Dealan scowled, cursing under his breath as he strode toward the house. The female must be daft. Her ruckus could wake the dead, and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment. This living, breathing human was a sufficient problem without adding temperamental ghosts to the mix.
Near the back porch, his keen Fae hearing picked up the rattling of doors, the clicking of window locks, and the scraping of curtains tugged along metal rods. Room by room illumination ceased. Darkness wouldn’t protect her from his kind, however, should they wish her ill. He harrumphed. Which they didn’t.
At the foot of the deck stairs he paused, reminding himself why he’d agreed to watch over this skittish lass in the first place. His best friend Angus was a right pushy bastard, and sadly, Dealan had never been able to refuse his friend’s damn requests. Factor in kindhearted Eva O’Reilly, his chum’s mate and longtime friend of the flower fairies, and it was nigh impossible to deny either of them any little thing.
Or, one noisy, possibly unhinged, woman-sized being named Melanie Blackstone.
“She’s a funny one, isn’t she, Warrior?” Rosina’s airy voice chimed from behind him.
Giggling ensued when he merely grunted in reply, then the leader of the flower fairies appeared before him in a swirl of pink sparkles. “Let’s go inside to see what else she does.”
“I’ll enter,” he corrected her. “Alone.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” Rosina pouted, crossing her slender arms and cocking a hip.
“And always much too serious,” Valeria and Poppy tittered in unison, fluttering past his head to join their leader. Their wings whirred, showering sparks over his form, their magic brightening the evening gloom with pulsating pink and orange light. The pleasing sight did little to improve his mood.
“She saw us, Warrior, did you see?” Poppy squeaked.
Valeria’s head bobbled quick. “And took our picture, too.” She struck a pose and preened.
“Aye, I noticed, Little Ones.” The human seemed to see him, too, right before she shrieked like a Banshee then fell on her arse inside the sunporch. Strange, since they were cloaked in their natural invisibility and usually needed to lower the mantle to reveal themselves to those who couldn’t See. And according to Eva, her friend didn’t possess the Sight. Although, Eva had mentioned her friend wrote fantastical stories, and creative minds were typically open minds, so—
Valeria and Poppy darted to the door.
“Stay out here,” he commanded, as they peered into the solarium.
“Ohhhh, she left pizza,” Valeria squealed. “Let’s cover it in sugar and eat it.”
“And put honey in the wine! Drink it down,” added Poppy.
Rosina laughed. “Good plan.”
Dealan grimaced at the notion. “Negative. You are to remain outside.”
“Boooooooo,” they sang in unison, all three glaring his way.
A shrill scream erupted from the house. Shite. Dealan summoned his sword out of habit and leaped forward, landing before the fairies and waving them away from the screened back door.
Monday, October 23, 2023
Melanie’s Awakening by Celia Breslin #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular
Friday, October 20, 2023
Guardian of Monsters by Catherine Stine #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular
Mics were thrust in her face as she stepped toward the front stairs.
“How do you feel about Ray Bartello’s murder?”
“Do you have a statement for the press?”
“Is it true that your drawing predicted Bartello’s death?”
“Why would you draw him eyeless?”
“Are you the murderer?”
She waited until that last crappy question—more an accusation—to say anything. Then she stared at the reporter. With scalding rage contained in a deceptively quiet hiss, she said, “Ray Bartello was a good friend of mine. I’m heartbroken by his passing.”
She glanced at Oryn for moral support. His slightly narrowed eyes seemed to say, Go slow, you don’t owe them. She agreed. After the supernatural attacks, she was not going to hint that she knew a damn thing, because the more that bad entities knew she was trying to figure out the case, the more they would try to maul, even kill her. Oryn gave a faint nod, his eyes tinting green. She went on.
“I know nothing about how this happened. You could camp here for days, and I still couldn’t tell you more. The proper place to provide any tips or leads is to the Savannah Police.”
As she pushed through the group, Oryn walked slightly behind her, since the reporters were busy photographing them together, no doubt fuel for salacious media.
“How do you know Miss LeBlanc? Are you dating her?” some ballsy reporter asked Oryn. He didn’t answer.
“Did you know Ray Bartello? Did you or Miss LeBlanc have a fight earlier on the day he was found?” asked another.
“Can you tell us anything more about the case?” asked a third.
Oryn face wrinkled in disgust. “Look, Miss LeBlanc needs peace. She’s said what she can. Yes, we’re friends, not that it’s your business,” he added sharply. “You may as well go get some sleep. Camping out here won’t get you what you seek.” He swept his arm around
Celestine, and they hurried up the stone stairs leading to her place.
Oryn stopped on the stoop while Celestine unlocked the door. “So, I’ll see you at class tomorrow? Will you be okay?” he asked. “If you want, I can cast a few air wards around the house so you can get a worry-free night’s sleep. Otherwise—”
“It’s not your job to protect me,” she said, gazing up at him and realizing how very much taller he was, next to her five-foot, seven-inch frame. Good goddess, the man must be six and a half feet tall if he’s an inch.
Thursday, October 19, 2023
An Angel’s Obsession by Celia Breslin #HauntedHalloweenSpooktacular
Luke was cannon-balled out of slumber by the sudden presence of one hundred-and-fifty pounds of hound landing on his back.
Facedown atop a supremely soft mattress with his arms stretched wide and his head hanging off the foot of the bed, it took him a second to rally his speech center. “What the actual bloody hell,
Bolt?”
Bolt ignored him, bouncing around Luke’s body, pitching him side to side, up, down, up, down.
“For feck’s sake.” What the double bloody hell was Bolt on about with all the yapping and yipping and bashing of Luke’s kidneys with his big paws?
Luke rolled onto his back. “Enough, Bolt. Sit.”
Eyes closed, he batted a hand at his hound, warding off the canine’s attempts to lick his face. “Go chase a squirrel, will you? Crikey.”
Bolt whined and smacked one large paw down upon Luke’s bare chest. Ouch. “Duuude,” he drawled. “Chill.”
Fingers snapped, silencing his dog lickety-split. Bolt plopped down next to him, tail thwacking against Luke’s leg right where his board shorts ended above the knee.
He elbowed his dog in the side. “Cut it out, cur.” Hold on. Snapping fingers… Who possessed the ability to boss his animal around and convince the stubborn bugger to obey?
Only one person in any dimension wielded this kind of puppy power. But no, it can’t be her. She’d made it clear he remained persona non grata in her life with her recent no-show in the Underworld.
With his heartbeat jackhammering in his chest, he sucked in a deep breath, soaking in the unique floral scent of the woman who broke his rarely used heart, hoping this was no mere post-party hallucination.
“Gabrielle,” he whispered. God’s messenger and elite warrior, the angel he’d admired and cherished. “Elle.” The woman he’d let down, and who ultimately walked away.
A grin spread over his face and happy chills frolicked down his body.
“Angel baby. You’re here.” He cranked open his eyelids to gaze up at her in wonder.
Lightning crackled in the depths of her glittering green eyes as she loomed over him, her unhappy expression promising pain. Yep, his angel was clearly not as thrilled as he was about this unexpected reunion.
Years of yearning crashed to the forefront. He ached to caress her smooth, cloud-pale skin, to bury his fingers in the long fire-red hair she always kept swept up in a high ponytail. Memories surged, of her curves pressed against him while they kissed under the stars in Faerie, of her wicked strong legs wrapped around his torso while they made love against his castle wall, on the spiral staircase, in the sky—
A snarl escaped his angel’s throat, and her arm shot downward, her fingers of steel snagging him by the throat and squeezing his windpipe.
“Luke.” She uttered his name as if it were the vilest curse word in any dimension, then lifted him with little effort and slammed him up against the wall…
Monday, October 16, 2023
Author Advice with Alena Orrison #Fantasy #WitchyFantasy
Excerpt:
I clenched my jaw in frustration. The front door suddenly flew open as a gust of wind whipped down the street. “See? I lose control even when I try to keep it.”
“That’s because you’re trying too hard,” Donna responded.
I shook my head. “No, I am following Sofia’s directions, but I can’t keep it in if I feel an intense emotion. Which is apparently all the time lately. Wait. What are your powers?”
Donna gave a slight smile. “I was wondering when you’d ask. I’m not a witch.”
“What? But Sofia—”
Donna interrupted me. “I know all about the witches and the Circle. My mom was a witch. I do not have any powers, however. None manifested when I turned thirteen or sixteen, and nothing happened when I was in that boating accident. I am mundane. So not only did your parents love you unconditionally until they died, but you’re also a successful business owner and a powerful witch. What am I? I’m just a tax accountant. My parents thought nothing I did was good enough, not even when I was named valedictorian. And I do not have magic.”
“But, Donna, we used to be friends. Best friends. What happened?”
Donna shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. The bottom line is you’re amazing and everything this town wants, while I’m never good enough for anything. I’m not good enough to have magic, own a business, or even have a long-term relationship, let alone get married. Why are you even talking to me about this? Pity? Is that it?” Donna stood, snatching her jacket from the chair. “I don’t need your pity. I need you to quit acting like you don’t realize how special you are and to… to leave me alone!” Donna yelled the last phrase, then stomped out of the coffee shop.
I stared after her, sitting perfectly still and ignoring the curious glances of the patrons as they quietly murmured to each other. The light from the windows dimmed and black clouds started covering the sky. Hard rain pelted the roof, drowning out the sound of conversations.
The lights flickered, eliciting a few gasps from the customers. I tried to reign in the anger, but deep yoga breaths weren’t helping. The longer I thought about what Donna said, the angrier I became. Thunder exploded directly over the building, and the electricity finally gave in to a mightier power. Several customers went to look out the window, apparently gauging their chances at making it home in the deluge.

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