Eliza: The Awakening by Eileen Sheehan #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular

Severed Finger Sugar Cookies

Ingredients:

2 ¾ c. flour; 

1 tsp baking soda

½ tsp baking powder

1 x. softened butter

1 ½ c. sugar

1 egg

1tsp vanilla extract

Heat oven to 350°F. Line cookie sheets with cooking parchment paper or silicone baking mats.

In medium bowl, cream butter with sugar and add egg and vanilla.  

Then, add flour and baking powder and baking soda.  

Using fork or spatula, until well mixed and texture of breadcrumbs. 

Squeeze handful of dough crumbs together tightly to form small log or "finger." 

Score top of log with butter knife to shape the knuckle, then press 1 slivered almond at one end to make the fingernail. Repeat to use up dough. Refrigerate 30 minutes.

Bake 15 minutes. Cool completely, about 30 minutes.

Eliza: The Awakening

Book One

Eileen Sheehan

Genre: Paranormal Shifter Series

Publisher: Earth Wise Books

Date of Publication: 8/31/2021

ASIN: B09956JTJ1

Number of pages: 178

Word Count: 26,380

Tagline: "The Awakening" begins the saga of a female shifter named, Eliza.

Book Description: 

Eliza is a simple and uncomplicated young woman.  She enjoys the outdoors, is good with animals, and, like most young women her age, loves to party and have fun.  When she meets a sexy man with an alluring Southern drawl, she has no idea that he is involved in a world that she is yet to know, but is her legacy.  Like it or not.

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Excerpt

It felt like someone was swinging a hammer against the inside of Eliza’s skull.  The early morning dew caused a damp muskiness on the earth that blended with the mold and dust that burrowed beneath the thick layer of leaves where she lay her aching burden; assaulting her nose and adding to her misery.  Her chocolate colored eyes felt pinned shut, but her hearing was abnormally acute.  By the sounds around her, she sensed her surroundings were familiar ones.  If she was correct, she was near the small cave that was nestled in a knoll that began the acres of woods at the far end of her family’s farm.  It was a place that she’d discovered at a young age and had frequented whenever she required alone time.  Her surroundings weren’t the greater mystery.  How she got there was.

As her faculties returned to normal, she sat up and realized that how she got there wasn’t the biggest mystery after all.  It was superseded by the fact that she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on.

None of this made sense. How did she get there and what happened to her clothes?

Straining her mind, she reached into the fog for a replay of the night before.  She’d gone with her best friend, Reba, to a newly opened dance club. The place was packed, and dance partners were plentiful.  The exertion from dancing combined with the excessive body heat made the air feel so stifling as to be practically unbearable.  She remembered stepping outside for a bit of fresh air.  Did Reba join her?  She struggled to remember, but the visions in her head showed very little.

Squeezing her eyes shut almost to the point that it hurt, she forced her mind to function.  She needed to remember the chain of events that led to her waking up naked in a field at the edge of the woods.  Had she gone home from the club and sleepwalked?  Or had something sinister occurred?  She just didn’t know.

About the Author:

Eileen Sheehan primarily writes hot, steamy romances (mostly New Adult) with a sexy male and strong female. A few are steamier than others (see their description). The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love (contemporary or historical with the author name of Ailene Frances). ALL of her stories have a bit of naughtiness, some excitement, a few thrills, and maybe a touch of mystery mixed in with sometimes naughty, sometimes sweet lovin'. She strives to write a novel length that will allow the busy woman to be able to sit down in an evening or two and be taken on a romantic journey without having a week go by before she gets to the end of the story.

An incurable romantic, she has a love affair with at least one of her characters... one book at a time. She hopes the same thing happens to you.

www.sheehan-author.info

https://www.facebook.com/groups/162542557665509

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Spooktacular Halloween Recipes with Lara Bernhardt #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular

It’s the most wonderful time of the year! And, no, I don’t mean Christmas. Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday! I love the spooky shivers that accompany ghosts, graveyards, Jack-o’-lanterns, cobwebs, and haunted houses. As a young girl, I remember clearly how much I looked forward to dressing up in costumes too—and back then we had those horrible plastic masks that covered our entire faces, held on by elastic cord, with slits for eyes and mouth.

One year I recruited my younger sister’s assistance and made a DIY haunted house for my younger brothers. We transformed our bathroom into a terrifying experience (in my young mind anyway). Peeled grapes were “eyeballs” and cooked pasta “intestines.”

Once I had them thoroughly creeped out, my sister, hiding in the bathtub with a flashlight, all in black and with my pretty decent makeup job transforming her into a ghastly entity, lit the flashlight below her face and yelled, “Boo!” My brothers screamed and I got in big trouble. I considered it a huge success.  In middle school, I was allowed to host a party for friends and that remains one of my favorite Halloween memories. I dressed as a Southern belle, complete with a real hoopskirt (from goodness knows where!) and a fancy frock that would have made Scarlet O’Hara’s green eyes flash with envy. I swirled around the house serving witch’s brew and Halloween Jell-O cake (recipes below) while Halloween music played in the background.

Later in high school, my parents had moved, and our new house had a barn in the back. I made invitations and went all out with decorations in the barn, lining the walls with haystacks to sit on. Friends arrived and we primarily sat and chatted and ate snacks I’d put together while listening to music.

My dad crept across the backyard to the barn with his old chainsaw, blade removed, intent on truly scaring us by running through the darkened barn like something out of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Sadly, the chainsaw never fired up, though perhaps this was for the best.

These days, I dress up and enjoy the evening but rarely even see Trick-or-Treaters. I miss the thrill of Halloweens gone by but channel my love of all things supernatural into my book series. Happy Halloween!!

Witch’s Brew Recipe

1 quart of lime sherbet

2-liter bottle of 7-Up, Sprite, or Ginger Ale

Optional: one can of pineapple juice + ¼ cup lime juice

Mix together the lime sherbet and soda of your choice just before serving. Watch the brew froth and foam! You can add juice to your liking and even add some dry ice chips if you really want to set a creepy mood.

Halloween Jell-O Cake Recipe

1 white cake mix

1 cup boiling water

1 pkg Jell-O gelatin (orange, grape, or both)

½ cup cold water

1 tub Cool Whip

Food coloring and sprinkles if desired

—Bake the cake as directed on the box. Cool for at least 15 minutes. Use a large fork to poke holes throughout the cooled cake.

—Add the boiling water to the gelatin. (My mom used both orange and grape to marble the colors but you can opt for only orange or whatever you prefer.) Stir until dissolved. Add the cold water and pour over the cake. Refrigerate for 3 hours.

—Use food coloring to tint Cool Whip if desired and then spread over cake. Refrigerate another hour and decorate with sprinkles as desired just before serving.

The Wantland Files

Book One

Lara Bernhardt

Genre: supernatural suspense

Publisher: Admission Press

Date of Publication: December 16, 2016

ISBN: 978-0998426105

ASIN: B081RFTMR5

Number of pages: 286

Word Count: 73,470

Cover Artist: BEAUTeBOOK

Tagline: She sees dead people. He doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Book Description: 

The X-Files meets Ghost Hunters when psychic Kimberly Wantland is forced to collaborate with skeptic Sterling Wakefield as she investigates a ghost terrorizing a young family in the season finale of her hit television series The Wantland Files.

Amazon

Excerpt:

The frigid blast hit her, not a tidal wave crashing over her, but an iceberg, solid and powerful. And furious.

The icy shock took her breath away. She gasped.

The entity dropped from above and sailed past, blowing her hair behind her.
Strong, warm hands grasped her arms, intent on steadying her. She shook free as Drew screamed.

“I told you to stay with the boy!” She crossed the room in three steps and knelt beside the toddler bed.

Drew no longer sat in the corner.

“Kimmy? What’s happening?” Michael called from the door.

“Just keep recording! She’s here. She’s powerful. Keep the cameras rolling.”

Danielle’s voice joined the fray. “What’s wrong? Drew! What’s happening?”

“Stay in your room,” she commanded as forcefully as she could with lungs chilled by the dark entity. “Stay with your baby!”

Her fingers trembled as she searched the bed. Every square inch of the miniature thing. Her chilled hands were not so numb that they would miss a toddler’s body. Where was he?

Frantic and scared, she lost control of her extrasensory perceptions. She stopped running her hands over the bed and held still. Clutching her crystal, she breathed deeply. Where was the entity? Where was the boy?

About the Author: 

Lara Bernhardt is a Pushcart-nominated writer, editor, and audiobook narrator. She is Editor-in-Chief of Balkan Press and also publishes a literary magazine, Conclave. Twice a finalist for the Oklahoma Book Award for Best Fiction, she writes supernatural suspense and women’s fiction. 

You can follow her on all the socials @larawells1 on Twitter and @larabern10 on Facebook, BookBub, and Instagram. 

www.larabernhardt.com 

https://twitter.com/lara_wells1  

https://www.facebook.com/larabern10

https://www.bookbub.com/profile/lara-bernhardt  

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16308048.Lara_Bernhardt 

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Guest Blog- Behind the Veil by E. J. Dawson #GothicSuspense

A Little About Psychics – Why Letitia Chose a Scrying Bowl

The word psychic comes from the Greek psychikos, referring to mental abilities. In the past they were fundamental parts of religions, their priestesses and prophets. Now, the idea of psychic’s dwells now in the realm of fortune tellers, tarot readers, and often under the guise of charlatans scamming people for money. An unfortunate deterioration of what was once a sacred and honorable craft. 

For those unfamiliar, psychic’s cover extra sensory perceptions. Things the mind knows without prior knowledge, like clairvoyance. The ability to read minds, predict the future. For the character in Behind the Veil, Letitia possesses the dark gift of communicating with the dead.

Not to converse, but to see their final moments. To give closure to those left behind, still lost in their grief. Letitia is able to touch objects, look at photos, sense the person and reach out to where they passed through the veil into death.The method of divining paranormal knowledge can be used with tea leaves, tarot cards, trances, crystal balls, sacred bones, hypnosis, divining tools, ouija boards, and with a scrying bowl. 

One of the greatest practitioners of scrying with a bowl was Nostradamus, staring at a bowl with water in it to see the future while he was in a trance.

Letitia uses this same method, her bowl is made of black glass, and she sprinkles in oil to aid her trances. The bowl was given to her by the woman who mentored her after her gift was thrust upon her during an unguarded séance.

For if there is one thing that any practitioner will tell you; there are dark things out there.

There are skeptics of the craft, of that there is no doubt. But no one ignores the skitter of dread up your spine, when there’s a noise on the edge of hearing, the tone of a child’s scream, that there is something, someone, here in the dark with you. They’re primal instincts that tell us we are in danger.

These same instincts guide psychics against evil forces that lie beyond death. Precautions are taken to ensure that nothing dark attaches itself to the seer. Salt across doorways to bar the unwanted unnatural guest. Burning incense and hanging of religious symbols. Letitia uses her scrying bowl with a touch of oil, but always sits on a chair, allowing her to tip over or fall should she become too entrenched in her visions. Mental images of being surrounded by white light to block out an invisible threat. Mostly it allows her complete control. To remove herself or be removed in extreme situations by her physical body. She also uses a mirror that reflects the bowl to distance herself from an intense vision.

Much of her visions are highly dramatized in Behind the Veil, however it doesn’t change that with deep meditation and eliminating distractions allows us to have a sense of peace. To access our subconscious thoughts and perhaps realize things we already knew but see in a new light. Much of this can come from dreams, from the very typical ones of arriving at school naked, to more serious times of stress. We hold a lot of symbology in our lives and this is often what catches our focus, but also our faith.

No matter what you believe in, everyone holds true to something. Not every gift is as tangible as Letitia’s but it doesn’t change that we’re wary of things that go bump in the night. That there are times we are afraid and can’t say why. A moment that it was more than a person waiting in the dark, it was a monster…

I can’t say I believe in heaven, or know what comes after, but I absolutely believe that evil is out there, and sometimes it exists in the people sitting right next to us. That sometimes those very instincts society disdains are what saves us from the dark.

Behind the Veil

E. J. Dawson

Genre: Gothic Suspense

Publisher: Literary Wanderlust

Date of Publication: 1st October 2021

ISBN: 9781942856931

ASIN: B0981C89JL

Number of pages: 252

Word Count: 86k

Cover Artist: Violeta Nedkova

Tagline: To catch a killer or save her sanity

Book Description: 

Can she keep the secrets of her past to rescue a girl tormented by a ghost?

In 1920s Los Angeles, Letitia Hawking reads the veil between life and death. A scrying bowl allows her to experience the final moments of the deceased. She brings closure to grief-stricken war widows and mourning families.

For Letitia, it is a penance. She knows no such peace.

For Alasdair Driscoll, it may be the only way to save his niece, Finola, from her growing night terrors. But when Letitia sees a shadowy figure attached to the household, it rouses old fears of her unspeakable past in England.

When a man comes to her about his missing daughter, the third girl to go missing in as many months, Letitia can’t help him when she can’t see who’s taken them.

As a darkness haunts Letitia’s vision, she may not be given a choice in helping the determined Mr Driscoll, or stop herself falling in love with him. But to do so risks a part of herself she locked away, and to release it may cost Letitia her sanity and her heart.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/zNYlZ7PatA0 

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Excerpt Four:

“I will study the picture and book,” Letitia said, not about to let him fall into his grief and worry. “I’d like to ask that you don’t speak during this time. One of the things I’ll be able to offer if I see her is something only you would know about her. That you come by reference is flattering, but I find everyone has a measure of doubt. This session is to affirm in your mind I can do as I promise.”

“What would that be?” Mr. Barkley asked.

“That should Maisie have passed, and it wasn’t violent, I can share her final moments with you.” Letitia pitched her voice low and soft to lessen the distress her words may cause. Mr. Barkley grimaced and closed his eyes as she continued. “I will not tell you if someone murdered her, Mr. Barkley. I cannot do that. Often the victim is taken by surprise, and this can drag me into death with them. I will at least be able to give you some measure of closure, simply by reading what I can of Maisie’s things.”

His eyes cracked open though the grim features didn’t change. “Thank you.”

She took off her gloves and picked up the picture. It was the same one she’d seen in the newspapers. A girl of eleven, hair in pigtails, grinning at the camera.

Letitia focused on her eyes. The liveliness there was a dim and distant echo compared to actual life. She let her gaze soften, imagining what the girl would be like, letting her ability paint a picture of Maisie. This would be one of many photographs. She had laughed too much in the others. Letitia put it down and picked up the book.

It didn’t belong to Maisie.

The knowledge was as instinctual as breathing. Letitia embraced it, bending it to her will.

“This isn’t her book,” Letitia said, setting it down and looking to Mr. Barkley. “It belonged to someone else, a much older woman…her mother?”

“Died six years ago of tuberculosis,” he said, “and almost took Maisie, too.”

Letitia nodded, turning the pages, feeling the love in the paper under her fingers, and opening to a white satin ribbon inside. As soon as Letitia touched it, darkness overwhelmed her.

There was a fall, and she was tumbling down a long shaft, no light, only the reek of brine and rot.

Letitia yanked her hand back as though stung by a bee. She shook it, the prickle on her fingers stinging into her hand. Rubbing away the pain, she looked to Mr. Barkley.

“That belonged to Maisie,” she said. “It was her christening ribbon.”

“Yes,” Mr. Barkley said, eyes now wide and eager. “You saw her?”

“Not quite,” Letitia said, “but let me try again.”

He fell silent and Letitia used the book to slide the ribbon onto the table in front of her without touching it. It was grubby in some places, fraying at one end, and it was these teased tassels Letitia reached for, this time ready for the images she received.

Maisie was curled next to her mother on a big bed, playing with the ribbon as her mother read, content to lie next to her in the firelit room. Her father came over, picked her up and took her to bed, but she took the ribbon with her.

Years later, she still had it, held it tight in her hand, wrapped between her fingers, while she stood by her father’s side at the funeral of her mother. Her friend Tommy waved at her across the church, but Maisie didn’t wave back. Today was not a day to be happy.

Maisie threaded the ribbon through her mother’s book and kept it by her bedside. Though she never read the pages, she sat up and flipped them like her mother had, eyes lost to memory, her fingers plucking at the thread of the ribbon.

Letitia stretched her mind for what was beyond, but while she was sure the girl was dead, there was no sense of her beyond death. It didn’t take much to imagine why the little girl was taken and what might have happened to her. Letitia drew back before the lingering soul would become aware she sought it out.

As much as Letitia wanted to tell him more, there was nothing else to see without scrying. Short of going into a trance, she wouldn’t be able to see anything but Maisie’s final hours, which wouldn’t help Maisie, her father, or Letitia.

And Letitia had a grave fear the girl had not passed the veil. Maisie was on the wrong side of death.

About the Author:

Beginning a writing journey with an epic 21 book series, Ejay started her author career in 2014 and has taken on the ups and downs of self-publishing with her fantasy series The Last Prophecy since 2016. At the start of 2019, she put the series on the backburner to write Behind the Veil in 25 days, and signed a publishing contract for the gothic noir novel to independent publisher Literary Wanderlust. Behind the Veil is set for release on the October 1st 2021. She resumed self-publishing a scifi series, Queen of Spades released across 2020 and 2021, as well as signing another contract with Literary Wanderlust for NA fantasy, Echo of the Evercry. Believing in more than one path to a career in publishing, Ejay pursues self-publishing alongside querying traditional publishers with multiple manuscripts.

https://ejdawson.com/

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https://twitter.com/ejdawsonauthor

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14845831.E_J_Dawson

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Halloween Flash Fiction with Celia Breslin #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular #PNR

Happy Halloween Month, Everyone! For Halloween every year, I like to share my favorite spooky story from my family’s arsenal of tales about the Fae. In this one, my Irish grandmother recounts her personal encounter with a Banshee when she was a teenager. 

Enjoy!

Bumped by the Banshee

by Celia Breslin

… I lived in a large two-story house with my parents, younger sister, and grandmother. It was a cold, winter evening, nothing special or out of the ordinary.

My family dined together, then my sister and I cleaned up while our parents and grandmother drank tea. We joined them at the dining table to do our homework, but my grandmother said she was tired and went upstairs to bed. My parents followed shortly after that, but my father paused on the landing.

“Maeve, it’s going to be a cold night. Fetch us some coal, please.”

I abandoned my homework, grabbed the empty coal bucket from the kitchen, and went down into the cellar. I filled my bucket and returned to the stairs. I had one foot on the first step when the temperature in the cellar, already cold, dropped dramatically. Chills ran down my back. Behind me, someone moaned.

But how could that be? I was alone...

Terror rooted me to the spot. The keening grew louder. I dropped my bucket and covered my ears. A cold wind bumped against my back. I stumbled forward as the shrieking wind rushed over me and up the stairs.

But how could that be? The cellar had no windows...

Above me, the cellar door slammed shut. The sound broke me from my stupor. I screamed and ran up the stairs and out of the cellar, through the kitchen and dining room, and up the stairs to my room. My parents and sister found me under my bed, shaking like a puppy lost in a snowstorm.

“Maeve! Maeve! What is it? What’s wrong?” They asked me, while pulling me from my hiding place.

“I heard the Banshee wail.”

We stared at each other in silence, all of us reaching the same conclusion moments later. We hurried to my grandmother’s room.

She was dead.

(Copyright 2021, Celia Breslin. All rights reserved.)

Eva’s Homecoming

Heartland Fae 

Book One

Celia Breslin

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Celia Breslin 

Date of Publication: February 2022 

ISBN: 9798201153793

Number of pages: 79 

Word Count: 21K 

Cover Artist: VWZDesigns 

Tagline: A curse stole her away. Can true love lead her home?

Book Description:

After several years away for school and work, Eva O’Reilly is finally home. The West coast was fine, but her heart belongs to the Heartland and the town she grew up in. Sadly, with her mother’s sudden passing and no other living relatives, Eva is alone. And hurting.

Angus of the Tuatha Dé Danaan is elated his one true love has finally returned, and he’s determined to win her heart all over again. There are just two problems: she can’t see him or remember the Fae folk even exist.

As Eva mourns, Angus fights to dispel the veil keeping them apart. With the aid of a gang of flower fairies and the kindly elderly Wiccan next door, these cursed lovers may well receive a second chance at their happily forever after…

Currently appears in the anthology Flip The Trope: Romance Gone Wild

Novella Release February 2022

Anthology available at Books to Read  

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Excerpt

Angus stood in the center of the garden, throat tight and burning, a huge gulp of air trapped in his lungs.

Around him, a dozen diminutive flower fairies cavorted among the flora, chortling with glee. “She’s here, she’s here, our Eva is here!”

His gaze targeted the back door, body taut as he awaited his first glimpse of the female he loved. The only one he would ever love. Mo chroí, my heart. My heart walks the world, outside my body. “Come back to me.”

His voice was barely audible above the incessant chatter of the flower fairies. “We sang to her. She heard us! She liked it.”

“Hush,” he commanded, and they fell silent, vibrating with gleeful anticipation.

Seven years without her. The longest, loneliest bloody years of his basically eternal existence…

[…]

Eva stared out at the yard with haunted, brown eyes. Dark circles like the ones she’d sported months ago at the wake and funeral marred the perfection of her milky skin. He wanted to lay gentle kisses on her eyelids, nip the tip of her nose with its light dusting of freckles, lave her lips with his tongue then push it between those perfect lips…

“See me, Eva,” he whispered.

“See us,” Rosina echoed.

Eva cocked her head and touched her ear as if in response to their words. The incessant giggling of the flower fairies ceased, an expectant hush falling over the garden.

Though consumed with sorrow, Eva surveyed the yard with appreciation. Angus and the flower fairies had been tending to the yard and garden since she’d left. There was little to be done in the winter months but in the Fall, they’d trimmed and raked, then planted, pruned, and watered in Spring and Summer. Jasmine, lavender, and other blooming plants scented the air, and he watched his female take a deep breath.

Her shoulders seemed to lose some tension as she took in the neatly trimmed yard and carefully curated garden. “It’s perfect,” she said.

Angus’s heart swelled with pride at a job well done only to stutter in agony when her lovely brown eyes lingered on the central spot where he stood yet looked right through him.

“No. No, no, no,” he whispered. See me this time, Eva. Let the curse be gone.

Mrs. Murphy joined Eva near the door. “He tended it for you. From the moment you went off to school.”

“What?” Eva scanned the yard, then returned her attention to the spot where he stood surrounded by the flower fairies, all of them quivering with excitement.

“The garden, girl. He looked after it for you.”

Lines formed in Eva’s forehead, and her attention shifted to Mrs. Murphy. “I don’t understand, who did?”

He bowed his head and rubbed his brow. Each time she returns she still cannot See. My fault. All of this. Mine.

About the Author:

Celia lives in California with her husband, daughter, and two feisty cats. She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, and has a particular fondness for werewolves, vampires, and the Fae. When not writing, you’ll find Celia exercising, reading a good book, hanging with her family, or indulging her addiction to fantasy TV shows and movies.

Website: http://www.celiabreslin.com   

Blog: http://www.celiabreslin.com/blog/   

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/celiabreslin   

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CeliaBreslinAuthor   

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/CeliaBreslin   

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/celiabreslin/   

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Guest Blog with Diane Morrison - Learn How to Get Wax Off Your Altar Cloth

Hi there, Paranormalists! My name is Diane Morrison, and in addition to being a science fiction and fantasy writer, I am an IRL witch. I also write Pagan non-fiction under my Craft name, Sable Aradia.

Today I thought I would share with you a tip that is the hidden purview of High Priestesses everywhere, and one of our most important Craft secrets. Are you ready?

I’m going to teach you how to get wax out of an altar cloth.

Preparation:

Break off as much of the wax blob(s) as you can, minimizing the amount of wax you have to deal with.You can also use the tried-and-true ironing method to reduce the amount of wax present before you begin. This method is meant for dealing with the thin layer of wax that always gets stuck in the fibers of the fabric.

Lay the section of the altar cloth that is covered in wax over a bucket or barrel. An ice cream pail in a bathtub, or in a sink, with the hot water tap running, will do. Don’t put the plug in; you want excess wax to run down the pipes in the hot water, to prevent it from gumming up your plumbing. But I prefer to do this in the yard when possible.

Heat water to the boiling point in a large pot or kettle. It doesn’t have to be a rolling boil, and if you’re concerned about color running, it probably shouldn’t be.

Using the kettle, or a glass liquid measuring cup, carefully pour the hot water over the shiny wax spot, starting from the outside and working inward. This will prevent the wax from spreading outwards too much, which can be a concern.

However, the wax will still spread, so keep expanding your circle as you work at the wax, making sure to get any of the shiny bits on the fabric.

Once you think you have removed all visible wax, flip the fabric over and repeat on the opposite side.

When you think you have successfully removed all the wax, allow the fabric to partially dry. When it is damp, hold it up to a light and double-check for more shiny areas, which indicate that a thin layer of wax remains.

If you do see a shiny spot, re-heat your water, and repeat the process as before. Only the most stubborn wax will remain after two cycles of this but, if necessary, it can be repeated a few more times.

While the fabric is drying, and when you are finished, dispose of the wax floating in your pail by first allowing the water to cool (or adding cold water, if you are impatient like me) and then straining the waxy water through a metal sieve, to prevent big globs of it from clogging your pipes. Throw the wax globs in the garbage, and clean the sieve by squirting a little oil-cutting dishwashing liquid into it, letting it sit a moment, then running hot water through it. Make sure the water is good and hot before doing this, as cold or lukewarm water will just turn it solid again. You can use either the water you’ve heated, or the water from your tap, if it gets hot enough.

I hope this helps someone! Happy witching!

My practical approach to magic and my tongue-in-cheek sense of humor are features feature of both my fiction and non-fiction work. You can get my latest novel, A Few Good Elves, now at https://www.books2read.com/afewgoodelves.

A Few Good Elves

Toy Soldier Saga 

Book One

Diane Morrison

Genre: Science fantasy, military science fiction, space opera, epic fantasy, dark fantasy, blackpowder fantasy

Publisher: Aradia Publishing

Date of Publication: September 7, 2021

ISBN Ebook 978-1-9995757-5-5

ISBN Hardcover 978-1-9995757-4-8

ISBN Paperback 978-1-9995757-3-1

ASIN: B09D79BJW1

Number of pages: 490

Word Count: 155k

Cover Artist: Cayotica

Tagline: A dark blackpowder fantasy military space opera

Book Description: 

Toy Soldier: A derogatory slang term for an elven marine.

Battles great and terrible, small and bitter, raged across Known Space as the wars of Elves and Orcs played out their legacy of hatred across the stars themselves. Epics would be written, songs would be sung; but wars are fought by real people with loves and families and homes.

All Shaundar Sunfall ever wanted to be was a Star-Pilot. Raised on his father's ship, he has found an affinity for the stars -- although as a mixed-race elf and a bit of troublemaker, he often runs afoul of his commanding officers.

Now the orcs have returned to once again wage war on their ancient enemies. The fate of his people is at stake. Although he is too young, Shaundar lies about his age to join up. But he is about to learn that no matter what the sagas say, war is no great adventure.

A bit like what would happen if Horatio Hornblower met the Honorverse, met Lord of the Rings, met Game of Thrones, A Few Good Elves is part naval adventure, part high fantasy, part space opera, and part war novel.

CW: graphic violence, sexual violence, torture, war, genocide

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/7LG4_Jp9yfw

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Excerpt
All about on the decks of the Queen’s Dirk, the crew were running and screaming. There were too many dead and wounded to count, and the Chiurgeons had elves spread out over the tables in the mess, the garden, even the Captain’s bed.

Shaundar sensed Lieutenant Sylria on the remains of the fo’c’sle, now mostly a debris field, commanding the mages to ready spells and the weapons crews to continue their attack. He could also see the gravity well of the Vengeance, just now coming about on their starboard side, though he was certain that it had been much longer than they needed.

“I have the helm!” Shaundar cried.

“Get us out of here, Shaundar!”

He turned his head and studied the rapidly oncoming Balorian ship through both the hole in the starboard wall, and Queenie’s senses. Even with Sylria’s magical boost, he knew this to be hopeless.

“I can’t do it, Sylria,” he said in a hollow voice. “They’re just too fast.”
Sylria looked down at her feet for a long moment. She squared her shoulders. “Then we shall die with honour.”

Shaundar nodded. Amazingly, there was no fear, just sadness, that he would not see his family or Narissa again. “Sails, evasive manoeuvres!” Shaundar commanded. “Hard down!”

As the insectoid ship neared, it closed those claw-like limbs to grapple them. But under Shaundar’s power and direction, they dodged the attempt. Shaundar saw a whole army of armoured Balorian warriors pour out onto the deck and stand to the rails.

Sylria shrieked, “Mages, fire!” and she let off a lightning bolt herself. There were only a couple of elves left alive topside to obey Sylria’s command, but they responded. Flames and electricity washed over the orcs, enough that it stopped them in their tracks and aborted their boarding attempt.

“Bring ‘er about,” Shaundar ordered. “Hard astarboard!”
Queenie answered sluggishly with all the shorn rigging and shorthanded crew, but she came back around. As they swooped back towards each other, Sylria’s command rang out. Defiantly, the Queen’s Dirk fired another volley.

The Balorians greeted it with a broadside of their own as they both swung starboard at the last moment. The larboard ballistae both missed, but two of the three others dented the hull. The third pierced it once more on their larboard side with a ringing tear of sheet metal.

Their catapult did not fire at all. Whether it was because it was damaged, or because there were too few crew left to man it, Shaundar would never know.

The decapitated Vengeance had only one gun it could bring to bear on the pass, but it fired that larboards bombard at point blank range. The fo’c’sle simply collapsed like a sandcastle. Sylria was swallowed into the sinkhole. Shaundar roared in horror and pain but could not hear his own voice in the overwhelming noise.

There was no sail crew left to command, but hoping against hope, Shaundar bellowed anyway,

“Hard aport!” The mizzenmast was shorn away, and he knew it, but knowing there was nothing else to be done, he yelled out, “Prepare to ram! All hands brace for impact!” just as Garan had attempted.

He didn’t flinch as the Queen’s Dirk collided head-on with her foe.

About the Author:

Diane Morrison lives with her partners in the Okanagan Valley, BC, where she was born and raised. She has been published in SFF markets such as Terra! Tara! Terror!, Air & Nothingness Press, and Cossmass Infinities. Under her pen name “Sable Aradia” she is a successful Pagan author, a musician, and a Twitch streamer and podcaster.  She likes pickles and bluegrass, and hates talking about herself.


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