabel had gotten situated in our home. She stayed in my room with my brother and me. Which was a challenge in itself, due to him enjoying his senior year of high school, coming in and out of the house, partying it up, and having his friends over. We managed to make the best of it. At times it could be unbearable and make Anabel and me crazy, but the care and love that my brother had for her made it easier for us. He would be a pain in the ass, but had a soft spot for Anabel and would regulate things when Anabel needed some time. This was a challenge for Anabel and me as well. This cancer had rushed a huge step in our relationship: we had finally moved in together. It wasn’t the circumstances that we had imagined or planned for, but we had to make it work.

We had spoken on what location we would like to live in and how Anabel didn’t care much for where and how much, but only if she could decorate for each holiday. That was her only stipulation. “James, I don’t care what you say, I’m gonna go all out every holiday, and you can’t say a damn thing to me.” It was adorable. It would put a smile to my face, because she made a point to say that as if it would be a deal breaker.

We had established our routine. She would wake up early, around eight a.m., have coffee with my grandma and her dog in the backyard, and reminisce about my grandma’s glory days as a caretaker. Then I would wake up around ten a.m. to “Good morning, Meez!” Anabel called me Meez because my little brother would call me Jamies, and if you say the second syllable of Jamies, it sounds like “Meez.” So she ran with it. We would eat breakfast together and follow that up with some episodes of The Office. Then I would go to the gym for a couple of hours then return to her to relax, watch TV or movies with her on her phone, then eat dinner. My Mom would make, and repeat. A very simple routine, but effective due to the fatigue she would be experiencing from chemotherapy.

It may seem like a very bland routine for a normal person, but it was what she wanted. April 2 was fast approaching. After a couple of weeks, it was finally here.

At this time, I was working with special needs kids as an instructional aide. My work schedule was eight thirty a.m. to three p.m., typical school hours. Thanks to my mom, I was able to have some sort of income to take care of Anabel’s needs when she needed something. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Prior to leaving work, I gave her a speech: “Chemo ain’t got shit on you. It chose the wrong person to fuck with.” I felt like I was giving a speech in 300. She was amped, we kissed each other goodbye, and I was off to work. Later on at work, I got a text from my mom sending me a picture of Anabel during chemo, and she was all smiles with a thumbs-up. She looked way happier than anybody in that situation could possibly be, but she felt in her heart that chemo didn’t have shit on her. That was partially my fault for the speech I gave her in the morning, but it was funny to see somebody actually believe the words you say and run with it. I cracked a smile, thinking, This girl.

I arrived home at three thirty. “Bells!”

“Yes, Meez?”

“How did it go?”

“It was a breeze.”

My mom explained the doctor’s orders and the game plan. Eight weeks of chemo, five days a week, which would be re-evaluated as needed until her tumor was small enough to do radiation, then surgery to remove it. We were all excited. The plan has been laid out, and with a plan that has a time frame, you are able to envision the light at the end of the tunnel, because the next day brings you that much closer to back to your normal life. Anabel and I smiled at each other with our eyes tearing up. We must’ve both been imagining our lives going back to normal.


About the Author:

Hello, I'm James Ruvalcaba. I began writing because I wanted to honor my fiancee Anabel's legacy and to be a testimony of God's goodness. On a personal level, I am a family man and hold them near and dear to me. I am a down to earth person that loves interactions and conversations. I believe the more we communicate the more we see the beauty of God's previous workings. Prior to being a writer, I worked with the special needs population for 10 years. I wanted to give back to the community and assist in achieving a higher quality of life as a tribute to my Sister who suffered from disabilities herself.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/james.ruvalcaba.39 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JamesMruvalcaba  

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jamesmruvalcaba/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08PF23TF1 




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Friday, August 6, 2021

Wicked Darkness by B.L. Callaghan #Fantasy


Wicked Darkness
The Goddess Incarnate 
Book Two
B.L. Callaghan

Genre: Fantasy
Publisher: Bianca Callaghan
Date of Publication: August 12th 2021
ISBN: 978-0-6488448-7-7
Number of pages: 450
Word Count: 120 629
Cover Artist: Maria Spada

Tagline: Sometimes it isn’t only villains that crave the darkness.

Book Description: 

Sapphira Dawn had been lied to about her identity.

Now the gods agree she should never have been created in the first place.
Her very existence means that the gods aren’t playing by the rules, and as they ready their game pieces for the next battle, Sapphira must gather her allies before they – and the entire mortal realm – are wiped from the board.
But someone close to her is hiding a deadly secret.

A secret that will make Sapphira question what she is fighting for.

As her allies vanish one by one, Sapphira spirals deeper into her unstable magic, drawn in by the addictive high and wicked release it offers.

If Sapphira can’t control the darkness within, the mortal realm will fall, and everything she knows and loves will be nothing more than ashes and dust.



Excerpt Chapter One
Sapphira

I was going to die.

I saw the dagger coming too late to get out of the way, watched it spiraling through the air towards me with astonishing speed.  

My eyes were open wide, my mouth was too – like a fish plucked from the sea, suddenly discovering it couldn’t breathe in the open air. It was apparent that shock was not a good look for me; the breath in my chest caught as my muscles tensed, waiting for the impact. Light reflected off the blade, shooting sunbursts through the room on each spin, like a deadly disco ball.
She had actually thrown it. Damn that heartless monster!

The monster in question stood a few short feet from me, grinning wickedly through blood-red lips, another dagger at the ready. Her brown eyes were bright, full of morbid anticipation as they followed the path of the weapon. Long dark hair was tied back in an unyielding braid that ran to her hips, beaded with sweat and blood. Red leather armor protected the majority of her body, a striking contrast to her flawless dark skin.

My shields locked into place a millisecond before the dagger could embed itself in my throat.

The blade disintegrated on impact with the solid mass of jade magic, becoming nothing more than dust that rained down at my feet. I conjured knives of my own, willing the sharp glinting steel and silver into existence, small double-edged and deadly. I barely felt the weight of them in my hands before I tossed them towards her.

They didn’t move as fast as hers had, and she quickly maneuvered out of their way, taking cover behind a crumbling stone wall in the center of the room. No surprises there; I was nowhere near as skilled or experienced as she was. Still, I hoped for some luck – a miracle that gave me the upper hand I needed. I kept the barrage of crafted magic coming, even as I stepped toward her, hoping that the sheer number of deadly blades would beat the grinning assassin.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” She called out, mocking laughter in her voice. I could no longer see her, successfully hidden behind the wall, but I could sense her power – the magic like a beacon in the dark. It was mischievous and sinister, a wicked mix of death magic and sharp, experienced intelligence.

I called up more of my own power, jade smoke forming in the air around me, grinning as it coalesced and solidified into an almost exact replica of myself – a trick that I had only learned recently.

Shoulder-length golden blonde hair tied back in a messy bun, bright green eyes, and a curvy figure dressed in black leather armor, both hands gripping blades– the entire image glowing faintly with dancing green light, like an otherworldly aurora.

I sent my magic clone towards the wall and the assassin behind it, strengthening the mirage until the aura light vanished within it. Now it looked exactly like me – no one would be able to tell the difference, not even the woman I had unleashed it upon.

Her daggers flew towards the clone as it rounded the corner, the assassin huffing a victorious laugh as they embedded themselves into the armor protecting the chest. The clone fell backward, landing heavily on the floor, unmoving. The killer followed, standing over it, hands empty now.

She was out of weapons at last, just as I had hoped she would be.

I made my move, grounding my feet and lashing out with my power, sending wave after wave of despair into her body – the emotion appearing as a purple so dark it was almost black. It pushed its way in, her body sagging until she could no longer stand. As she fell to her knees beside the clone, I willed the despair to transform, becoming barbed vines that wrapped themselves around her, holding her tight.

I sauntered over, a sword forming in my hand, shields coming down. The woman tilted her head so that she could watch my approach, eyes wary. I held the sword out, the tip of the blade under her chin.

“You’re finished, Assassin Barbie,” I said breathlessly, a smile playing at the corner of my lips.

“This is done. Say it.”

Her eyes narrowed, lip pulled back in a silent snarl. I pushed the sword harder, a line of crimson running down her throat, the vines squeezing tighter. “Say it.”

“We’re done.” The woman hissed, a little breathless now too. “Get this thing off me.”

I beamed in triumph, watching her fall to the floor as my magic came back to me, the vines and sword vanishing as quickly as they had appeared. I should have expected it – should have seen her plan – should have seen her reaching for the dagger left behind when the clone vanished. But I was too caught up in my imagined victory, too busy gloating. So fast I barely saw her move; the assassin had me on the floor, her body on top of mine, knees pinning down my arms, and the blade she’d retrieved from the floor at my throat.

“Never trust an enemy.” She hissed in my face, eyes flashing with bloodlust. “They lie.”

Shit. My eyes followed the movement of the blade as it was raised from my throat and into the air, the woman’s grip firm on the handle as she brought it back down again, aiming for my heart. My magic pulsed out, sending a shockwave through the room. The assassin was lifted off me, flung backward, and thrown into the wall. She lay there, stunned, eyes unfocused.

I got to my feet slowly, my body heavy. I made sure to keep my eyes on my assailant, warily waiting for her next attack. She crawled toward her daggers, shaking her head to clear it, her movements sluggish. Blood dripped from a gash in her forehead, creating a red drip trail on the floor as she moved.

I couldn’t let her reach them. Calling up my magic again, I was distressed to feel it beginning to tire – exertion still an issue – even after months of building my strength and stamina. I had to end this fight soon, or I would be helpless. I willed the power within me to hold out a little longer, to keep from vanishing and leaving me defenseless.

I conjured a bow – feeling smoke swirling through my fingers, using the image in my mind to create it, only for the weapon to solidify in my hand. Arrows were next, sharp and gleaming tips of metal that connected with dark wooden shafts. Black feathers on the ends shimmered green as they moved. They were as beautiful as they were deadly. I nocked one, drawing back the bowstring, and let loose, following the arrow’s progression as best I could as it sped towards the assassin.

She was on her feet now, daggers in hand, eyes narrowed as she, too, took in the flight of the arrow. I readied another one, hands shaking and eyes wide, as the woman simply knocked the bolt out of the air with the tip of her dagger. What the actual hell?

She smirked and started towards me, her steps confident and unhurried. Another arrow shot toward her. Again, an effortless evade. Another and another, over and over, until there were none left. Assassin Barbie was too close for me to conjure up anymore anyway, barely out of arms reach.  I let go of the bow; it vanished before it hit the ground, the magic returning to me slower than it had earlier.

A dagger bounced off my hurriedly made shield, the magic too weak now to disintegrate it. The assassin hissed anyway, vibrations from the contact running up her arm as her hand shot back from the unsuccessful attack.

She eyed my defenses critically, a leer creeping over her lips as she circled me. I turned as she moved, keeping her from my back and making my own observations. She was limping slightly, her right leg injured. “You’re weakened,” she said, brown eyes gleaming. “You'll be defenseless in minutes, and then I can kill you. All I have to do is wait it out."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, even as my heart pounded in my chest so hard that I was sure she could hear it. I wasn't out of the fight yet, I reminded myself, but I needed time. I needed a distraction to keep her busy while my energy was replenished.

"Tick." My shield faltered as she spoke, and the evil grin widened on my attacker's face. "Tock."

I took a grounding breath, digging deep within myself. I could do this.

"Tick."

Time seemed to slow as I pulled up the last of my magic, wrapping it around myself like a blanket. I pulled what I could from the room around us, too, the shadows dancing like a black flame. Then, what little light there was, was extinguished, throwing the world into suffocating darkness.

"Tock."

I dropped my faltering shield, spinning through the gloom in silence, spinning out of reach of the daggers that arched through the air towards my face.

The shadows enveloped my attacker, growing heavy – heavier with each passing second. Each breath she took thinner than the last, the shadows constricting against her on every breath out. I wasn't going to be caught out again – I couldn't be – there was nothing left for me to use. I couldn't declare victory until it was utterly irrefutable. This woman had to bleed all over the floor, and it had to be now. She was still trying to fight; I could hear her struggling against her bonds, daggers remaining in her hands.

As she fought for air, small gasps permeated the silence, the only way that I could pinpoint her location. The shadows tightened again, and those daggers dropped to the floor as her arms were pinned. I dove for them, sliding the short distance along the floor on my knees, scooping one of the blades up with my left hand, slashing out into the shadows. The knife stuck into something substantial, and my firm grip on the handle, mixed with the speed of my movements, spun me around.

I let go, using the momentum to thrust me to my feet on the opposite side of the woman from where I had started. I heard the other dagger clatter across the floor, having kicked it away from her in my travels. It was in the darkness to my right, close but not close enough. The woman wrapped in shadows screamed, the sound full of pain and fury, dampened only by her lack of full breath.

"Bitch!" She howled. "You fucking piece of shit!"

I searched for the final weapon, falling back to my knees and using my hands to feel around in the dark. My magic sputtered out entirely, the shadows and light returning to their original forms and places.

As the light returned to the room, I spotted the dagger, inches from my splayed hands. I grabbed it, spinning to face the screaming woman. She was unrestricted now and so full of fury.

The woman was free. I had her dagger. And then… I didn't.

It left my hand, flying end over end towards her, moving so quickly that she hardly even noticed it – too intent on pulling the other one from her thigh, hissing and throwing curses at me. It hit her in the chest, dead center. The loud thump as it entered the leather armor amplified in the silence that followed it.

We both froze, looking at it in disbelief. The quiet stretched out as I stared, my mind struggling to comprehend what I was seeing.

"You're dead, Valdis." A laugh bubbled up from my chest and escaped my lips as I spoke. The shock and exhaustion were making me giddy.

"Well, fuck me, Sapphira." She huffed incredulously, eyes alight. "What an epic throw. Who knew you had that in you?"

I giggled again, all of my muscles jumping while my head spun. "I hate to admit that it was a fluke. I doubt I could do it again."

"Yes, well. Don't try and cut my leg off again, either. That fucking hurt."

Slow clapping interrupted us from nearby, a whisper of mocking laughter. We both turned to see a monster standing in the doorway. Black hair matched her eyes, brown leathery, semi-translucent skin, and long claw-like nails on skinny fingers. Murky fog billowed around her skeletal feet—a creature of darkness – of nightmares and fear.

"And so now our savior can fight," the Night Hag stated impassively, black eyes burrowing into my soul. "At last."

"I told you she could learn, Mora," Valdis said, grunting as she yanked the daggers from her body, watching her own blood drip onto the floor. "Just like I did."
I swayed where I stood, the room spinning as they spoke. Now that the fight was over, the adrenaline left me, nothing but fatigue running through my body. My mind struggled to follow the sudden shift – from battle mode back to everything is okay, it was only training.

"Except you practiced on your creatures," Mora hissed, turning her deep gaze on her.

"Not on the King's Second."

"All is well, I didn't die, and Sapphira learned a few new tricks. Our King will be pleased."

The Night Hag scoffed, pointing a devilishly sharp nail at her. "Your arrogance will be the death of you, Necromancer."

"Yes, but not today." Valdis shrugged, smiling at Mora sweetly and moving to stand beside me. "It seems that you will be stuck with me for a while yet."

I wasn't sure how Valdis was still standing; her blood was running down her leg from the wound I had inflicted – the cuts on her head and throat too. Yet, she stood firm, as though we hadn't just tried to kill each other – as though it had been nothing at all.

"Training over for today. Clean up, and get out." Mora said, exasperated, as she turned to leave.

She paused in the doorway, though, glancing over her shoulder and frowning in my direction, dark eyes looking me up and down. "And Sapphira, you had better not pass out on my floor, or my next guests will make a meal out of you."

"She's right; those Pishacha guys would love to take a bite out of your juicy self," Valdis warned, groaning as her skin began to stitch itself back together. The Necromancer threw a wink my way, a tight grin on her lips. "And not in a fun way."

A wave of her hand and all evidence of our session vanished. No more blood. No more scorch marks or magic residue. Even the crumbling stone wall was gone. The room was as clean as when we had arrived – when Valdis had insisted that a few rounds in Mora's domain were 'just what the doctor ordered.'

"Are you hungry?" She asked, head tilted to the side, eyes running over my flagging body. "I always feel like stew after a good fight. How about you?"

The question was absurd, not at all what I expected. And yet, it was pure Valdis. The wickedly lovely Necromancer had made her famous stew for me once before. After she had made me enter my mindscape and put things right. I'd had to face my fears and remove magic put in place against my knowledge, and the experience had sucked big time.

But the stew was incredible, a large variety of vegetables, chili, garlic, peanuts, and chicken. It filled the stomach and soothed the soul.

My belly growled at the memory, and in anticipation of another taste, answering Valdis better than my words could have.

"Come on, let's get out of here." She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, keeping me upright and leading me out the door.

We passed Mora in the hall, leading a group of what I assumed were Pishacha towards the room we had just vacated. I was glad that Valdis still had hold of me, or I think I would have run screaming. Or fell to the floor, unconscious, and been eaten. The second option would have been the only one not too long ago, but you know, yay for growth! The Pishacha were vaguely humanoid; it was hard to pinpoint since they were in a continually transforming state. They shifted shape with each rise and fall of their breath – the only constant was the blood-red eyes – and the feeling of terror that they instilled as they passed.

"What the hell are they?" I hissed to Valdis when we were alone again, making our way out into the streets of the City of Darkness.

"The Pishacha?" Valdis shrugged, unfazed by the creatures, intent on leading me towards the palace that dominated the landscape – home. "They are flesh-eaters, shapeshifters, and possession experts. Useful against mortals as they can form themselves into convincing humans or simply possess them. They prefer to eat them though, and are short on patience and self-control, so more short-term soldiers really."

A shudder ran through me, picturing the damage they could do if they were unleashed in the mortal world. Valdis, who was still holding me up, felt it and held me tighter. "You're protected here, remember?" She said reassuringly. "There is nothing in Hadrian's realm that would dare defy their King."

Hadrian's realm. A world of literal eternal darkness – full of monsters and nightmares. An inconsistent patchwork of history, the buildings, attire, and speech patterns were a whirlwind of cultures and time. Structures ranging from stone temples, modern skyscrapers, mud-brick houses, and marketplaces open to the sky filled the space around the palace. Clusters of inhabited space stretching out as far as you could see – that is, if you could see through the distance.

Outside, the city's only consistent light came from the inhabitants themselves – their energy surrounding them like an aura and smaller light sources such as candles, fire pits, or the occasional lamp. Inside, you could find anything from ancient technology to modern, almost futuristic gizmos and gadgets – their light shining brightly but never reaching the streets. It was jarringly quiet, too, compared to the mortal realm—the entire city surrounded by swirling darkness and sound-eating silence.

We reached the palace, Valdis leading me towards the kitchens while she chatted companionably. I didn't hear a word, though, my thoughts replaying snapshots of the past month in glorious high definition: The discovery of the magic world – monsters, gods, and ancient conflicts that all seemed to revolve around the pursuit of power and dominance – the power they craved inside of me.

The lies my friends had told – the complex web of mistruths and events that kept me in the dark about my part to play. A role that even they didn't know the full extent of. The awakening of my magic, the struggles, and the high as I learned to control it, to use it to save myself and those I cared about. I'd had no handbook explaining the intricacies of the magical world, no guidelines or rules. So I'd had to learn as I went.

The mistakes I made caused more Moroi and Dhampir's deaths than I knew – even now, the exact numbers eluded me. The Fae deceiver that made me think I loved him and used me to wreak havoc on the vampires for his queen. The torture that same Fae, and his brother, had inflicted on me in their attempts to break my will. I was supposed to be a weapon their queen could wield against her enemies, but when that didn't work, she planned to kill me and take the magic for herself.

The revelation that gods and goddesses existed but also used mortals as pawns in a cosmic game. That I was made to play a part in the final battle between Ares and Enyo, a vessel containing the last Goddess Incarnate's magic.

The battle the Moroi, Dhampir, and Lycanthropes fought against the Strigoi – the battle that took a friend's life. Colte had died protecting me, and every day I missed his easy smile, sense of humor, and companionship. The fight between the pretender Fae Queen and me – a conflict I should have killed her in. But I'd let her go, too drunk on the power I had taken from her. The magic that enveloped me, swirling through my body, demanding more.

Now she was in hiding, trying to regain control of a kingdom that didn't want her, the god she played for using his influence to gather allies to their side. The next time Kamilla showed her face, I would rip it from her body, even if there was a vision out there that told me I wouldn't. Hence, the training sessions with Valdis. The Necromancer was a skilled fighter, her King's second in command. She was fearless in battle and knew the Fae's weaknesses. During her time in captivity with them as a child, she had learned weaknesses and now planned to exploit them.
She had a habit of sensing when I was close to losing control and pulled me into Mora's training center before I could. Limit the damage and release frustration seemed to be our new motto.

"Sapphira?"

"Sorry, what?" I snapped back to the present, finding Valdis staring at me, eyebrows raised.
We were in the kitchen – a surprisingly modern one that Hadrian had made just for her. She was, after all, one of the only beings in his realm that ate mortal food. But, seriously, you didn't want to know what the others thought was food. Horrifying and disgusting, let me tell you.
Valdis had arranged a rainbow of vegetables on the island counter, and she stood across from me, a large chef's knife in her hand. "I asked ten times if you wanted meat in this one. Where was your head just now, girl?"

"Lost in the past." I smiled sadly, running my hand over the cold stone surface of the island.

"No use in dwelling there," she said, sliding a chopping board and knife towards me. "Unless one of your powers is time travel?"

I let out a little laugh, shaking my head. "No, but wouldn't that be something?"

"It would. But, since it isn't, how about you chop those carrots while I start the onions?" Valdis' deft fingers were already in motion, making quick work of the vegetables on her own board. "If you want chicken again, I think there is still some in the fridge. No beef left, though. We finished that off yesterday."

"Chicken is fine, Valdis," I assured her, getting a start on the carrots. I should have them chopped by the time Valdis had finished all of the other vegetables.
She'd already moved on to the potatoes, peeling them like a pro. I suppose she'd had experience peeling things – skin from enemies and the zombie-like creatures she made with her magic, for example.

Valdis made her own leather armor – from the flesh of Fae soldiers she had killed in battle.

My own armor had been a gift from her, but I'd asked her not to tell me where it had come from. I didn't need to know that the leather protecting my body had once been the skin of a living, breathing person. Possibly someone that I had met or fought against.

I'd watched Valdis working once, and it had been both fascinating and disturbing to see. She took pride in her work, as most people that were good at their job did, although most people weren't using the corpses of creatures to create beings capable of shredding mortals and monsters to bits. Her workshop, or lab – whatever you wanted to call it – was full of body parts, tools, and funky smells. I'd watched her take the body of a recently deceased Fae female, changing organs and skin with a wolf. The process was bloody, gruesome, and time-consuming.

Raw chunks of meat that had once been part of the wolf had melded together with the Fae to create something new, something vicious – a human-sized wolf that walked on two legs and hands filled with six-inch claws. I'd felt her magic pulsing a semblance of life into the very fiber of the creature, felt the moment her manipulation and will take control, and blood started pumping again. The creature's chest began its rise and fall, the eyes opened, a bloodcurdling snarl building low in its throat, razor-sharp teeth bared. Valdis had put it in a cell with another of her creatures and watched them with morbid fascination and curiosity. Then, the Fae-wolf had torn its cellmate to shreds, rendering it nothing more than chunks of flesh, bone, and blood.

 I had stuck to a purely vegetarian diet for days after that. Thinking about it now, as Valdis prepared a chicken for the pot, had my stomach turning again. I didn't want to offend her by throwing up at the sight of her food for a second time. And this train of thought would do just that.

"Are you finding anything interesting in Theresa's journal?" I asked, trying to distract myself.

"I thought that we had been close, but it seems she kept a lot of herself private." Valdis shrugged, eyes still on her work, voice soft. "I didn't know that she struggled within herself… she always seemed so confident and happy."

Theresa was the Goddess Incarnate – the last reincarnation of her anyway. She'd lived in the City of Darkness with Hadrian and Valdis, had loved the King and Necromancer. But she had been caught up in Ares and Enyo's game and had paid the price with her life. It was her magic that ran through my veins, her suite that I now called my own.

"That must be hard for you," I replied, continuing to chop the carrots. "I'm sorry, Valdis."

"What are you sorry for?" She asked, throwing the chicken pieces into the pot with more force than was necessary. "It wasn't you that pretended everything was fine for decades. It wasn't you that left us."

"No, but I know how it feels to be the one left behind, the one that believed the lies," I said softly, sliding the chopping board across to her. "I'm sorry that you have to feel what that is like."

Valdis sighed, both hands on the counter, head bowed. "I don't understand it. I really don't. I know that I'm behaving like a child, but it fucking hurts, Sapphira. I thought that we had this amazing life together. Theresa helped me through my shitty past; she let me unload all of my baggage on her and never said a word about how much she struggled with her magic or her place here. Reading that journal shows me just how bad her mental health was." She turned watery eyes my way, regret and despair plain to see all over her face. "She could have said something, if not to me, then to Hadrian. We should have seen her suffering – why didn't we?"

"That's just it, though, isn't it?" I asked, moving around the kitchen to stand beside her, not touching – but close enough if she needed me to. "A lot of the time, the ones that are suffering the most are the ones that never show it. They put on a smile like they would armor; they're the ones that seem the strongest, the bravest – the most sturdy in this crazy world. But in reality, they're the most broken."

"You're not helping." Valdis frowned at me.

"Sorry." I offered a sad smile, a slight shrug. "Maybe Theresa wanted you to have happy memories of her. On the other hand, she probably wanted to keep you from worrying and getting distracted."

Valdis made a shrug of her own, returning her attention to the stew. "It's done. There isn't anything I can do about it now; we need to focus on the future. Hadrian should be back today." She added. "Hopefully, his meeting with the Fae heirs went well, and they have information on where the hell Kamilla went."

We fell into silence, Valdis continuing to showcase her cooking prowess as I sat on the counter with my legs tucked underneath me and watched. I couldn't stop the tinge of regret that swirled through me or the worry that danced with it. I should have tried harder to kill the pretender queen when I had the chance. I knew that. But the magic was like a drug – unbelievably addictive and gave off a high like nothing else. I'd been too drunk on the power I had taken from her to anything but crave more.

And now the Fae bitch was still out there somewhere, alive and well. We had heard rumors that she was regrouping and amassing her armies – what was left of them.

The reports were sketchy, details varying from messenger to messenger. No one knew where she planned to make her next stand – or where she was holed up, but a common thread was that Fae were vanishing, Seers were being hunted, and Kamilla's allies were closing the entrances to their realms.

Something big was coming, and the tension throughout the supernatural world was building. With Ares pulling her strings, I was sure Kamilla would be a thorn in my side for a long time to come. A deadly and vengeful thorn.

I only hoped that I could find and remove her from the picture before the war could escalate and destroy the realms – and the mortal world that I had once called home.


About the Author: 

B.L. Callaghan is an Australian Foster Carer, and Early years Educator.

She lives in rural New South Wales with her husband, a changing number of children, a dog and some chickens.

As a self proclaimed creative soul, she has had a passion for writing fiction from an early age.

When not wrangling chickens, children, or dogs, B.L. loves tagging along on epic quests, and being whisked off on magical adventures.

B.L. Callaghan writes children’s books, as well as YA and NA titles.

You can find out more at: www.blcallaghan.com







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