Tuesday, April 15, 2025

Rantings of a Witch- Character Confessions from Welcome to Jessie’s by Eli Rainwater #UrbanFantasy




When I agreed to let some human named Eli Rainwater tag after me everywhere, documenting my every move, I certainly did not think that it would be this tedious. It’s hard enough running a bar, keeping the peace between the humans, fae, cryptids, and witches in my small town, training my apprentices, and preventing all out war. But this woman just has to be in every aspect of my life, down to my beloved Library! And I even caught her sneaking extra treats to the cats behind my back! She denied it, of course, but my old friend Isabel used her time magic to catch Eli in the act. 

I suppose she’s not all bad. After all, she is chronicling our fight against the cabal that lurks in the shadows, trying to control the world through power and magic. It would just be nice if Eli were a little less… in the way. In addition to always asking my staff, friends, and patrons questions, she has to be at every apprentice training session, which throws poor, shy Christopher off his game. Caroline and Jared are adapting, but Chris is still traumatized by his horrible experience at the hands of a cruel, manipulative, human teenager named Zack. I discreetly asked Eli to leave one time and caught her peeking in through the window! Poor Christopher almost burned down half the bar! 

Eli is also like a bull in a china shop. She gets so caught up gawking at the cryptids and fae who come into my bar, that she doesn’t look where she’s going. She even walked through my resident ghost, Charlie, one day! It took him an hour to get over the experience! Personally, not to be unkind, but Eli deserved to feel like she had been stuck in a refrigerator filled with jello. 

I have to admit that she captured our essences pretty well. She pinned down Nicky’s flamboyant personality, Greta’s bookishness, Mikael’s attention to detail, LaSalle’s gruff but well meaning demeanor, and Rupert’s complete cattishness. That said, it would be nice if she didn’t lurk around every corner. I almost set her on fire when she popped up in the backseat of my beloved Prelude.

I’m worried that as our battle with the cabal intensifies, Eli will be caught in the crossfire. Not many humans other than Cassie can be in the thick of a magical battle, and Eli definitely does not have Cassie’s ingenuity or fighting skills. Yes, humans have their own skills and talents that match our own; they just tend to fight us better from a distance. Eli has no concept of personal space or distance as we found out when she almost got a mountain dropped on her head when Draig, the great Welsh dragon, discovered his sister’s remains after the cabal killed her for her scales. 

I suppose when it comes down to it, there are worse humans who could follow a witch around, documenting everything. Eli does try to truly depict who we are and why we fight the cabal, and she captured the “vibe” (as the kids say) of my bar pretty well. She even stepped up and provided food, warm clothes, and shelter for the kids we rescued from the vampiric cult. And she helped out at the bar a few times on busy nights when my werewolf waitress had to take off for her pack’s full moon rituals. Now if I could just get Eli to curb her curiosity and take this more seriously, all would be well. But, humans. What can you do? 




Welcome to Jessie’s
The Witch’s Bar Chronicles 
Book One
Eli Rainwater

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Eli Rainwater Books
Date of Publication: August 8, 2022
ISBN: 979-8-218-05342-0
ASIN: B0B8YMLBRM
Number of pages: 340
Word Count: 82.981

Cover Artist: Photo by Juliana Finch

Tagline: A vampire, a ghost, and a fairy walk into a bar

Book Description: 

When Jessie, one of the oldest and most powerful witches in the world, joined the Witch Council over a thousand years ago, she was embroiled in politics, saving the world, and trying to keep the supernatural world a secret from humans. 

Now supernaturals are out in the open and a tentative alliance between the fae, cryptids, humans, and witches is underway. Jessie finally gets to leave the intrigue and drama behind to own a bar in a small town north of Atlanta where the most annoying thing on her plate is making sure the vampire groupies don’t wind up as someone’s dinner. 

Then a gargoyle is killed in her bar. It‘s not just any gargoyle though– he was the secretary for the European cryptid ambassador to the Alliance. Finding herself in the center of an international– and interspecies– nightmare, Jessie has to rally her allies to stop a power-hungry cabal from starting a war and destroying life as she knows it.

Author Website      Amazon      BN     Apple     Smashwords     Kobo


Excerpt:“No one will ever love me again. I shall die alone with naught to mourn my passing.”

Jessie MacCaverty stopped wiping down the bar top to raise an eyebrow at the chestnut curls belonging to the adorable and devastatingly handsome yet extremely annoying, melodramatic vampire who flounced through the door in a swirl of early autumn air and leaves before dramatically collapsing on a stool in front of her. Her bartender and apprentice Caroline rolled her blue eyes before going back to pouring beers for the amused regulars at the other end of the bar.

“Get your head off the bar. I just wiped that spot,” Jessie tucked a long, silver-gray curl behind her ear, completely unsympathetic to her friend's plight, whatever it was this time.

Nicodemus shot up on the stool, outrage and wounded betrayal reflected in his honey gold almond shaped eyes. The younger of two vampiric siblings, he was as beautiful in death as he had been in life as a long dead king’s military advisor and member of a noble family.

“You! You who are supposed to be the one I hold most dear, the most treasured of my bosom companions, have you no mercy on my poor soul? My wounded heart?”

“Not when you start talking like the bastard child of a Hallmark card and Harlequin romance, I don't.” Jessie was extremely unimpressed-- and unsympathetic.

“So be it,” he huffed, slumping back down to prop his elbows on the oak bar top that had been lovingly polished over the decades until it gleamed forever. “Take away my poet's soul. See if I care.”

Jessie beamed. “See, isn't that better? Now, do you want a drink while you calmly and sensibly tell me what's going on without all the histrionics?”

He scowled before relenting. “Fine. But none of those weird, fruity, sweet things the kids are drinking everywhere! Those colors should never have been put into anything consumable,” he shuddered in disgust.

“Caroline, make him a Manhattan, will you?” Jessie called over her shoulder.

“Sure thing, boss,” Caroline replied cheerfully, tossing her long, blonde, curly ponytail over her shoulder as she deftly flipped a martini glass over and grabbed the bottle of rye.

Nicky studied Jessie as she settled down next to him. She was tiny. Long gray curls framed a slightly oval shaped face, high cheekbones, and huge, piercing blue eyes. She lived for broken in jeans and obscure band or bar t-shirts that were so soft and well worn, they were one stitch away from falling apart. Like all witches, she stopped aging in her mid forties and was eternally in that stage of beauty when the laugh lines enhanced the late summer glow of youth.

“Now. What happened this time?” she asked, settling in for the long haul.

He heaved a melancholy sigh that sounded like it came from his toes. She resisted the urge to follow Caroline's eye-rolling example.

“I thought I met the one. He was so perfect. The gargoyle of my dreams!” Jessie choked on her tea.

“I'm sorry, the what of your dreams?”

He looked affronted. “Gargoyle! I told you about him last week!” ”

Jessie barely managed to hide a guilty look. To be fair, when he started on the love interest du jour, it could get a little... repetitive. It wasn't her fault if it was easier to tune him out and concentrate on inventory. Bits and pieces of his hours-long recitations of adoration started to come back to her.

“Oh, right! That gargoyle!”

Jared, Jessie's other apprentice and barback, a tall, young man with impeccable style and skin the color of dark chocolate and who had lined up a promising career in role playing game production, stopped with the ice bucket in midair to stare at Nicky.

“Dude! How does that even work?” He demanded, fascinated.

“Well, if you must know,” Nicky drew himself up haughtily, “Gargoyles are only stone by day when they revert to their... less attractive but more widely known visages.”

“So, what, at night they're hot?” Sometimes talking to Jared was like talking to the blunt side of a hammer and about as subtle.

“If you must put it that way, yes, they can be. Are. Usually are.” Nicky would have blushed if blood pumped through his veins. Jessie realized that he hadn't fed recently. He must really be enamored with this guy.

“Did he ghost you?” Caroline asked with a sympathetic glance. “No offense, Charlie!”

“None taken.” Charlie was the bar's resident ghost. When Mary Jo Sutton, who was still the town’s most beautiful and seductive succubus at the age of fifty, had propositioned him in the bathroom, he had neglected to mention that he had a heart condition. He swore the resulting heart attack was worth it. She still felt guilty about the whole thing.

“Ghost me? Ghost me??” Nicky was stunned, floored, flabbergasted that anyone could even consider such a thing. Jessie gave in to the urge to roll her eyes. Trying to hold back was exhausting.

“Focus!” she slapped her hand on the bar harder than she planned and instantly regretted it. “Where were you supposed to meet?”

“Well, here, tonight actually. I wanted him to meet you.”

Jessie blinked at him.

“So you're telling me that you just waltzed in here and immediately went into hysterics without even bothering to see if he was here first? I mean, we're not exactly balls to the walls over here, but it's not like we're dead either! No offense, Charlie.”

“None taken,” Charlie replied with a burp. One of Jessie's neatest (in his opinion) little pieces of spellwork involved creating a mug that acted as a portal that gave whatever it contained the ability to exist on the spiritual plane. At the moment, that happened to be beer. No one was entirely sure if the belching was necessary, but not even Jared was willing to ruin Charlie's contentment by asking and possibly ruining the experience.

Nicky looked faintly abashed. “I don't see him though! That's understandable, right? I mean, I even came late on purpose!”

Jessie dropped her head in her hand and shook it with the long suffering patience of one who realized a long time ago that their friend genuinely did not have a clue how personal relationships should go.

Nicky squirmed on his stool.

“Well... it seemed like a good idea at the time. But he didn't stick around, so it doesn't matter! And besides, I was only about fifteen minutes late!”

Jared shook his head as he walked toward the back to put away the ice bucket.

“Man, even I know better than that, and I can't keep a girl around to save my life. No offense, Charlie.”

“None taken,” Charlie replied with equanimity. He had never realized how many turns of phrase involved life or death until he himself switched from one side to the other.

“Hey, Jared, check the bathroom for trash and toilet paper on your way back, please,” Jessie called before turning back to the matter at hand.

“Admittedly, I don't really remember seeing a stranger hanging around tonight. What does he look like? And what’s his name? Also, have you tried calling him or do you have a picture, she asks, knowing that of course you didn't, you just immediately broke down into hysterics and started talking like you came off the cover of the best selling romance novel of the decade?”

Now Nicky rolled his eyes. Jessie felt herself get twitchy as she resisted the urge to pop him on the arm.

“I do not talk like that,” he protested.

“Well, no, not when you remember what year it is,” Jessie replied. Nicky pulled out his phone.

“His name is Warsaw, and unfortunately, I can't take a picture. Gargoyles turn into stone in front of a camera,” he showed her a picture of him kissing a stone... lion? dog? on the cheek while gazing coquettishly at what was obviously a phone camera perched at the end of a selfie stick.

“You carry a selfie stick? Of course you do. Why do I even ask?” She snorted in amusement.

Caroline snickered, grabbing the phone,“You're such an adorable couple! Do you think your kids would have your eyes or his density?”

“Ha ha!” Nicky glared as he snatched the phone out of her grasp. “You're so funny.” He tried-- and failed-- to regain some control of the conversation. By this point, Caroline was giggling uncontrollably, and Charlie laughed himself through his stool.

“Okay, okay, let's calm down,” Jessie grinned. “Try to call him. See what happens.”

“Fine, if it will get you all to stop cackling like a pack of hyenas,” Nicky huffed as he hit a button and held the phone to his ear.

“Wait, did you hear that?” Caroline switched from hilarity to alert in seconds. Jessie was way ahead of her.

She met Nicky's eyes with a growing sense of dread. Out of nowhere, a phone had begun to ring, a muffled sound that could only come from behind a closed door.

At the same time, they heard Jared's scream and the thud as he fell over backwards, scrambling away from the bathroom. Inside was a lifeless body that once belonged to a shy, love struck creature who had, for one brief, shining moment, thought he could have everything his heart, which would never be stone, had ever longed for and found in the deep, deep love of a whimsical, sometimes overly dramatic, slightly narcissistic vampire.


About the Author:

Eli’s love for reading started at an early age when her mother taught her to read almost as soon as she learned to talk. She discovered the fantasy genre and fell hard for it when her brother let her sit in on his D&D sessions and then lent her his collections of Dragonlance and David Eddings books while he was away at college.

Eli wrote short stories and poetry in school, but like so many of us, she never really pursued her passion as an adult. Then, COVID hit. After two years of being in “go mode” while she managed a pub, she spent a week reading in a yurt in the mountains. When she came home, she wrote and self-published her first book.

Now, Eli gets to write stories she loves and travel to conventions and events where people are nice enough to let her talk about her books and the world she created for hours on end.









Giveaway 

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Release Day Blitz The Third Ring by A. N. Horton #UrbanFantasyRomance


Author Advice

Write. The. Book. Forget the imposter syndrome, forget the doubt and fear of criticism, forget the probabilities of success. Just sit down and write. Lose yourself in your story, in your world. Even if it never makes it off your screen, it’s yours, and it’s something to be proud of. I’ve met so many writers who never finish their book (some never ever start) because of fear. Get words on the page. You can worry about what to do with them later.

If there is any expense you’re going to take on as a writer, I would suggest you invest in editing. All the marketing in the world can’t fix plot holes and grammatical inconsistencies. I’ve seen so many indie authors lose a start on a review because “it could use more editing”. I, myself, have suffered that with my first trilogy which was published when I didn’t have the budget for an editor. Now, with The Third Ring, I have more confidence in my work because I left that part to a pro. The same with my cover design.

All in all, if you’re looking to step into the world of becoming an author, there are so many choices you’re going to have to make. None of them will be wrong as long as they’re right for you. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do when it comes to your story. Take advice but make your own informed decisions.

Best of luck!


The Third Ring
The Sanctum Series
Book One
A. N. Horton

Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Veil and Valor Books
Date of Publication: April 15, 2025
ISBN: 979-8-9911249-6-6 
ASIN: B0DY949XBH
Number of pages: 404 Pages
Word Count: 112,000
Cover Artist: Adrian Păsărin

Tagline: Ten Trials. Two Oaths. One Chance.

Book Description: 

To Adrian, the gods were never anything to be worshipped, just tolerated. But in the walled city of Sanctuary, whether through the religious fervor of the elite or the quaking fear of the poor, the Geist have always been served. And now it's Adrian's turn.

Born into power and raised for greatness, Dante stands for everything Adrian has come to despise, but he may be her only hope of survival. When the two of them are bonded against their will and forced to compete together in the Trials, the god's ancient gauntlet of physical brutality and psychological torture, they have no choice but to set aside old prejudices and work together. Navigating religious zealots, a patriarch intent on breeding the pair for power, and the increasingly obvious cruelty of the gods, Adrian must come to terms with the fact that, whether Culled or Championed, we all serve the gods in the end. And, for her, betrayal has always been waiting just around the corner.

Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XcZCgrRLlGQ

 

 

Excerpt:

 

I was in a vast, open chamber. The walls were made of solid, smooth gray stone, almost the color of charcoal, with thin veins of white running through them at odd angles. That singular, faint light shone down on a massive hunk of porous stone which took up most of the room. I approached it slowly, in awe of the size. I’d always thought the Oath Stone was small, something you held in both hands while reciting some vow the attendants guided you through or had written on the walls.

I glanced around. There were no words. Not on the walls, not on the floors, not even on the stone itself. There were no words written anywhere, no instructions, no Oath. I spun around again and again, searching in vain as my panic rose to the surface.

How do I know what to say?

How pathetic. Utterly, depressingly pathetic. How was I ever to make it past a single Trial if I couldn’t even figure out how to take my Oath?

My palms itched. I scratched them with my fingernails as I walked toward one of the walls. I narrowed my gaze, trying to discern a pattern in the white lines running through them. There was nothing.

I huffed, my nails continuously running back and forth on the sensitive skin of my palms. But the more I scratched them, the more they burned. I switched to rubbing them as I approached the stone. I leaned down, staring at the hunk of porous stone, tilting my head side to side as I inspected the bumps and crevices until I hissed—the burning in my palms had become an inferno.

Frantic, I held up my hands, expecting to see inflamed skin, a rash even, but they weren’t even red.

Still, they burned.

Flooded with an overwhelming compulsion to find relief from the cool surface of the Oathstone, I reached out and pressed my palms flat against the massive rock. The burning stopped, the itching soothed. I closed my eyes and took a breath.

Then I heard it. A faint voice in the back of my mind getting louder and louder…

I jerked back in surprise, but the moment my hands left the stone, they began to burn even worse than before. I hissed and stared at them again. I still saw nothing but my own skin. Shaking, I reached for the stone again.

The moment flesh met rock, the voice returned. I twitched, uneasy, but concentrated, frowning and pressing my eyes shut tight as if that would help me hear it. It spoke in a whisper and cycled through its message before I could finally make out the words.

“Repeat after me.”

I again startled. The words echoing around in my head were coming from my own voice. I tried to pull my hands from the stone, but I couldn’t. My palms were fused to the rock.

“I vow to obey the tenets of the Trials.”

I hesitated. Did I truly want to go through with this? As confident as I’d been this morning, as resigned to follow through with Darius’s last wish of me, this was…something else entirely. Something I hadn’t expected.

“Make your Oath,” my own voice hissed at me.

“I-I vow…to obey the tenets of the Trials,” I repeated. It seemed to be my only way out of here.

“I shall not speak of my experiences in the Trials, neither now nor upon their completion,” my voice whispered, then waited for me to repeat before continuing. “I shall use my blessings in service to the Geist. I shall seek to keep all knowledge and capability given as a result of my success between myself and my partner. I shall train my body, mind, and soul to be a proper reflection of the holiness of the Geist. For the duration of my candidacy in the Trials, I forfeit all worldly obsessions and submit myself to the will of my gods.”

Again, I hesitated. It seemed a lofty price to pay in honor of a friend I’d never see again. A friend the Geist had stolen from me. The thought of Darius, in this moment of all things, was like a punch to the gut. But it was a reminder as well: I wouldn’t be swearing it for them. So I took a deep breath and made my Oath. The words turned bitter on my tongue.

 

About the Author:

A. N. Horton is a two-time award-winning author living in Nashville, TN with her husband, children, and moderately chunky Corgi. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, baking more cookies than her family can eat, and plotting crimes against her characters. Best known for crafting characters that steal her readers’ hearts as much as they shatter them, A. N. Horton is a cross-genre writer focused mainly on fantasy and romance.


 
 

 
 






Monday, April 14, 2025

New Release : Sanctuary by Valentina Cano Repetto #Horror

Some Places Are Just Evil



Sanctuary
Valentina Cano Repetto

Genre: Historical Horror
Publisher: CamCat Books
Date of Publication: April 15th, 2025 
Cover Artist: Maryann Appel

Book Description: 

Sibilla Fenoglio wants nothing more than to live with her husband in this run-down, derelict watermill. Uninhabited since the Renaissance after a mysterious disaster befell the previous owners, the mill requires extensive repairs. But there is something frightening about the mill. Repairs are violently undone, half-seen figures begin stalking Sibilla through the grounds, and haunting echoes of the previous owners’ lives infiltrate the present. As the disturbances grow more vicious and her husband more secretive, she realizes that she and her child are in danger.





#Horror #HistoricalHorror #Gothic #GothicHorror #NewRelease



Wednesday, April 9, 2025

Release Day Blitz Dark Shadow of Guilt by TM Smith #Romantasy #PNR #Fantasy


Dark Shadow of Guilt
Winged Assassin Series
Book One
TM Smith

Genre: Fantasy/Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Date of Publication: April 18, 2025
ISBN: 978-0-3695-1163-8
ASIN: B0F2XZZ55K
Number of pages: 377
Word Count: 96,146
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Book Description:  

Dominion, a guilt-ridden Immortal who is the black-winged assassin of the OneCreator, rescues Madeline, a mortal who has been thrust into a world she never existed knew. Kidnapped, she was brought to Angor in OneWorld and tortured. As her path intertwines with Dom’s, she grapples with her evolution and newfound gifts. 

Theirs is a tale of doubt and forgiveness, forbidden love, sacrifice, and conflict that threatens the existence of OneWorld. 

Packed with puzzling occurrences and twists and turns, this is a story that will mesmerize readers from start to finish. Amidst chaos in OneWorld, their love is put to the ultimate test against looming threats that threaten the fabric of existence.

Amazon       Apple      Smashwords      BN      Goodreads      Books2Read

Excerpt:

 

Madeline dragged a fork through her potatoes, eventually shoving a bite into her mouth. When she finished chewing, she broke off a piece of crisp bacon and popped it in, licking her lips. “I was thinking about going home, but when you came into the kitchen, I realized how much help you need around here. You probably don’t pay enough attention to yourself. Like eating regularly. Your laundry. Cleaning house. I could organize stuff. Take care of your place.” She winked again. “And you.”

She tilted her chin, a strand of hair feathering across her cheek as she slipped him an irresistible smile. He followed the sweep of her tongue across her lower lip again.

Damn. Things were taking a definite turn toward strange.

Finished, Dom pushed his plate away. He gripped the handle of his coffee mug, taking a sip. Good. Brewed just right. He cleared his throat, searching for something to say. Conversation wasn’t part of his skill set.

Madeline scooted closer, thigh to thigh, a hand caressing his shoulder, floating down to clasp his bicep. “Don’t you like having me here? I could be very convenient to have around.”

When her breast brushed his arm, his heart pounded against his ribs. She was coming on to him.

Dom escaped her grip and moved out of boob range. “Be careful, little female.”

As she leaned close, her whispery breath puffed across his ear. “I’m not so little.”

“Uh-huh.” He swallowed hard. What the hell was she doing? She’d gone from scared to distrusting to cautious acceptance. Now this? Was this typical human behavior?

She inched nearer again, heat radiating off her body. He never turned down an offer from a female, and this one was cooking more than breakfast. But Dom was cautious. He didn’t like not knowing the game.

Madeline tilted into his chest and crushed her lips to his.

To hell with caution.

Not about to allow her to control the situation, Dom yanked her onto his lap, her legs straddling him. He took over, forcing her mouth open and caressing her tongue with his. As she melted against him, his cock got with the game.

 

About the Author:

T. M. Smith is the award-winning author of the Blood Coven Series paranormal romance novels and the spin-off Blood Coven World novellas. Her current release is a new romantasy, in the Winged Assassins Series, Dark Shadow of Guilt. She draws upon her imagination to craft stories about strong women and powerful but flawed men in a richly detailed magical world. After retiring from a career as an educator, Smith settled in to write something more creative than lesson plans on split infinitives and inner-school memos on noise in the hallway. She is now living in the Pacific Northwest with vampires, demons, ylves, mages, and winged beings who keep her awake at night with their tales of love and adventure.






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Tuesday, April 8, 2025

Character Confessions from Last Words: A Supernatural Murder Mystery by Marty Roppelt #Supernatural #Horror #Mystery



I’m Chicago police detective Hank “The Tank” Brewer. I was “Tank” even way back in High School, when I started my football career. Man, I used to light ‘em up on defense, and nobody got the better of me. Like a tank, rollin’ ‘em over. The name stuck in college and in the pros, same reason. I played special teams and backup linebacker for the Chicago Bears for six years. Really enjoyed truckin’ ball carriers, too!

Now I’m a cop. Don’t get to lay guys out like I used to, but I’ll take the win in Homicide every time. Popular in the squad room, too. Nobody wants to see my angry side, I guess… Nah, that ain’t it. I bring a smile to work every day. A positive attitude makes all the difference.

Don’t mean to complain, don’t like it, but I guess I’m gonna. This Roppelt character’s got me a new partner, and this guy is off. Myles Hanson, yeah. Dude’s wound way to tight. He’s gotta be in his late thirties but talks like he just got outta college. I can live with that. But he carries this gizmo with him all the time. Looks like a thumb drive, but he records his voice on it. Makes notes on it at crime scenes, and looks goofy doin’ it. Says it’s got “sentimental value.” I find out it’s from another cop who got killed in a drug bust gone bad. I feel for the cop, and for him. But that gizmo’s gotta go.

But then he tells me it’s recording messages from ghost land—at least, that’s where his girlfriend says the voice is from. I don’t know if Myles believes her or not. But now he’s getting stuff on his phone, static and a strange voice. I told him it’s just a wrong number callin’ his janky phone, and he should get a new one.

And again, just sayin’, my man’s wound way too tight.

Can’t complain about his detective game, though. He’s got solid moves. He’s relentless, like me. If he was a foot shorter and fifty pounds heavier, we could’ve used him on the Bears. He knows where to get the best ribs in town, too. Twin Anchors, yeah. They got a sauce called Prohibition. Can’t make it too hot for me, but yeah, man! That Prohibition is smokin’.

One more thing. Roppelt gives Myles a girlfriend, Rebecca Dale. Me, I get Shondra, a wife who ain’t been around in a while. I got my Momma too, but Shondra’s afraid of me getting’ hurt on the job. What kills me is she never worried when I was playin’ ball. I had a better chance of getting’ carted off then. Roppelt better have her switchin’ up in the next story.

Otherwise, I got no complaints. It’s just, that’s a big one for me. I ain’t getting’ any younger. I can get used to Myles—I like to call him Sticks, him bein’ so tall and skinny. I might even get used to that gadget. But doin’ it without my girl? Momma says she’ll come around. I sure hope so.


Last Words: A Supernatural Murder Mystery
Hanson and Brewer Murder Mysteries 
Book One
Marty Roppelt

Genre: Mystery / Supernatural / Horror
Publisher: Dragon Breath Press
Date of Publication: February 7, 2025
ISBN: 979-8985349580 
ASIN: B0D184PVWZ 
Number of pages: 151 
Word Count: 36,241
Cover Artist: Christopher Chambers

Tagline: Some cases cut deeper when the dead refuse to stay buried

Book Description: 

Last Words: A Supernatural Murder Mystery follows Chicago police Detective Myles Hanson as he navigates a world of crime and unsettling revelations. After a nighttime raid on a drug lab ends in a deadly shootout, Myles is convinced to transfer to another unit. His first case in Violent Crimes is unlike any he’s faced before. Maria Peski, a midwife with a quiet life, is savagely murdered.

But that’s not the only mystery haunting him. Myles begins experiencing chilling visions and inexplicable phenomena. He begins to hear the final words of the dead, fragments of unfinished thoughts from those who have passed. As the voices reveal clues no one else can uncover, Myles teams up with his streetwise and relentless partner, Tank Brewer, to piece together the secrets that the dead have left behind.

When a second murder rocks the city with startling similarities, Myles is increasingly pressured to accept that some clues lie beyond the realm of the living. As the line between the supernatural and the real begins to blur, Myles and Tank must untangle a web of deceit, violence, and spectral warnings before the killer strikes again.

Amazon     BN     Apple     Kobo

 

Smashwords     Everand     Fable

 

BOOK TRAILER: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/lU-_D-vPnRU



Excerpt:

Myles paused at the glass doors to the Area North police station. He checked his watch. Then he turned away from the entrance, paced roughly fifteen feet, added several more steps and lit a Marlboro Light. He pulled his jacket collar up to block an unusually crisp September breeze.

A long strip of grass punctuated by an occasional shrub next to the building attempted to soften the structure's strictly functional design. In the courtyard, a few trees stood guard along with a twisting metal sculpture. But the shades in all the windows were drawn, keeping the occupants' minds focused on their tasks. The parking lot spread far in every direction. Several squad cars waited there for their officers to climb in and begin their patrols.

Taking in his surroundings, Myles shook his head. The Nineteenth District Patrol station held more appeal to tourists to Chicago than did this location. A block west of the Nineteenth on West Addison Street sat a busy elevated, or "L," train station, over a century old and still flaunting its original grid of iron spans and frames in the open. Another block further west, Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs, buzzed with activity during home stands. Across from the Nineteenth on Addison, a row of shotgun style houses butted up against each other like a knot of sentinels standing shoulder to shoulder. Some bore brownstone façades, some red brick. A thin sheen of grime, car exhaust mostly, the grit of a busy city, covered them. All the dwellings needed power washing or sand blasting.

He knew that locale well, and it charmed even him.

But no tourists visited this spot, the Area North station's locale. A massive tan and brown brick building, Area North dwarfed the Nineteenth. Built in a commercial and industrial zone, the station resembled a Big Box store in spite of the unnaturally planted greenery. If not for the fleet of squad cars in the sprawling lot, visitors might enter the north side's police nexus expecting to buy a hot air fryer or bed linens.

Myles nodded to himself. Area North was all business.

From the corner of his eye, in the window nearest him, Myles spotted the reflection of two women, one short and slight, the other tall and slender. They approached from the parking lot arm-in-arm. The window distorted their shapes, giving them a hot August day shimmer. Their pale complexions suggested a summer spent together indoors. They both dressed for summer, each wearing tie-dyed blouses but no jackets, immune to the cool day. The shorter one put Marla Hines in mind. He recalled how she used to chide him whenever he sneaked out of the Organized Crimes building for a quick smoke. As the pair neared him, they opened their mouths, Myles assumed, to berate him.

"Sorry, ladies," the smoker said. "I'll just put this out." He turned in the women's direction.

They were gone.

Frowning, he swung his head around, scanning the area. Nothing. The parking lot lay empty of everything but vehicles. Two uniformed cops exited the building. But no one passed them heading in.

"Come on, Hanson," he muttered.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the heel of his shoe, deposited it into a nearby trash can and entered the station.


About the Author:

Marty Roppelt lives in Wauconda, Illinois, with his wife Becky. Born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, his family roots stem from Transylvania. Yes, THAT Transylvania, from where his parents emigrated in the mid 1950's. So of course, Marty enjoys writing in the supernatural / horror genre. In addition to his first novel, Mortal Foe, he has written a series of short paranormal Christmas stories to raise money for St. Herman’s House, a homeless shelter in Cleveland. He also has featured stories in anthologies, Tales from the Dragon's Lair and Holiday Hearth. Marty and Becky enjoy quiet time together with their cats Nala and Malik.