Supernatural Tips for Dating a Lunar Witch - Black Moon Rising by Mila Nicks #PNR #ParanormalRomance

Supernatural Tips for Dating a Lunar Witch

1. Surprise Her with a Book (or five): For the bibliophile lunar witch, instead of the usual chocolate and flowers, go for something more literary-friendly. Pick up a book on her ‘to be read’ list! She will be forever grateful.

2. Plan a Nighttime Date Night: Chances are your lunar witch isn’t the biggest fan of sunlight. Solution? Plan a nighttime date night! Keep all activities scheduled for post-sunset, and you’ll avoid that pesky solar allergy your lunar witch has. 

3. Keep the Witch Jokes to a Minimum: When dating a lunar witch, it’s for the best you refrain from cracking jokes about witches. Jokes about melting under water and flying on broomsticks are in bad taste. 

4. Ensure Your Lunar Witch is Well-Fed: Many lunar witches get snacky, so ensure you plan your date around a scrumptious meal at one of her favorite restaurants. She’s going to need plenty of energy if she’s going to bring you along to her lunar ritual after the fact!

5. Refrain from Rude Witchy Questions: Remember to practice good manners. Do not ask your lunar witch if she melts under water or if she eats children for breakfast. These are rude questions. How would you like it if she asked a nonwitch like you what’s it like not being special enough for magical powers?

6. Be Up for Any Witchy Activity: There may come a time where your lunar witch wants to take you with her to her nightly lunar ritual. There’s no reason to be alarmed; you’re not about to be sacrificed to some nocturnal creature out to eat you. Lunar rituals are totally safe and normal, and are how lunar witches recharge their powers and strengthen their magic. Be proud your witch trusts you to come along!

7. Last but Not Least, Compliments Go a Long Way: All women appreciate a genuine, flattering compliment, lunar witch or nonwitch alike. Ensure you tell your lunar witch date she’s pretty and looks nice. She will greatly appreciate you taking notice, and who knows? She may even return the compliment! Good luck!

Black Moon Rising

Paranormal Hunters 

Book Two

Mila Nicks

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Date of Publication: 23 April 2021

ISBN: 

ASIN: B08L8W4YCF

Cover Artist: Red Leaf Book Design

Tagline: Dreams aren’t always so sweet

Book Description:

Philadelphia. Boston. New York City. 

Selene Blackstone is finally getting the chance to explore like she’s always dreamed. Once stuck in her hometown Brimrock, with the curse broken, she’s a free witch. Together in their trusty caravan Ghost, she and her paranormal investigator boyfriend Aiden O’Hare are traveling cross-country filming for their show, Paranormal Hunters. 

Their first case brings them to the colonial town Maresburg, Virginia, where the Mhoon Hotel is said to be one of the most haunted in the country. At the century-old hotel, guests experience nightmares so frightening they’re heart-stopping—literally. Selene and Aiden only have a couple of weeks to figure out if this case is a scammer at work, or if there’s some truth to what they say: dreams do come true. And so do nightmares. 

Amazon

Black Moon Rising Excerpt 1:

“We’re here. Time to get up,” Aiden said, but Selene didn’t budge. He draped her arm over his shoulder and lifted her into his arms, carrying her down the passage leading into the hotel.

The foyer lights were already off except for the desk lamp at the reception counter. He staggered up the stairs, keeping his balance while holding a dozing Selene. He had no clue where her key card was and didn’t have the energy to stop and search. Instead, he fumbled for his own, sliding it into the slot on his door handle. The lock clicked and the door swung open. He delivered Selene to his bed, figuring she would wake up once she realized they were no longer driving.

But she didn’t. Aiden spent the next half hour showering and shaving. He emerged in his glasses, T-shirt, and pajama bottoms and discovered Selene was still deeply asleep. A frown curled itself onto his lips as he debated if he should try waking her again. He lowered himself at her side on the bed and gave her a gentle shake.

“Selene,” he said. His insides knotted with a strange premonition. “Wake up. We’re back at the hotel.”

Selene was the lightest sleeper he knew. It was what made her insomnia that much worse; the slightest noise normally woke her. She needed a perfect temperature and often even the bed itself kept her up if not comfortable enough. She wasn’t someone who fell into a deep hibernation type of sleep.

Her only answer to him was another sleepy moan. She rolled onto her side and snuggled one of the bed pillows. She really was knocked out.

“I didn’t realize she was this tired,” he said, sighing. He unzipped her boots, tugging them off, and then pulled the bed comforter over her.

He dimmed the lights and picked up his book for some bedtime reading. Before he made it to the armchair on the other side of the room, he stopped short. Outside the door there was an unmistakable whispery sound, like the soughing wind.

It only grew louder as he stood still and listened. The low whispering noise transformed into something rougher—something borderline ragged—and then it dawned on him. The sound wasn’t the wind but one of lungs, intaking a breath. Who those lungs belonged to, he hadn’t the faintest clue.

Aiden’s heart started racing and he straightened his shoulders. The sound was going nowhere, hovering outside the door. He had to check it out, investigate what was going on. In two of his long-legged strides, he crossed the room and pressed his eye to the peephole.

The hall was blanketed in darkness. Staring into the peephole was like staring at the inside of your lids. Yet, as Aiden held his eye against the hole, another strange premonition panged in his stomach. Whatever was on the other side of this door was staring back at him. It was peering into the same hole.

Gooseflesh pricked Aiden’s skin and he backed away. The ragged breathing carried on for another few seconds, an ugly sound to Aiden’s ears, before it faded. Farther and farther away it drifted until the sound died out and silence weighed in.

Aiden hurried over to his desk, grabbing the spirit box, the flashlight, and his copy of War and Peace. The spirit box and flashlight were to detect any unusual activity in the area. The thousand-plus page book was to use as a weapon if necessary. He threw a glance over his shoulder at the bed. Selene was still fast asleep, buried under the covers looking cozy and comfortable. He marched to the door and pulled it open.

Shadows ruled the hallway. Aiden stepped over the threshold, shuddering at the arctic cold in the air. He flicked on both the flashlight and spirit box, which crackled to life. Shining the flashlight down the hall, the shadows scuttled away. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The hallway looked as it always did, a stretch of oil portraits on the walls and doily-like area rugs sprinkled throughout.

The spirit box continued to crackle, its green lights weakly blinking. Aiden scanned the hall some more, his brow furrowed. If there wasn’t anything amiss, then was he imagining the sound? Maybe he was more exhausted than he realized…

He was a second away from turning back and heading into the room. The lights on the spirit box flashed bright and the crackling noise intensified. His eyes snapped to what it had picked up on and his gooseflesh only spread across his skin in a cold wave.

Black ink dribbled from the vent in the hall. It trickled down the striped wallpaper in a slow descent. He walked over and shone his flashlight onto the vent. Selene had been right all along. Whatever it was they were dealing with wasn’t human.

 

Black Moon Rising Excerpt 2:

The February drizzle couldn’t bring the mood down if it tried. Selene hopped off the tour bus and gasped at what awaited her. For as dull and damp as the afternoon was, color now bloomed on the scene in ivory whites and blush pinks. It would be another few weeks before the cherry blossoms reached the full extent of their beauty, but the flowery trees around the Tidal Basin were breathtaking regardless.

Washington, DC, was everything she had imagined.

She fumbled in her leather book bag for her Polaroid camera, snapping her first of many photos to come. Aiden made fun of her for carrying around a camera from the nineties, but it worked as well as any camera on a smartphone. Plus, it had once belonged to Mom.

“And I get my photos printed right into my hand,” Selene had boasted to him. “Does your fancy iPhone camera do that?”

Her mouth fell open in a smile as she clicked away at the historic scenery. She had nabbed some good shots of the Tidal Basin with the Jefferson Memorial in the background, and even some artsy ones of her fellow tourists strolling along the water banks. Finally she had an excuse to take up scrapbooking. Photos of places like the Brimrock library and park grounds weren’t too exciting after twenty-six years.

The drizzle continued to fall, showing no signs of slowing down anytime soon. One particularly pesky drop plunked down onto the slope of Selene’s nose, a cold and slippery bead that dangled off the round tip. She ignored it, along with the rest of the sprinkles, clicking away with zealous tourist abandon.

A black canopy floated above her head, blocking out any more drizzle. She paused, lifting her gaze from behind the camera and turning it upward. Aiden stood half a step behind her, holding his giant umbrella over them. He smiled when she met his glowing hazel eyes. They had changed colors, now a green one or two tones off from emerald.

Warmth quickly radiated in her chest that had nothing to do with the fuzzy sweater she wore and everything to do with his thoughtfulness. She twisted around, balancing on tiptoe, and planted a kiss on his chin. Classic short girl problems.

Fortunately, Aiden had enough height for them both. He plucked her off her feet for a real kiss, his arm banded around her waist. They traded laughs between pecks on the lips, indifferent to their rainy day surroundings.

“Gather around, gather around!” Mrs. Francis, the tour guide, screeched in the distance. “No time for dillydallying!”

Selene pulled away from Aiden. Why did she feel like a misbehaving student scalded by her schoolteacher whenever Mrs. Francis spoke?

“C’mon, or we’ll get left behind!” She grabbed Aiden’s free hand and rushed after the gaggle of tourists.

“Would that be such a bad thing, though?” Aiden asked with a waggle of his brow. “I’m sure we’d manage just fine without Mrs. Francis.”

“Shhh, or she’ll hear you!”

“And what? Give us detention? Put us in time-out?”

Selene shushed him again, though a grin fought its way onto her face. Aiden’s sarcasm no longer surprised her, but it was still difficult to resist its humorous effects.

 

About the Author:

Mila Nicks is on a mission to pen heartfelt and entertaining love stories featuring women of color. 

When she isn’t writing diverse love stories, you can find her globetrotting, sampling new cuisines, and spending quality time with her spunky pet Chihuahua, Zayden. 

For more on Mila, including news on upcoming releases and story freebies, check out her website and subscribe to her newsletter: https://www.milanickswrites.com/

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Guest Blog- The Liminal Chronicles by Amy Winters-Voss #UrbanFantasy #JapaneseMythology #Kitsune

On the Care and Feeding of Kitsune

Hi! I’m Amy Winters-Voss and I write urban fantasy based on Japanese myths. Today I get to share a story snippet with you between my main character and his Sensei, his teacher. 

(Author’s note: Kitsune is Japanese for fox or a supernatural version. Legends tell of fox sprits being trickster shapeshifters, sensual temptresses, and devoted spouses.)

“Good evening.” A chill flows into the room as Nakamura Hisako bows and shuts the front door to keep out the fog that threatened to spill in. She swaps her shoes for house slippers, removes the hand-knit hat from her silver-haired head, and her arthritic hands hang her coat and scarf on the hookin theentryway.

Umeji Tatsuya’s brows furrow as he sits at the squat, heated kotatsu table and twirls a highlighter in one hand. The slender, mid-twenties man with chin length hair looks up from a book that hasa plethora of sticky notes poking out at random angles. He bobs a greeting to her. “Hey Sensei. Would you like some tea?”

 

Kotatsu image by Tim Notari, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 

“Please. It’s quite cold out.” Nakamura shuffles over as Tatsuya gets up to prepare the hot drink and gives her space to warm up at the kotatsu. 

Her joints creak as she stretches out her feet under the heater. Picking up the book, she snorts as she reads the title aloud, “‘On the Care and Feeding of Kitsune’. This should be amusing.”

She flips it open to the first marked page, scanning the highlighted text. “‘How to Befriend a Kitsune: Leave only their favorite foods, such as Inari Zushi, outas offerings.Foxes will return for more. If you offer the wrong dish, they may snub your attempts to find them or worse, control your mindand make you do something embarrassing.’ Hogwash.” She pshaws. “No kitsune would ever turn down a good snack. Just make sure it’s high quality. Homemade is best.”

Shaking her head, she turns to the next marker. “‘Kitsune like to show off by juggling and putting their tama, the ball that holds their magic, into the mix. If you stroke their egos, you might get close enough to snatch their tama. Then you can hold it ransom and force them to make you a promise, such as to protect you or to introduce you to kitsune society.’ I don’t care what it says, no kitsune nowadays would risk such a thing.”

She scowls before glancing at the spine of the book. “Aoki-san, so you’re the author of this pathetic excuse of a guide? The information is ridiculously outdated. I’ll report your publisher. Kitsune, like me, don’t need your kind hunting us.”

Turning toTatsuya, she asks, “What possessed you to read this trash? You might only be a human, but I would have thought you’d know me better than this.” She growls before slamming it shut. Her hand lights with blue fire, the magic for a spell, which she uses to fling the book into the recycle bin.

Tatsuya’s head tilts as he silently sets the teacup down and slides it over to her. “But it was lying out on the table. You didn’t leave it there as a hint?”

“Why would I do such a ridiculous thing?” Her lips purse.

“Then who did?” They ask in unison.

The Liminal Chronicles

Book One

Amy Winters-Voss

Genre: Urban fantasy and Japanese Mythology 

Publisher: Shy Red Fox Publishing

Date of Publication: April 30, 2021

ISBN: 978-1-7366720-0-6

ISBN: 978-1-7366720-1-3 

ASIN:B08WTK6XWP

Number of pages:312

Word Count: 97,000

Cover Artist: Odette.A.Bach

Tagline: A myth come to life may be worth far more than his freedom.

Book Description:

Will a former gangster dare to protect the elderly woman who antagonizes him? He must choose between breaking a promise to his parole officer or the old lady. Each choice carries a hefty price.

Umeji Tatsuya moves from Tokyo to a small town after leaving the yakuza, the Japanese mob. He knows all too well that his past can't stay buried.

‘Once Yakuza, always Yakuza. The tattoos mark you for life.’

Nakamura Hisako, the town’s beloved dowager, learns about Umeji’s past and tries to oust him, but Umeji just discovered her own long-held secret. If he keeps it for her, the cost is his recently regained freedom. If he doesn’t, Nakamura might have to leave her home, and he risks angering forces he barely understands… and barely believes in.

As the mundane and Spirit Realm intertwine, so do the modern-day and the Pre-Meiji eras. Centuries-old rivalries flare up again, and the past returns in the present. Umeji’s second chance is only the first step of his journey to discover myth, social redemption, and found family.

Rise is the first book in the Liminal Chronicles series.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/I2YoMKWt4IQ

Amazon

Chapter 1: Hiding In Plain Sight

Mid-November

Kneeling to stock the low shelves at TaniMart makes my knees ache. Though I’ll give no complaint. I’m lucky to have this job, even if it’s mind-numbing. Someday, I’ll have my own business. Right now? I have to save up since the feds took every yen of my savings when they threw me in the slammer.

Pain shoots through my forearm as something bounces off. Crash! Years of fight-or-flight reflex have me jumping to a defensive stance. What the…

Shattered glass and pickled plums litter the polished floor. Reflections of the overhead lights glare at me in the puddles of brine. Then the green, spicy scent of shiso hits my nose. Breathe, Umeji. It wasn’t an attack.

“Sorry, Mister!” The boy and his mom bow.

“I’ll clean it up. Please, finish your shopping.” When I reach to pick up the remaining shards, my heart sinks as the distinctive blue-black wave and red maple leaf designs of my tattoo sleeve show through the transparent wet fabric of my shirt. Despite the deafening silence, the hint of the ink that marks my past wails like a siren, warning all in my vicinity. Why the hell does our uniform have to include a white shirt?

Eyes with huge black pupils are framed by the woman’s ashen face. She hunches, tensed as if ready to run. Backing away, she wrenches her son along in a white-knuckled grip.

My hand crushes the shards in my palm as heat fills my core. Only when she’s out of sight does my head hang.

When I report the injury to Satou, my volunteer parole officer and boss, he drives me to the doctor to get stitches in my hand. He made me promise not to lie to him when he took me on as a parolee, so I fess up the cut wasn’t an accident. It was that or punch something.

I opt for the hour walk home, then he doesn’t have to waste any more time on me. So much for blending in. My attempts to ditch the Tokyo accent are probably worthless now. Satou said there are fewer than 1,300 people in Nonogawa, so everyone in town will know by tomorrow. Something in the mix of traditional and modern housing looks less friendly than it did at first. Letting the old swagger back into my step lacks the feeling of control it used to give.

My insides continue to twist as I wait for my boss to return home. Tomorrow’s gonna suck. Might as well get in a good soak to relax, instead of pacing. I’d place good money down that Satou picked this old traditional house based on the big wooden tub. When I can afford my own place, a good bath will be a priority for me, too.

It’s been years since I had daily access to one of the most relaxing aspects of Japanese culture. First, because of my jail sentence. Second, most public bathhouses ban gangsters. They say our ink threatens. The previous generations won’t forget the yakuza heydays, and sporting ink was part of the tough guy act.

Naked and settling onto the low wooden stool beside the tub, I scrub and fill the bucket at my feet to rinse off. I could use a shave. Should I ditch the mustache to fit in better? It covers the knife fight scar. So either way, I don’t fit the norm. Shit.

With a slam, I flip the small hanging mirror over. Don’t want to see the reflection that stared back. Before everyone knew I had been a mobster, could they tell I was just trying not to stick out?

Splashing water on my face rinses away the questions. Despite the chill of the tile floor on my feet, I revel in not having to hurry as I scrub and rinse. Damn, it’s good to not have the prison guards timing me anymore. My chin-length hair needs some attention, but I don’t have the cash for a trim. It was used up after the incident to pick up a dark long-sleeve T-shirt to go under my work’s white button-up. I was lucky the prison didn’t make me get a buzz cut. Most do.

Finally, I slide into the tub. A hiss escapes my mouth as the fire-heated water contacts my chilled skin. The tattooed kitsune frolicking in their traditional designs over my shoulders and back seem to enjoy the warmth, too. Soon the heat seeps into stiff muscles, and I lean on the edge, soaking it in.

Satou said the community is hard to break into. So, I’ve got to avoid sticking out any more than I already do. In a small town, once you’re known for something, it’s never forgotten. With a determination to focus on one day at a time, I sink deeper into the water.

Created with Sketch.

On my next shift, whispers and side glances greet me. The yakuza taint broadcasts its presence stronger than the stench of diarrhea. Everyone gives me a wide berth. Not even a week in town and I’m an outcast again. The only way out is hard work and humility. I will endure.

The mom returns just before my shift ends. She avoids the aisle I’m stocking, but her little boy points, announcing, “Mama! There’s the guy with the tattoos!”

Her shushing causes him to insist all the louder. Focus on the task at hand, Umeji. I force myself to look away as she lugs him out of the building.

That’s the moment Satou’s elderly aunt gives me the stink eye. Shuffling up, she waggles a crooked, accusing finger right in front of my nose, causing me to back into the shelves and knock several plastic tubes of mayo on the floor.

“Get your head out of the sand, boy. Don’t bother playing stupid. You saw that. I advised my nephew not to take in a stray like you. To make things worse, yesterday I heard you’re covered in irezumi tattoos. Nonogawa may be in the sticks, but we all know what that means here.”

I blink. Why’s she so aggressive? Aren’t little old ladies supposed to be sweet and polite?

“Well? Are you?” she presses.

While I deserve the disdain, why is this woman putting down her family in public? “Ma’am, the community respects Satou-san. I’ll do my best for his sake.”

She draws out the syllables. “You dodged.” As she crosses her arms, her sharp eyes shift to a predatory glint. “If you won’t answer, roll up your sleeve. I know yakuza ink when I see it.”

My head swivels. Satou, where are you? Make your vicious aunt heel. I don’t wanna do something stupid, because she’s really making my hackles raise. “Ma’am?”

In the mob, I was good at remembering names, because the alternative could be costly. What did my VPO say her name was? Oh yeah—Nakamura Hisako, the town’s beloved matriarch. As part of the Hiragi clan in Tokyo, I would have never let a little old lady corner me or make my palms sweat. But I’m caught flat-footed because I can’t use any of the in-your-face phrases that bubble up to get her to lay off. I haven’t done a damned thing to her. What gives?

I take a breath. No attitude. “Nakamura-sama, it’s becoming more common in the cities. People keep ‘em out of sight to avoid the stigma.”

As if I’ll tell this biddy the full truth. Later, I can scream rebellion in gokudou drawl all I want. But her outburst is the proverbial piano hanging overhead, threatening to crash down on the little hope I have in this town.

At twenty-four, I should have a high school diploma and a college degree or employment experience. This is my only chance. Suck it up, Umeji. So, I bow deep. “I apologize that my tattoos offend. If I could turn back time, I’d not have done it. How may I help you?”

Harrumphing, she turns on her heel with the grace of a ballerina. How does an old lady move that fast?

When I finish stocking, I grab my baseball-style jacket with its embroidered fox on black and gold silk and beeline it to Satou. Just my luck, his aunt beats me there. Don’t look cocky.

I wait behind her and examine my shoes. Faint reflections of fluorescent lights show on the tile floor.

“That tattooed punk is bad for business.” She points, doubtless aware of how rude she’s being. “He dares to flaunt his past wearing that rebel jacket, instead of considering this store’s reputation. I’ve heard all manner of rumors. Mark my words, Kazuo, people will stop shopping here.” Full-to-the-brim grocery bags strain her arthritic knuckles.

While Nakamura’s concern is understandable, does she care that this ‘rebel jacket’ is the only one I own? I was fortunate someone dropped it by the penitentiary after emptying my apartment. My fists clench, pulling on the stitches from yesterday’s wound. Why does this town love her, anyway?

Satou clears his throat and tilts his nose toward me. “Aunt, tattoos or not, he’s being much more polite than you. I’ve never seen you in such a state.”

Umeji, the mob taught you the tenants of bushido. The honorable way of the warrior. It’s one of the few things I can carry over from the yakuza. Give it your all. My voice almost cuts out as I ask, “Nakamura-sama, may I carry your groceries?”

She grumbles, lumbering off. Where’s the grace she had?

“Aunt Hisako is opinionated and protective of our community. But she’s almost always reasonable. Wish I knew what got her undies in a bundle.” With a raised eyebrow, Satou says, “You rendered her speechless. That’s quite the feat.”

Shoving my arms into the sleeves ruthlessly, I shrug on my coat.

“It’ll be ok, Umeji-san. FYI, I need to stay late, but you can wait in the break room.”

Most days I remain beyond my assigned hours to assist with the day’s tasks. Every dutiful employee does. But I mumble, “I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself.”

In the parking lot, a shitzu puppy breaks loose from its owner’s grasp. The mutt charges for Nakamura as it barks its head off to warn of an intruder in its domain. Nakamura, calm as a windless day, lifts her index finger toward the potential attacker, halting it in its tracks.

The owner scoops up the stiff, silent pet and bobs. “I’m so sorry, Nakamura-san! I can’t imagine what little Taro-chan was thinking.”

“Thank you for catching him. I think he intended to bite my leg off. Didn’t you, pup?” Satou’s aunt flashes a wry smile that must have created most of the lines in her wrinkled face. It causes the other woman’s eyes to widen in horror. She bows again, scurrying off.

Unperturbed, Nakamura sets her groceries in her red Nissan sedan. But a can drops and rolls, causing her to mutter under her breath.

Here we go again! Scooping it up before it’s flattened under a moving van and jogging over, I hold it out in my hands—a peace offering. Her lips purse and she snatches the item as if my touch might poison the food inside.

Fine. If this is a war of attrition, I’ll fight it to show regret for what I’ve done.

Mid-afternoon, I’m almost to the house. Strolling through the forested farmland, sunshine and the warm, late fall day breathes life into me again. The dense, fiery landscape of reds, oranges, and yellows set off by the evergreens of bamboo, cedar and cypress has me grabbing for my cellphone. I’d seen parks like this, but not horizon to horizon beauty. Then my shoulders sag. The damn feds took my cell, too.

Compared to the compacted cityscape I’d grown up with, the open farmland leaves me exposed. Tall buildings always surrounded and protected me before I came here. A weight fills my chest. Despite being in the middle of nowhere for a week, I keep half expecting to see some tall structure around the next bend. Out of habit, I shove my hands in my pockets to fiddle with the dog-eared collection of Japanese myths. My breathing slows upon contact with the book from my father. The one connection I have left with him.

A glint of vermilion in the trees stands out even in the bright foliage beyond the rice field, so I squint against the sun to get a better look. Beckoning me, a path leads through the paddies and over the river to a torii gate.

My mob leader insisted our clan appear to be dedicated followers, though I only ran through the motions to appease him. Shoving belief into a shoebox in my mind, I labeled it as ‘Umeji’s too unclean to deal with this stuff’. That box got pretty damned full.

My stride turns to a jog as I’m greeted by the fox statues with red bibs at the top of the stairs. Pausing for a brief bow at the gate, I bound up, skipping every other step. I shouldn’t run because I’m entering a sacred area. But a tug on my heart invites me to peek at what I’ve avoided so long.

Memories flood in as I climb. When I was a child, my dad would read to me. My favorite stories were of the kitsune. Whether they were the messengers of Inari or the shape-shifting trickster spirits, they fascinated me. Mom also fed my obsession with the mythical animals by buying me a fox mask and taking me to the Ouji Inari shrine to be in the Kitsune Parade when I was ten. After that, I drew foxes on everything and devoured every myth I could find.

When my mob brothers went to get inked, dragging me along, I hoped the artist would agree to my plan. Traditional tattoo artists are picky and may refuse an idea. On top of that, they charge a fortune.

I’d printed a picture of a Meiji era photograph with a man showing off his tats—a nine-tailed fox on each shoulder with them chasing each other, one red with a flame above it and the other white with a scroll in its mouth.

My brethren teased me because kitsune aren’t the typical symbols gangsters pick. They quit when the tattooer was so intrigued he did the initial outlines of the ancient design for free.

At the summit, I follow the dirt path through the foliage to find a squat shrine building that probably never had a lick of paint. Moss covers sections of the tiled roof and footings. Yet, the steps and floor are spotless. A bell and a few crisp white paper ornaments, hanging from the rope that demarcates the spiritual space, decorate the simple place of worship, urging me to pray.

Do I want to open that jam-packed shoebox? My fingers shake. The things I’ve done. The offering coffer makes me look away. I won’t get paid for a while. No coins to throw. Nothing to offer. Coming here was a mistake.

As my fists slide into my coat pockets, there’s a crinkle—the salmon onigiri that was supposed to be my lunch. Unwrapping it releases the scent of the fish, rice, and vinegar, making my stomach growl. I’ve gone without meals before. This time it’s my choice.

With reverence, I place it at the doorway to avoid stepping inside and sullying the building. Then, after a deep bow, two claps, and ringing the bell, I pray. My throat constricts as I dare to voice my request to the kami. “Help me stay on this new path and assist others as Satou-san has me.”

Heading back down the trail, my tally of all the things that could go wrong tomorrow is interrupted by prickles forming on the back of my neck. I’m being watched? A glance behind me doesn’t reveal anyone, but someone is definitely there.

After passing under the torii, I hear a rustling. The tail of a gray fox disappears into the dense foliage. Did it enjoy my meal? My love for the creatures drives me to follow it, but I stop after my first step past the gate. Idiot. I shouldn’t follow superstitions, but years of experience taught me to trust my instincts. The animal is long gone and knows this area. I’d not seen a wild one before. Despite the unease, I hope to spot it again.

 

About the Author:

Amy is a former programmer turned author after her first trip to Japan in 2017. Now she writes Japanese myth-based urban fantasy to reconnect with the country and culture that captured her heart.

She lives in South Dakota with her supportive husband, two wonderful kids, a mellow old cat who adopted the family, and three wily and crazy ferrets.

https://amywintersvoss.com

https://liminalchronicles.com

https://go.amywintersvoss.com/news

https://www.goodreads.com/amywintersvoss

https://twitter.com/amywintersvoss

https://www.facebook.com/amywintersvoss/

https://theshyredfox.tumblr.com/

https://www.twitch.tv/shyredfox

https://www.instagram.com/amywintersvoss/

 

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The shadows are speaking, Death is waiting - Shadowspeak by Raven Eckman #VikingLegend #NorseMyth #Fantasy

Once there was a girl who spoke to shadows…

Shadowspeak

Raven Eckman

Book Description

Rune’s mother is uncaring and her brother is too young to protect her, so when Rune’s father sells her to the depraved city of Wraith at the young age of ten, no one stops him. His last words to her are of a debt he cannot pay. The shadows who’ve kept Rune company as long as she can remember seem to know what he speaks of and yet they keep their silence. 

And so Rune grows up living in servitude to Wraith’s brothel and its manipulative mistress, Agata, all while having only the faintest recollections of her forgotten childhood. Years later when she finally escapes Wraith, a wild place wrapped up in hedonism and old world ritual, she vows to never return… 

When a child prince is kidnapped by a masked killer in a neighboring kingdom, however, Rune no longer has a choice. Joined by Weylin, her old love and a fellow Wraith runaway, she returns to the accursed city and the shadows of her past. Not all is as it seems as threads of memory begin to unravel, revealing old lies and dark secrets. The debt of her past may be too high to pay. 

The shadows are speaking. Death is waiting. 

https://raveneckman.com/

eBook https://amzn.to/3uL732c 

Paperback https://amzn.to/3aqVwxF

#Fantasy #NorseMythology #NordicMythology #NordicLegends #Mythology #NorseFantasy #NewAdult #NewAdultFantasy #NA 

Darkness Awaits by Jamila A. Stone #UrbanFantasy #LBGTQ

Unknown backstory on Alex: 

• She had a dog named Hercules as a preteen. 

• Her very first time killing someone was the day her dog died. There was once again a party of debauchery and violence at her home and two drunk guest killed her dog. Alex came on the scene just as he dog went down from a spell and out of her grief and anger she let off an explosion of her magic killing the two drunken fools. 

• Has had sex with a male before out of duty/a mission set by her mother.

Darkness Awaits

Virtus Academy  

Book 2

Jamila A. Stone

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Contemporary Fantasy, LGBTQ

Publisher: Black Glory Publishing House

Date of Publication: April 2021

ISBN: 978-1-7356641-0-1

ASIN: B08LVJ7GXD

Number of pages: 524

Word Count: 141,850

Cover Artist: Michael Corvin

Tagline: Unexpected secrets stand to change two witches’ lives forever...

Book Description: 

Having narrowly survived their last semester, Natalie King and Alexandra Aurelius are prepared to revel in victory...but, while preparing to become Juniors, it soon becomes clear that peace has been dismissed. 

Relationships are tested and new ones formed, as shadowy souls push their way into Natalie and Alexandra’s lives. Now, more than ever, the witches must stick together and protect their loved ones. Unexpected secrets stand to change their lives forever. 

Darkness impends from every direction, and even the fiercest friendships will be tested. What harmony that existed between human and supernatural governments has been shaken to the breaking point. Should it crumble, hellish truths are sure to be exposed.   

Despite impossible odds, Natalie, Alexandra, and their alliances will unite against unprecedented evil. After all, the only exit often is a wall to break through... 

--------

With her much-anticipated sequel to Strange Things Await, Jamila A. Stone delivers devilish thrills and a dizzying spin on the genre. One thing through the dark is seen: where mystic and mortal subcultures meld, the pages turn themselves. 

Black Glory Publishing House 

Amazon      BN

Excerpt

It’s the last week of January and the new school semester since Christmas break starts tomorrow at Virtus Academy. Nat and all her friends, except Alex, have already moved back to their dormitories. Nat is brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed when she suddenly feels like she’s falling. A moment later, her surroundings change, and she finds herself in a dark alleyway. Nothing makes sense, and she jolts around with labored breathing, trying to understand what is going on. When she turns around to her other side, she spots Alex and momentarily forgets her anxiety. Running over to a hunched Alex, she hugs her and is so distracted that she doesn’t notice the four guys in the alley with them.

“What are you doing here?” Alex winces in pain, struggling to straighten up.

Using her toothbrush, Nat taps the ring she’s gifted Alex. “Someone must have missed me a whole lot to get me here,” she jokes.

The good news is that the protection spell she had Sheila help her put on the ring works. If Alex ever needs her badly enough, she’ll appear.

“Crap, it worked! So that means…” Nat looks around further and finally takes in the situation. “I guess you’re still having trouble making friends.” Throwing down her toothbrush, she gets in front of Alex, who’s badly bleeding from cuts on her face, and the arm she holds that seems disjointed.

“Nice outfit, girl.” One of the guys speaks sarcastically.

“This is your backup?” Another speaks, pointing at Nat before they all laugh.

“Remind me to take you shopping.” Alex picks up her fallen blade, and it elongates into a sword as it recognizes its owner.

“What!? This is comfortable and my pajamas. I was going to bed.” Nat keeps her eyes on the guys who are starting to approach. She cannot believe Alex is choosing right now to insult her.

“What do you need to be comfortable?” Alex turns fully toward Nat with her face scrunched up. “Did you sprout something since we were kids?”

“No! Can you focus before we die, you asshole? Boxers can be unisex.” She tries to defend herself, but Alex just scoffs.

Nat, annoyed, blasts Alex to the furthest point of the alley and decides to take on the men herself. It looks as if Alex softened them up enough for her to handle alone anyway.

Two of the men reach her before the others. One throws a punch at her face while the other tries to punch her abdomen. Nat is light on her feet and spins away from the one aiming for her face and shoves him into the other male before she uses her magic at the remaining attackers.

“Instead of attacking young women to stroke your egos, maybe you all should go to the gym.” She blasts one with a scar on his cheek into a wall knocking them out before she is blasted herself. In complete shock, she did not keep her guard up, she grumbles as she slowly gets back up to her feet. Nat blocks another blast of magic as she parts her feet for better balance. Nat sends a few blasts back, but her adversary blocks them all. Nat should have known these men were not mere humans if they were able to beat up Alex.

Nat is so preoccupied with the witch that she fails to deflect the attacker on her left properly, who charges her with his clawed hand in the air, ready to come down on her hard. There was little for her to do, so she stopped shielding herself from the witch’s attack, so the attack would knock her away from the attack that would be the deadliest.

The impact of the witch’s attack does the trick and sends Nat backward. The claws of the man from her right give her a nasty gash, nowhere near the damage which would have been inflicted if she did not think quick on her feet and use the witch’s attack to save her own life.

“Alright, playtime is over.” Nat lifts her hands and moves them hastily in front of her creating a linkage of pentagrams all while beads of her blood float into the amber symbols. She sees the shock on the witch’s face, and it makes her grin before she locks her fingers over each other, bends her arms inward, then thrusts her arms out, causing the spell to wrap around the first body, and the man explodes.

Nat moves her arms until everyone is dead. One black eye and a gash on her arm later, Nat walks over to Alex, who is hunched over.

“I should leave you here. I can’t believe you got back without telling me. How long have you been back in town? Tomorrow is the first day of school back from break.” Nat places her hands on her hips, letting Alex suffer for a bit more before she attempts to heal her.

Alex stands straighter, leans her head back against the wall behind her, and closes her eyes. “I forgot how much you love to bitch and moan.”

Nat is opening her mouth to respond, but promptly stops when she spots a smile creeping on Alex’s face.

“I missed it.” Alex turns her head and smiles so charmingly even with her face all beat up, Nat’s walls break.

“Ugh, I can’t stand you.” Nat shakes her head and starts to heal Alex’s easy wounds, then wraps Alex’s good arm over her shoulder and helps her to stand off the wall. “We’re too far from the dorm or my house for me to teleport us both.”

“And here I thought an overachiever such as yourself would have become a pro by now.” Alex coughs then halts her steps taking time to take deep, ragged breaths.

“Hey, that month was our break. I can get us near the school gates, but it might knock us out if I use all of our energy combined. Or worse.” Nat struggles to keep Alex upright.

Alex struggles to stand on her own feet as she pulls her good arm away from Nat so she can grab her cellphone out of her pocket. Nat watches as Alex makes a call, trying to keep her upright by the waist. “Julian, are you on campus? Good, sneak out with Olivia and come find me by the gate…just do as I asked, Olivia, will be able to track us. Yes, us, bye.”

Nat arches a brow at Alex before focusing her mind on the school gates. Once she has that clear in mind, she works on syncing her magic with Alex.

“What’s taking so long?” Alex grumbles.

“You, that’s what. I’m trying to find your source, but you’re too weak.”

“You’re a weirdo.” Alex sighs exaggeratedly.

Nat finally syncs successfully and teleports them. They land hard a few yards away from the school gates. 

About the Author:

Jamila A Stone lives in Washington, D.C with her two dogs. Jamila is driven to tell stories without censorship and for the continued creativity in the world of literature. As an African American woman, she understands the lack of opportunity persons of color have to let their artistic creativity be seen on equal platforms, so she created her own publishing company called Black Glory Publishing House. She thinks not just of herself but of the current and future of literature namely increasing the diversity and inclusion within the literary community.

https://jamilastone.com/

https://twitter.com/AuthorJStone

https://www.facebook.com/JamilaAshaStone

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Now Available - The Underworld Library: Hellbrary Book One by Laura Bickle #DarkFantasy #Hellbrary #UnderworldLibrary

Whoever possesses the Great Library of the Underworld rules Hell itself…and threatens the destiny of both the Heavens and Earth.

The Underworld Library

Hellbrary 

Book One

Laura Bickle

Genre: Dark Fantasy

Publisher: Syrenka Publishing LLC

Date of Publication: 4/1/21

ASIN:B091JKK3CP

Number of pages: 304

Word Count: 90,426

Cover Artist: Pretty in Ink Creations

Book Description:

Whoever possesses the Great Library of the Underworld rules Hell itself…and threatens the destiny of both the Heavens and Earth.

The Great Library contains the most deadly magic tomes penned since the beginning of time. This magic is both wondrous and terrible, kept under lock and key by witch-librarians serving the king of the Underworld.

Eve is one of those faithful librarians. She doesn’t recall her life prior to the Hellbrary, and unlike her fellow Hellbrarians, she has very little magic to speak of. When a dangerous book is stolen, she must recover it with the help of a Gorgon librarian, a hellhound, and a mysterious shapeshifting royal envoy. This daemon, Azarr, has a serpent tongue and the heart of a man – can he be trusted?

King Caldrius’s court has fallen under siege. Caldrius’s cruel son, Ral, has returned from exile with an army to assassinate his father. But his father’s crown alone does not guarantee Ral the throne. He needs the library, and he will take it by force. His ambitions don’t end with the Hellbrary – he means to take Earth and the Heavens beyond.

Eve knows there’s only one way to defeat Ral: they must use the recovered book to awaken the Queen of the Witches. Caldrius imprisoned Viridia millennia ago when she grew too powerful to control. Then, he offered the witches a choice: serve him or die. They served, until now…but will awakening Viridia summon an evil greater than Ral?

Time is running out, and all the forces the Underworld must unite to wage war for the library and control of all of existence.

#DarkFantasy #FantasyBooks #KindleUnlimited

Free with Kindle Unlimited

https://amzn.to/3du2jXU

 

Excerpt 7.      

 

“I failed us all, my lady,” Stanna whispered at the cold effigy. The queen of witches slept in stone, and would sleep forevermore, all due to Stanna’s terrible failure to awaken her.

            Stanna pressed her hand to the cold stone, but it softened and sloughed off, like frost from a tree in winter sun. To Stanna’s shock, Viridia’s chest rose and fell, and her fingers twitched around her helmet. The skin of rock covering her flaked away in soft plinks, like rain on gravel, peeling away from her armor.

            The queen of witches opened her dark eyes and fixed them on Stanna. They were the eyes of owls, remote and shining. Stanna felt shadows behind her, the other witches, watching. She heard their gasps and strangled cries, but Stanna dared not shift her gaze away from the awakening before her.

            “How long have I been sleeping?” Viridia asked her, focusing her gaze on Stanna.

            Stanna struggled to find her voice. “Nearly two thousand years, my lady.”

            “Has Caldrius granted me a pardon?” Her mouth worked around the words as if she didn’t believe them.

            “No, my lady. Caldrius is dead. Ral has taken the Dark Palace with the Blood Ilk.”

            She closed her eyes. “Have they taken the Great Library?”

            “Not yet, my lady.”

            She opened her eyes again, and they burned dark as the void. “Take me to the Library.”

 

 

            The raven shrieked, and Eremiel followed the sound to its source, climbing up a tower to the topmost room.

            He plunged into a round chamber full of women dressed in black. All were slumped and prone on the floor. They were loosely arranged in a circle, but had fallen as if they were trees blown back in an explosion. The shutters from the windows were blown open, and the meager furniture of the room had been slammed against the walls, broken.

            Eremiel stooped to search for a pulse at the nearest woman’s neck. She was dead, cold, an expression of horror on her glassy-eyed face. Her ears trickled blood to the floor.

            All of them, he realized, were dead and Nothing. As he waded through them, he reached the screaming raven. It perched on the shoulder of a young woman in the center, who was curled up in a fetal position on the floor.

            Eremiel sheathed his sword and approached the bird with open hands. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

            The bird stopped screaming, but it gazed at him, wide-eyed and panting.

            Eremiel knelt beside the woman. There was no blood in her ears, and she was breathing shallowly. Her pulse beat strong in her throat, though her eyes were closed.

            She looked very much like her mother.

            “Thalla,” Eremiel said, but she did not answer.

            He looked down and saw Llythria’s ring on her finger. He’d found her, the lost princess of the Underworld.

            But there was no kingdom left for her to rule.