Category Archives: Blog Tour

Giveaway & Review – Killing Johnny Miracle by J K Frank @jk_franko @partnersincr1me

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Killing Johnny Miracle

by JK Franko

October 16 – November 10, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

https://amzn.to/3ryRBur

MY REVIEW

I have read J K Franco’s Eye For An Eye Trilogy and loved it, so it was a no brainer to grab Killing Johnny Miracle. I love books that smack of betrayal and revenge and Killing Johnny Miracle gave me more than I expected.

The first sentence: Mary Miracle would always recall with clarity the moment she decided to kill her husband.

After Mary decided Johnny had to die, she spent the rest of the week working out the best way to do it, the ‘best’ way meaning how to kill him in the manner that was least likely to end with her in prison or – as they lived in Texas – on death row.

With these quotes being on the first page, I anticipate many pages of wicked goodness, 409 to be precise, plus the author supplies us with an interview telling us how he came to write the book.

Johnny Miracle is quite the opposite of his name. He is more like a curse, and it is Mary’s misfortune to be the his target. He has his eyes on the prize, and it’s not his wife. I do love a great villain, and J K Franko supplied us with one in Johnny Miracle.

Mary’s grandmother dies and…well, here is where Mary begins to wake up to the awful possibilites in front on her.

Johnny Miracle is a scumbag, a cheater, but he is not alone when it comes to people who will betray Mary. Secrets, so many secrets and betrayals..

Things are bad for Mary early in the story, but in Chapter 43, J K Franko steps it up a notch.

Rubi Yi…who is she? I learn about her, but it takes me a while to see how she fits into the story….and I love it! Us ladies have to stick together, don’t we? When everything comes together, secrets are shared and messes are cleaned up. I was smiling.

What a fabulous story of betrayal and us women making things right in the end.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, no man, no matter how smart or strong, can compete with a motivated woman.”

As I read the Afterword, J K Frank had me smiling again. I love that all his ideas wouldn’t fit in Killing Johnny Miracle. That means more books for us to read. But, he covered the gist of it.

A story about how a strong young woman finds her moral compass and life path while the universe is throwing buckets of shit at her.

The book had my mind spinning and I love it. A tangled web, for sure, and a snake in the grass that kept me turning the pages.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Synopsis:

Johnny Miracle thinks he’s got it all… and he’s in love, just not with his wife, Mary. He wants a divorce and he’s got leverage. Johnny knows her deepest, darkest secret. He’s going to use that to take everything: her vineyard, her money, and her priceless family heirloom. He’ll do whatever it takes to get it all.

But, as Grandma Nellie used to say, “No man, no matter how smart or strong, can compete with a motivated woman.” Mary is a motivated woman, she’s got her own agenda, and it doesn’t include losing. She’s going to kill Johnny. To get away with it, she needs a plan and an alibi. And she thinks she has both.

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: Rum House Publishing
Publication Date: May 2023
Number of Pages: 350
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Nobody ever said it was going to be anything better
than a round of poker on the raft of Medusa.
It’s not who wins the game that counts.
Nobody wins. It’s who gets out least lost.
From Memo, by Todd Hearon

PART ONE

MARY’S WORLD FALLS APART

CHAPTER ONE

Mary Miracle would always recall with clarity the moment she decided to kill her husband. It wasn’t a decision she’d come to suddenly. She had loved him at one point, with all her heart. But over the course of their marriage, there’d been an accumulation of things he’d done that—little by little, like a blowtorch burning paint off steel—scorched away chunks of her love.

Usually, once love is gone, only indifference remains. In which case, the logical thing for Mary to do would have been to get a divorce, not kill him. But in Mary’s case, there was one final thing Johnny did to her that obliterated not just the love, but even indifference. And from the charred remains of everything she had once felt for him grew a revulsion so deep that she refused to live in a world where he existed.

After Mary decided that Johnny had to die, she spent the rest of the week working out the best way to do it, the ‘best’ way meaning how to kill him in the manner that was least likely to end with her in prison or—as they lived in Texas—on death row.

As his wife, I’ll be the prime suspect. The fact that we’re in the middle of a divorce makes that even worse. Lord knows, I’ve got plenty of motives.

It needs to look like an accident. Poison? A hit and run? Maybe a burglary gone wrong?

And I’m gonna need an iron-clad alibi.

It took Mary a few days to figure out the accident part. The more difficult piece was the alibi. She came up with lots of ideas. But in the end, she concluded that to pull off a foolproof alibi she needed help: an accomplice. There was only one person in the world she could trust with something like this. Abby Winehouse. They’d grown up together, shared secrets. They knew each other like sisters.

Abby also had the skills to help Mary put the finishing touches on her plan. The only downside was that she’d probably try to talk her out of killing him; Mary was almost sure of that.

She arranged to meet Abby at her place that Friday for some wine and cheese. The house was just west of downtown Austin and had been in Abby’s family since the late 1800s. The two friends sat, as usual, on the wooden back deck in lawn chairs overlooking the small yard. Its perimeter was marked by a hurricane fence. The lawn was thick Saint Augustine grass. There was a small rock garden in one corner, in the center of which sat a broken bird bath; the bath part was dry and dusty. A couple of beat-up cornhole boards leaned against the fence by the gate to the alley. It was just past seven. A cool fall evening.

Abby was sharing some of the highlights of her week. She was on a bit of a rant. “And so, I told him, ‘Don’t be mansplainin’ to me about what a rollin’ stop is. You may have a badge, but I was runnin’ stop signs while you were still on training wheels!’”

Mary nodded and smiled as her friend spoke, but she wasn’t listening. She was rhythmically clinking her fingertip against the stem of her wineglass to disguise the slight tremor in her hands. Nerves. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say. And how to say it. Still, her neck felt tight. Could Abby tell that she was distracted? Abby was never one to pry. She had always been the type to chat, entertain, all while waiting for Mary to open up.

“So fiiiiinally,” Abby dragged out the word, “he agreed to let me off with a warnin’.” She shook her head. “But I had’ta get all pissed off and tell him I’m a lawyer to get ‘im to back down.” She scoffed. “Imagine how they treat regular folk . . . ” She stopped to pour herself some more rosé.

Mary decided to capitalize on the lull. The sound of cars rushing down Mopac highway nearby provided white noise that she felt protected their conversation from prying ears. But she reached out and turned the music on the Bluetooth speaker up a bit, just to be safe. A song by The Dixie Chicks was playing, the one about Earl. It was a song she knew well, but she was so focused on what she wanted to say that the irony was lost on her.

“I need to tell you something, Abby,” she said. “Ask a favor, really . . .”

Abby finished refilling her glass. She turned to look at her friend, and her face fell. “Oh, shit! What’s wrong? No. Don’t you cry, girl,” she reacted instinctively, then backtracked. “Or go on and let it all out if ya need to . . .”

Mary hadn’t realized her eyes were watering. Tears were not on her agenda. She inhaled, seeking to extract confidence from the air around her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What is it, Mare?”

“I’m gonna need your help with something,” Mary said. The tension in her neck eased slightly as she spoke.

Abby cocked an eyebrow, and Mary watched her eyes dart back and forth as if scanning through a spectrum of possibilities. Despite all her rehearsing, Mary couldn’t help beating around the bush just a little. “It’s a big one,” she added, her eyes turning hard and her chin tilting up slightly.

The air around the two women suddenly felt almost electric. Mary saw that her friend felt it too; the hair on Abby’s arms stood on end.

She leaned towards Mary, placing a hand on her knee. “You know you can count on me, hon.” She unconsciously lowered her voice to a whisper. “What can I do?”

“I . . . It’s about . . . him.”

Abby inhaled deeply and sat up straighter. Her lips pursed, then she took a swallow from her wineglass. “Well, what’s he gone and done now?” Abby’s head tilted; her mouth set in a hard line. “It’s high time you divorced that sumbitch. I know it’s been a mess. But of course, you can count on me—”

“Oh, no. It’s not about the divorce.” She sat back, more confident now that she had gotten the topic on the table. “I mean, thank God, I found out because of the divorce. But . . .”

Mary had read somewhere that when the police deliver news of a family member’s death, they use simple, direct language to avoid confusion. In the shock of the moment, brutal clarity works best. Mary had decided to follow that approach. That’s what she had rehearsed.

She took a sip of wine, her gaze locked on Abby’s. She breathed in, then exhaled slowly and, for the first time, said out loud what she’d been thinking, planning, what she knew she had to do.

“I’m going to kill Johnny.”

Her tone made it clear that this was not a figure of speech.

Abby sat for a good while studying her friend. She was searching, hoping for some indication that she was misreading the moment—that Mary wasn’t actually declaring her intent to commit murder.

When it became clear that Mary had nothing further to add, Abby started to speak several times. Mary watched as her mouth would form the tip of a word, before aborting the effort as new scenarios percolated out of her keen mind. Finally, Mary saw that look in her friend’s eyes; her best friend was still there, but the lawyer in her was sharing control. Abby clasped her hands together, resting them softly on her knee, then spoke the best open-ended reply of them all.

“Why?”

***

Excerpt from Killing Johnny Miracle by JK Franko. Copyright 2023 by JK Franko. Reproduced with permission from JK Franko. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

J.K. Franko was born in Texas and spent his childhood in Corpus Christi where he attended St. Patrick’s Elementary and Incarnate Word Academy. He was educated by Irish nuns who thought his conduct poor and academic effort lacking. Franko admittedly spent too much time at the video arcade, playing hacky sack, and later hanging out with friends drinking beer and listening to eighties music (this was in the eighties) at Swantner Park.

He would not change any of that (if he could).

Franko got his act together in college, during what he calls his Tour of Texas: Del Mar College, Baylor University, University of Dallas, University of the Incarnate Word (BA Philosophy, cum laude), St. Mary’s Law School (Juris Doctor, summa cum laude), and UT Austin’s McCombs School of Business (MBA, Kozmetsky Scholar).

He worked for ten years as a trial lawyer in Texas, then went on to work as an executive in the Fortune 100 in Europe and Asia.

Franko has written a number of non-fiction books and articles. But storytelling has always been his passion.

Publication of Franko’s first three novels—the Eye for Eye trilogy—was complete in 2020, with international publication in translation beginning in 2021.

He will be publishing two books in 2023: Killing Johnny Miracle and The Black Book.

Catch Up With JK Franko:
JKFranko.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @jk137
Instagram – @jkfranko.author
Twitter – @jk_franko
Facebook – @jkfranko.author

 

 

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MY J K FRANKO REVIEWS

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The Spotlights Is On Murder By The Stroke by C S McDonald @ireadbooktours @CSMcDonald7

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Join us for this spotlight tour from Oct 2 to Nov 2, 2023!

Book Details:

Book Title:  Murder by the Stroke (A Fiona Quinn Mystery) 
Author:  C.S. McDonald
Category:  Adult Fiction, 260 pages
Genre:  Cozy Mystery
Publisher:  McWriter Books
Release date:  Nov 2023
Content Rating:  G. C.S. McDonald’s books are appropriate for YA readers as well as adults–no bad language or sexual content.
Book Description:

Detective Landry’s old flame is drop-dead gorgeous, and so are her paintings!

Pittsburgh’s most influential cultural enthusiasts are overjoyed when famous artist, Vashti, has scheduled a gala followed by a weeklong exhibit of her latest works. On the other hand, Detective Nathan Landry isn’t so excited about the invitation he has received to the gala. Back in the day, he and the renowned painter were lovers. That is, when her name was Sadie Jensen, or as Nathan’s sister liked to call her, “Psycho Sadie.”

Art experts, and collectors alike, have been intrigued by a tiny brush stroke, known as an invisible stroke. So subtle and out of place is the technique, that Vashti’s elusive stroke has become as famous as a Where’s Waldo search.

Meanwhile, Fiona finds herself captivated by more than Vashti’s flair for the obscure. Rather, she is far more interested in the gorgeous artist and Nathan’s past. Against his wishes, Fiona, her mother, and her mother-in-law attend the exhibit.

Indeed, Vashti’s paintings are killing it in the art world, and in more ways than one.
Buy the Book:
(available for pre-order)
Amazon 

Meet the Author:

For twenty-six years C.S. McDonald’s life whirled around a song and a dance. Classically trained at Pittsburgh Ballet Theater School, The Pittsburgh Dance Alloy, and many others, she became a professional dancer and choreographer. During that time, she choreographed many musicals and an opera for the Pittsburgh Savoyards. In 2011 she retired from her dance career to write. Under her real name, Cindy McDonald, she writes murder-suspense and romantic suspense novels. In 2014 she added the pen name, C.S. McDonald, to write children’s books for her grandchildren. In 2016 she added the Fiona Quinn Mysteries to that expansion. She decided to write the cozy mystery series that everyone, including teens and tweens, can read and enjoy. Presently, the Fiona Quinn Mysteries includes nine books with a tenth slated for 2021. The books are also available on audio, narrated by Maren Swenson Waxenberg.

Cindy’s newest venture is The Owl’s Nest Mysteries. Once again, she has set her cozy mystery in Pittsburgh and the female protagonist, Alexa Owl, is much different from Fiona Quinn. The Owl’s Nest Mysteries has a little grit, a little time travel, a little romance, and a whole lot of cozy!

Ms. McDonald resides on her Thoroughbred farm known as Fly by Night Stables near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with her husband, Bill, and her poorly behaved Cocker Spaniel, Allister. 

Connect with the author:  Website  ~  Twitter  ~  Facebook ~ Instagram




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    • Giveaway – Holly Baubles And Murder by Victoria Tait @dollycas

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    Holly, Baubles and Murder:
    A British Cozy Murder Mystery with a Female Amateur Sleuth
    (A Dotty Sayers Antique Mystery) by Victoria Tait

    About Holly, Baubles and Murder

    Holly, Baubles and Murder:
    A British Cozy Murder Mystery with a Female Amateur Sleuth
    (A Dotty Sayers Antique Mystery)
    Cozy Mystery
    8th in Series
    Setting – Yorkshire, England
    Kanga Press (October 20, 2023)
    Number of Pages c. 240
    Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0C9NXPJ1Xchirs

    A joyful Christmas festival turns deadly when a corpse ends up as the chilling centerpiece. Can an amateur sleuth unwrap the tinsel-tangled mystery before the merry cheer melts away?

    Talented antique enthusiast, Dotty Sayers, is thrilled to be organising a Christmas display at a Yorkshire country house. She enjoys decking the halls, but the season is far from jolly when the chief guide is found dead, her body as cold as ice.

    When cops dismiss the death, Dotty turns to her prickly American colleague, only to learn he has his own secrets to solve. But when he disappears, this amateur detective fears the festive charades have become far deadlier.

    Can Dotty string together the clues and bring to light the killer?

    About Victoria Tait

    Victoria Tait was born and raised in Yorkshire, England. After following her military husband around the world, she drew on her life’s experiences, and a love of Agatha Christie, Father Brown, and Murder She Wrote, to write British-based cozy mysteries.

    Her determined female sleuths are joined by colourful and quirky teams of helpers, and her settings are vivid and realistic. As you’re compelled to keep turning the pages, you’ll be irresistibly drawn into a world where you’ll experience surprises, humour, and sometimes, a tug on your heartstrings.

    Do you like tea, mysteries, and books? Then why not join Victoria’s TeaCozy Club for regular news and updates, and download the free prequel to the Dotty Sayers Antique Mysteries series as a gift by visiting VictoriaTait.com

    Who doesn’t like tea, cake, and a slice of murder?

    TOUR PARTICIPANTS

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    • Leave your link in the comments and I will drop by to see what’s shakin’.
    • Product images are linked/I am an Amazon affiliate.
    • Thanks for visiting fundinmental!

    Carnivals Cannibals & Clowns – Jigglyspot by P D Alleva @PdallevaAuthor #Horror #Giveaway #Review

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    OH YEAH….P D Alleva has made Jigglyspot free TODAY ONLY!

    Get it HERE.

    There was a glitch….so the book won’t be free until tomorrow? But, you can purchase it now for .99 if you can’t wait.

    I want to send out a huge welcome to P D Alleva. I love covers and I may even be considered a cover whore. A cover can be the reason a pass over a book, or I pause to check it out further. I love talking to authors about how they create their covers. How much input they have. I love to have them share their designers information so others may acquire such fabulous cover too.

    Soooo, let’s get to it.

    Cover Creating Process

    Here’s the biggest part in the cover creating process: choose a designer that knows what they’re doing. Unless you’re a graphic designer you need a damn good cover artist, that’s for sure. If you’re looking for one, my designer hits it out of the park every time. I highly recommend reaching out to Cherie. Her website is below.

    Choosing the right cover artist is the first step, but that’s not where the work stops, it’s only where it begins. I’m confident when I say that every author has a predetermined design floating in the back of their mind at some point during the writing process and you need to communicate those ideas effectively to the cover artist. They’re not mind readers and know nothing about your book so the more information and detail you can provide the better the final result will be.

    One of the first processes is reviewing book covers in your genre. Look at the most popular books and study the design. Every genre is different and your cover needs to fall in line with what reader’s are used to. Which also means that if the outstanding and awesome cover design you’ve been thinking about over the last six months doesn’t fall in line with what’s on the market, have the wherewithal to scrap your idea. If you want to actually sell books than you need a design that conforms to what readers want and are accustomed to seeing in the genre. If not you risk the chance a potential reader will keep scrolling past your book.

    Now that you’ve got your cover examples, you want to bring in the most vital aspects of your story that will not only connect with a potential reader but is also a glimpse into the story that unfolds within the pages and the title of your book. Is there a tagline you want to include, or a popular review quote? Keep in mind that sometimes we add the quote before official publication so leave room for a quote if you plan on having a few to choose from. This is also a good time to ask yourself a basic question: How can my cover stand out from other covers that are currently on the market? You want to be similar in style but uniquely connected to your story. And don’t create a cover that once someone reads your book they’ll wonder what the cover has to do with the story. In other words, don’t create an awesome cover that doesn’t relate to your story. It rubs readers the wrong way and the next thing you know you’re rushing around to get a new cover done. It’s a shitty situation to be in. Trust me, I’ve been there.

    Once you’ve got all your examples and ideas ready, your designer will have you complete a cover questionnaire that will ask for all the information above. You want to be as precise as possible when answering, but it’s also good to lean on the designer here, possibly offering a few different perspectives and ideas. If you choose the right designer they’ll have experience with your genre and should also come with a few of their own ideas and expertise. Their experience is paramount and if they decide to scrap one of your ideas as a result of previous experience it is best to heed the advice. I’ve always said that great projects are a collaboration, so remember, you’re working with your designer not barking orders. Good designers are hard to come by and when you’ve got one its best to create a professional relationship if for no other reason than for the sake of consistency.

    People who love your covers will expect the same with every novel you produce and working with the same designer, one who learns your style, taste, likes and dislikes allow future processes to go smoothly and without much fuss or redesigns. Which brings us to the next step in the cover creating process: the waiting.

    After you provide your cover examples and submit your questionnaire, it’s time for the designer to take the baton and get to work. Tom Petty definitely said it right that the waiting is the hardest part. It takes time to create a cover design and you also have to remember that you’re not the only writer the artist is working with. If you have a strict deadline you need to communicate the deadline to the designer who may or may not be able to deliver on your deadline. I say this as a side note because you shouldn’t expect the magic to happen in a day and proper planning prevents piss poor performance and if you need something on a rush you haven’t done your due diligence. Cover design should begin sooner rather than later in the publishing process. The earlier the better.

    But back to Tom Petty. Sit and wait. Sit and wait. Wait and sit. Shit let me check my email again. Nothing yet, but maybe she’s working on it today. Maybe I’ll have something by the end of the week. Well, put those thoughts out of your head and focus on your next book or editing your current one. At the very least go for a walk and cool your heels because that email just came through and you’re licking your lips in anticipation of being dazzled and enthralled.

    Then you open the file and disappointment washes over you like acid rain. Thoughts like, “That’s not what I wanted,” or “Is she smoking crack,” may pop into your brain. But you’ve got to understand, this is a creative process, and just like your book it takes a lot of edits and rewrites to create a masterpiece. Every one of my covers has gone through a metamorphosis, beginning with something truly lame and then evolving into having my mind blown. Keep this in mind when you receive that first email. In fact, you should expect the first cover to be nothing like what you wanted because it’ll help curb the disappointment. In order to help understand this concept a bit better, I’ve included the first and final covers for my novel, Jigglyspot and the Zero Intellect. Kind of an evolution of Jigglyspot.

    As you can see, the first draft was god awful, but we were on to something and by working together we were able to figure it out and hit the ball out of the park. With every draft we learn more about what should and should not be included on the cover. Knowing what we don’t want or don’t like leads us to what we love and desire. The same holds true for creating a book cover.

    After all is said and done then you need to think about the text you want on the back cover. You can include the book description or a list of reviews or a little bit of both. Again, look at what other books in your genre are doing and keep everything consistent because once that cover is beaming bright on your website, amazon page, and across social media you want something you can be proud of and a cover that reflects a fantastic product. Just like your story.

    Keep reading,

    PD Alleva

    Cover Designer Cherie Foxley:  https://www.cheriefox.com

    Amazon / Goodreads

    MY REVIEW

    Stephen King step aside. There is a new clown in town…and his name is Jigglyspot. We have carnivals, cannibals and clowns that are sure to supply a ride you will never forget.

    “People love clowns, but that wasn’t the problem, was it? Nope, no at all. Jiggly’s problem was with humanity, a species he despised more than he could fathom. Why? Because they have half a brain.”

    Zero intellect.

    Jigglyspot’s greatest asset is his ability to blend in, to be underestimated.

    SAC John Mills has dealt with death but his biggest mystery is the mop bucket arsons. He knew there was more…twenty years of mop bucket arsons more. And Reilly’s mop bucket begins our descent into Hell.

    On page sixty eight (of 560) pages, when Jigglyspot took a drink from the fridge…my stomach lurched. Cringe worthy. Savagery beyond my wildest…nightmares.

    Where does P D Alleva come up with these ideas? He takes horror to a whole new level for me. So many trigger moments, but I do love dwelling in the darkness. So wickedly, deliciously evil. Will humans become slaves, mere vessels for THEIR pleasures? Who will stop them? Will anyone BE ABLE to stop them?

    The story is told from multiple points of view. I would say the main characters are Jigglyspot and Tyler, but we have other characters that are important to the story. Characters like Kera, Lilly, John Mills, Helmsley, Sharon, Cassandra, Mr West, MysterE,and more.

    “It’s the laws of the universe, Tyler. When energy shifts too much to one side, an equal and opposite reaction must occur on the other and the universe will have the proper balance through chaos and destruction.”

    There was no way I could sit down and read the book in one day, not even two days, but I did not want to stop. My hands were cramping, my vision blurring, and still, I read on, until I had to stop and sleep. So, I will warn you. Set aside some time, because I don’t think you will want to stop either. You may even want to keep the lights on. Maybe even have someone with you, if you think you can trust them with your life.

    There is graphic violence that has many triggers, so Jigglyspot is not for the feint of heart. After going over my review, I took some things out. I did not want to give anything away, yet I want to say more. I was so engrossed in the story I ignored everything around me. I think, if you love horror, you will love Jigglyspot.

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
    5 Stars

    GOODREADS BLURB

    Carnivals, Cannibals, and Clowns. Oh My!

    Wanna go for a ride?

    Meet Jigglyspot, a five-foot tall half human half warlock carnival clown who spends his free time moonlighting as a drug dealing pimp and lackey for demonic entities who prey on the weak and vulnerable, casting their dark shadow across humanity through manipulation, and fear.

    Jigglyspot was selected to serve as the event coordinator for 2019’s Summer Solstice Celebration at the prestigious Cannibal Café. A celebration that brings together both demon and human alike. But with less than two weeks before the celebration, Jigglyspot’s got so much to do and little time to do it. And the feds are hot on his tail. Between securing new recruits for demonic possession, choosing fresh bodies to slice and dice for dinner, and the fact that his girlfriend, Kera, is eating up most of his time, Jiggly’s at his wit’s end.

    Hopefully, those demons appreciate all his sacrifices. Hopefully, but unlikely. Those demons can be hell to deal with. Jigglyspot knows; he’s been dealing with them for decades.

    Will he rise above, or will tragedy and mayhem lead to dire discoveries poisoned with manipulation and betrayal that will ultimately destroy all Jigglyspot holds dear?

    Discover Jigglyspot and his cast of clowns, killers, demons, and wretched fiends, in a novel like you’ve never experienced. Horror, mayhem, thrills, chills, fantasy, and spoils are waiting for your reading eyes with an escape into the underworld of mind control and human slavery.

    Warning: This book contains scenes with profound psychological suffering, and graphically violent acts, behaviors, thoughts, deeds, and ridicule. No one has been spared, and no label is safe. Although we are proud to report, no animals were harmed during the writing of this novel, so that’s a good thing. Everyone else is fair game. After all, if you were a demon, what would you think of humanity?

    Fans of Grady Hendrix, Catriona Ward, Clive Barker, and Stephen King will be captivated by this edge of your seat, eye-popping, wtf horror novel that is certain to be your next addictive read. As they say, you don’t just read Jigglyspot… You DEVOUR Jigglyspot!

    • Genre: Fiction, Horror
    • 570 pages, ebook
    • Expected publication October 31, 2023 by Chamber Door Publishing, LLC

    ABOUT P D ALLEVA

    P.D. Alleva

    I write books, that’s what I do. Horror, scifi, thrillers, fantasy, and sometimes a literary gem. Good ones, crazy ones, fun books, entertaining books, terrifying books that are absolutely insane, books with depth and thrills, and stories that rip out the heart of humanity and tosses it on a slab to be feasted on. Yeah, that’s what I do, I write books. Any questions?

    My current projects include: the Pulp Fiction, Sci-Fi/Fantasy series, The Dark Veil: The Rose Vol. III; the horror thriller novella series, Girl on a Mission; the supernatural thriller series, The Hypnotist; and a follow up to Jigglyspot and the Zero Intellect, tentatively titled The Sleepy Hollow Incident.

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    Giveaway – Cruel Dark by Bea Northwick @XpressoTourws

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    The Cruel Dark
    Bea Northwick
    Publication date: October 31st 2023
    Genres: Adult, Gothic, Romance

    Millicent Foxboro is haunted.

    Not by ghosts, but by the anguish of her past and the uncertainty of her future. After all, even in the progressive year of 1928, most people would balk at hiring a woman who’d spent two months in a mental ward for traumatic amnesia. So when an uncommon assistantship to a reclusive Professor of mythology falls into her lap with an ungodly salary attached, her desperation for stability overrides her cautious nature.

    To Millie’s dismay, the widowed Professor Callum Hughes and his estate, Willowfield, are more than she bargained for. The once magnificent home, known for its sprawling gardens and dazzling parties, is falling to pieces after the death of the professor’s fragile wife. What’s more, the staff has been reduced to the only three people not frightened away by rumors of ghosts, leaving the halls empty and languishing in bitter memories.

    The professor himself is a grim, intense man with unclear expectations, unpredictable moods, and hungry eyes that ignite Millie’s own dormant passions. The closer she finds herself drawn to Professor Hughes and his strange world of flowers and folklore, the more the house closes in, threatening to reveal her secrets. But the professor is keeping secrets of his own, and the most dangerous of all is hers to discover.

    Goodreads / Amazon

    —

    EXCERPT:

    I’d never questioned the presence of my wits more than the moment I stood in the frigid morning air and watched the hired car arrive. The vehicle, sleek and ostentatious, was said to be capable of going fifty miles an hour, and I pretended it was the prospect of that speed making my stomach do somersaults.

    The car pulled to a smooth stop, and a tall, ruddy driver unfolded himself from the front seat, introduced himself briefly as Joseph Dempsey, and went to collect my bags. It was short work; I had only one. I wasn’t a woman of means. As the gentleman loaded my valise into the trunk, I ran my bare fingers along the smooth deep sea blue of the wheel hull. This was, undoubtedly, the worst decision I’d ever made, but there were few options, and this was by far the least evil of them.

    I glanced over my shoulder to the doorway of the little bookshop I’d come to know as home, where the stooped owner, Mr. Helm, had appeared, his blue eyes uncharacteristically red-rimmed. I’d never seen him on the verge of tears, and my heart constricted painfully. I rushed to him, pulling a thin cotton handkerchief from my pocket. It wasn’t in his character to embrace, so he enveloped both of my hands in his. They were large hands, covered in the ink stains of his trade as an antique book restorer, a business he had been teaching me for the past year despite his once firmly held belief that restoration was not for women.

    Mr. Helm had been a tall man in his youth, but the war and many years hunched over a workman’s table had scuttled his stature. I didn’t need to lift my chin to look at his face, which was working to arrange itself into something less aggrieved. I was glad for his trying, because I would call off everything if even one tear rolled down his cheek.


    Author Bio:

    Bea Northwick is a lover of magical, spooky, and romantic things. She owns too much perfume, can’t pick an aesthetic, and loves 80s movies. She lives with her husband, children, dogs, and a black cat in the sunny American South where she dreams daily of Irish cottages and rain swept Scottish castles.

    The Cruel Dark is her debut novel.

    Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Bookbub


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    Giveaway – Death Tango by Lachi @GoddessFish @lachimusic

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    The cover is very eye catching and I love the concept. It seems all too real to me.

    A Quick Fire Interview with Lachi

    1. What’s the most adventurous thing you’ve ever done?

    I’m blind, so pretty much everything. I’ll narrow it down to skydiving, camel riding and scaling up a New York City apartment building.

    2. If you could dine with any literary character, who would it be and why?

    Frankenstine’s monster. I think he gets a bad rep.

    3. What’s your favorite joke?

    Knock Knock

    Who’s there?

    To

    To Who?

    It’s To whom

    4. Does your day job ever get in the way of your writing?

    For my day job I tour and perform globally, so yes! I’ve written on plains, trains, boats and definitely hotels.

    5. What’s your favorite Holiday?

    Well it’s Halloween today, so let’s go with that!

    6. What are your top three favorite genres?

    1. Big Umbrella Horror (all but big T Torture)

    2. Epic or Odessy Sci-Fi with long series

    3. Adult Paranormal Romance

    7. Did you have a specific audience in mind when you wrote Death Tango?

    Adult Sci Fi readers. Some folks assume because I am a disability advocate that my fiction would be for younger folks. It’s not! This book has gore, violence, sex and language.

    8. What was the first book you ever read?

    My first horror novel was Cold Fire by Dean Koontz and my first Sci-Fi was Asimov’s Foundation followed by Frank Herbert’s Dune

    9. What book do you like most among all the others you have penned down?

    Death Tango is my most developed. I’ve also written the Ivory Staff.

    10. Now, when you look back at your past, do you feel accomplished?

    When I was young I wanted to be a musician and a writer with my own music studio in New York. I’ve managed to accomplish all of this and then some. Traveling the world advocating for identity pride and disability inclusion through music and storytelling has seen me to the White House, UN, BBC, GRAMMYs, a ton of very amazing places. But life is an ever-journey, and we’re just getting started.

    11. Have you ever incorporated something that happened to you in real life into your novels?

    Yes. I’ve been assaulted and my main character endures an assault.

    12. If you had a superpower, what would it be?

    To understand and to be understood.


    13. What other projects are you working on now?

    I’m working on a Non-Fiction, a music album called “Mad Different” that explores the weird, the different and leans in, and am forever touring.

    14. Do you have any plans for a sequel?

    Maybe. Let’s see where life takes us.

    https://amzn.to/3PNfSoD

    Death Tango by Lachi

    GENRE: Science Fiction/Horror

    BLURB

    In a Utopian twenty-third-century New York City, where corporations have replaced governments, AI dictates culture, and citizens are free to people-watch any other citizen they choose through an app, this horror-laden Sci-Fi Thriller follows four mis-matched coeds as they attempt to solve the murder of an eccentric parascientist. Only someone or something able to navigate outside the highest levels of croud-sourced surveillance could get away with murder in this town. If the team can’t work quickly to solve the case, New York City will be devoured by a dark plague the eccentric had been working on prior to his death, a plague which, overtime, appears to be developing sentience.

    EXCERPT

    It is nine years ago. I stand alone on an unstable rock. Beneath that rock are a few precarious slabs of granite. Beneath the granite lies a hundred feet of air, of silence, of potential bone-shattering death. Surrounded by a dusk sky, Mount Venom—the cliff aptly named for the lives it has claimed—stretches endlessly beneath my quivering legs and far beyond my blurring vision.

    Through the blaring wind, I hear several SOIs—School of Intelligence kids—hurl down demoralizing insults from the cliff’s edge. “She’ll never make it!” “Fall and die, swine!” Each year the SOIs goad us TFs—Testing Facility subjects—into scaling the cliff. If successful, the TF is accepted as an equal, putting an end to constant ridicule and torment. There is little sympathy for those who accept the challenge and fail. I tell myself to reach for the next stone along the slope, to keep my hands steady, to breathe.

    I near the finish line.

    Every inch of my body tastes it as much as my mouth tastes it. Get there; say nothing; feel no pride. My face wet with tears and mucus, my fingers slippery with blood, I feel around for my next grip and pull on my burning calves. I have only two heaves left. Two heaves, and no more being treated like trash.

    I notice a small gap between two large stones above me. As I place my dampened hands into the hole for leverage, the rubble on which I stand gives out. My legs dangle freely. I have the willpower to lift my body onward, but my concentration is broken by a pair of black-gloved hands that pop out of the fissure above me.

    Someone is hiding behind the rocks.

    Tech Sports knitted in thin red stitching on each glove slides into view. My body ignores the anxiety presented by this new predicament, and I continue to lift. The gloves grab both my forearms and yank. I am now dangling by the grip of those hands; I am now at their complete mercy.

    “Friend or foe?” I manage to growl between pained gasps, the wind forcing hair into my mouth.

    “You’re so close,” replies a male voice I can hardly distinguish.

    “I know! I know! Help me up!” I yell. My legs work uselessly to find hold. Receiving no verbal or physical response, I wriggle my shoulders. “Hey! Help me up!”

    “Beg me!” the voice demands, barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. I fend off a rapidly growing well of despair. Despair is a choice, a manifestation of surrender.

    “Please!” I bark, the word taking with it all of my remaining willpower. I look up wide-eyed at the gloved hands, ignoring the falling stones as I await my fate.

    “This is for putting in the application!” he yells, and with a quick jolt he lets go of my arms.

    I fall.

    I keep my eyes open, desperately hoping for something to grab, but all I see are a mix of gray sky, red rock face and my flailing arms. I hear my bones smash against the jagged teeth of Mount Venom and scream one long uninterrupted exhale, silenced only by the jarring collision of the back of my skull against the cold, hard pavement.

    I don’t feel the fracture. I only hear it between my ears. Pop.

    I lie at the foot of Mount Venom, looking up at dark clouds, a metallic taste oozing over my tongue, a harsh pain working its way down my neck. A thick puddle coalesces under my head as onlookers gather.

    My vision snaps away instantly with a blink. Surrounding echoes fade slowly as the internal sound of my curtailed heartbeats takes over. Suddenly I feel cold and heavy. I am motionless, no longer taking in oxygen.

    After an onslaught of euphoria, I feel my brain flatten. I hear its slight gummy movements of deflation against my last few heartbeats. And somewhere between no longer feeling the ground beneath me and no longer feeling the air around me, I realize I am dead.

    I perceive only a black vastness about me. Like an autumn leaf I float in the Cartesian circle that is the keen awareness of my nonexistence. A mix of bliss and terror. I try to hold on to something physical, something I can understand. “You are safe. You are safe,” I repeat, exercising the remnants of my inner monologue.

    Then I begin to see things.

    A single bright blue diamond, about the size of a fist, appears five feet before me. It is soon joined by two more on either side, followed by two more still, until a string of blue diamonds surrounds me. I realize I can see my entire periphery, no longer limited by physical eyes. A light source switches on behind me, revealing that I am floating at the center of a rotating diamond-rimmed disco ball.

    Trying to locate the light source, I push my perception upward, downward, left, right, only to find that I, myself, am the source of that light. The speed with which the disco ball spins steadily increases, faster and faster, until all is a blur of spinning frenzy. Suddenly thousands of quick snapshots of familiar faces speed toward me: my friends, my bullies, the dark skin of my estranged father, the Spanglish ravings of my drunken mother, their parents, their parents’ parents. Images of a cottage in France, a village in Africa, past wars, ancient discoveries, tree scavenging, gasping air, breathing ocean, swimming in gas, feelings of remorse, loss, shame, excitement, immense love, bitter anguish, and a desperate need for acceptance. Every imaginable emotion ravages me whole.

    I experience my consummate past. A massive rewind that stops at a sweeping explosion. A sphere of white fire so bright, it could hardly be described as fire. I am an endless wave of raw emotion drowning in the unyielding flames. And in that eternal instant I understand everything.

    Again, all fades to black, the warmth, the understanding. And though the blackness around me is infinite, I sense a presence. I am not alone.

    “Look around you,” the presence communicates to me, not through sound, sight or touch, but through direct understanding. I am certain it is—at least in part—a being other than myself. I hold fast to my mantra. “Do not fear,” the presence continues. I allow the mantra to fade. “Do you see how far the blackness reaches, stretching beyond infinite horizons? That is how much you do not know, how much you’ve yet to learn.” A brief silence. “Fear is the great enemy of knowledge, and you, Rosa, are the switch between them.”

    “Me?” I manage to convey through the slivers of my consciousness.

    “Us.”

    “Us? How? Why? What do you mean?” My figurative words come childlike and excited.

    “You already know how,” the presence responds as it fades. “You already know why.” I feel a growing bitter loneliness as the presence drifts away.

    “Wait!” I yell. The blackness around me congeals to a bumpy dark brown. “Come back!” The glistening euphoria gradually declines as my flattened brain begins to restructure. A physical atmosphere swiftly surrounds me, and a palpitating sensation starts beneath me, causing me to rise and fall. The pulsing sensation reveals itself to be my heart grappling for a pulse.

    A crashing ocean of white noise fills my head. I feel that I have a head. A body. Arms. A face. My face.

    I open my eyes as the rush of noise fades to the sound of an open room. I am lying on a bed in the infirmary, surrounded by the school nurse and Dr. Ferguson himself, their blurry faces examining my head wound.

    Dr. Ferguson bends forward. “You had a very nasty fall, Ms. Lejeune. Do you remember that?” He watches a nurse as she dabs a cloth at my face. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

    AUTHOR Bio and Links

    Lachi is an internationally-touring creative artist, writer and award-winning cultural activist living in New York City. A legally blind daughter of African immigrants, Lachi uses her platform to amplify narratives on identity pride and Disability Culture. In her public life, Lachi has helped increase accessibility to the GRAMMY Awards ceremonies as well as create numerous opportunities for music professionals with disabilities, through her organization RAMPD. Lachi also creates high-quality content amplifying disability. She has hosted a PBS American Masters segment highlighting disabled rebels and releases songs such as “Lift Me Up” and “Black Girl Cornrows” that elevate disability and difference to the pop culture market. Named a “new champion in advocacy” by Billboard, she’s held talks with the White House, the UN, Fortune 100 firms, and has been featured in Forbes, Hollywood Reporter, Good Morning America, and the New York Times for her unapologetic celebration of intersectionality through her music, storytelling and fashion.

    In her free-time Lachi writes sci-fi and fantasy novels with diverse, headstrong characters, focusing heavily on atonal world-building, quip-ridden character development, likable villains and psycho-spiritual discourse.

    • Website:www.lachimusic.com
    • Twitter: twitter.com/lachimusic
    • Facebook: facebook.com/lachimusic
    • Instagram: instagram.com/lachimusic
    • Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Death-Tango-M-Lachi-ebook/dp/B0BLGYMCQ7/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0
    a Rafflecopter giveaway

    Follow the tour and comment. The more you comment, the better your chances of winning. Follow the tour HERE.

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    Giveaway – Vampire Witch by Eileen Shehan @RoxanneRhoads

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    Ghost Dream by Eileen Sheehan

    I first saw a photograph of the abandoned house on Twelve Maple Lane about a decade ago. My immediate impression was what a wonderful inn it would make for those who appreciated the days gone by.  So, without so much as a walk through, I bought it.

    It was nightfall when I approached the old house that had been wholly unoccupied for years with reverence and a touch of trepidation. Its residents had long left it to the mercy of rodents, dust, and cobwebs. I felt as if I was invading the privacy of the ghosts who were left behind. Ghosts of occupants over the centuries since the building was little more than an idea in the mind of the builder.

    Holding my flashlight firmly in one hand, I turned the porcelain doorknob that would allow me entry. It, like the door, was cracked with age. My mind pondered over how many hands had turned that knob and pushed their way into this dwelling in its glory days. Days when vibrantly colorful rooms glowed with the softness of gas and candle light and radiated laughter and happiness. My ponderings quickly left me when, for the first time in my life, my level head -that had always ignored and given no credence to superstition- experienced an overwhelming dread as an invisible cobweb clung to my face. I shuddered. It was only a cobweb, but it felt as if I’d walked through someone. Or, better yet, someone had walked through me.

    Like a frightened child, I rushed to the one room that I had made certain was prepared for my occupancy by the workmen who were hired for the house’s resurrection. As I locked the door, a sense of security swept over me. I had not only locked out the moldy darkness, but the eerie feeling of unseen eyes was no longer hovering about. Someone had been thoughtful enough to make sure that there was a cheery fire burning in the oversized fireplace. Its flickering flames did wonders to give a sense of warmth and safety to the room. I sat down before it with a comforting sense of relief. The electricity was turned off, requiring the soft flickering lights of candles to illuminate my surroundings. Seeing the antique furnishings in such ambiance brought up visions of days gone by.

    From the color and print of the faded wallpaper, and the delicacy of the bed and dressing table, I deduced that the room had once belonged to the gentler sex. I closed my eyes as I allowed my imagination to summon visions of faces out of the mists of the past. Faces that were long forgotten and voices that long ago grew silent for all time.

    As a storm brewed outside of the thick leaded window panes, my reverie shifted to sadness. The singing of the voices from the past was replaced by the shrieking of the winds outside. The laughter in the ears of my mind shifted to a softened wail. The incessant beating of the rain against the panes stripped the room of all tranquility. The eeriness that I’d left beyond the closed door slowly crept through the cracks beneath it.

    A nervousness overtook me as the fire burned low. An overwhelming sense of loneliness consumed me. Eager to shake it, I arose and changed into my night clothes. I moved about the room, stealthily preparing for slumber as if I was amongst others whose dreams would be lethal to interrupt. Diving onto the mattress, I slithered beneath the covers. With my head barely exposed, I lay listening to the rain and wind and the faint creaking of distant shutters until a blissful, deep sleep overtook me.

    The acute stillness of the home when I awoke filled me with a shuddering expectancy. All, but the beating of my heart, was silent as I lay in the pre-dawn light while I debated what to do. The workmen would not arrive for several hours. My stomach was announcing the need for the breaking of my fast, but my cowardly nerves refused to budge. So, I lay in the warmth and false security of my bed until an unseen force took matters into hand.

    Slowly. Very slowly, the bedclothes slid toward the foot of the bed. It was as if someone was pulling them from me. Instead of being too nervous to move, I was now scared stiff. Not only couldn’t I move a muscle, but I could make no sound. I finally regained control of my body enough to allow me to grab the edge of the blankets and pull them back over my breast until they reached my chin. It took an even greater effort to pull them over my head. Beads of nervous sweat formed upon my forehead as a result.

    I lay in frozen silence while I waited for what might happen next.

    After a brief interval, that steady pull on the coverings returned. I roused my energies, snatched the covers with a vice grip, and pulled them over my head again. Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps permeated my room. I felt a sense of relief that they sounded like they were moving away from me instead of toward me. When the footsteps reached the bedroom door, I waited for the creaking sound of it opening and closing, but it didn’t come. The footsteps, however, continued to exit the room and fade as they walked further into the empty house.

    I lay trembling while contemplating what just happened until I had myself convinced that it was a dream. My nerves were further soothed when I crawled out of bed and found that the bedroom door was still bolted on the inside.

    The day passed as normal. I exerted a good deal of emotional energy overseeing the workmen in my effort to keep the integrity of the old house in place. Once nightfall arrived and the men retired, I eagerly took my exhausted self to my bedroom once again.

    I had just blown out the candle and snuggled beneath the bedclothes when I heard a grating noise overhead. It sounded like a heavy box was being dragged across the floor. When the dragging sound ended, a loud thud occurred. It was so loud that the windows shook.

    Beyond my locked bedroom door, I could hear the muffled sound of doors slamming throughout the house.

    A part of me wanted to get up and search for intruders, while the other part of me said to stay put and wait to see what would happen. I regretted not taking the precaution against intruders by having a bat or some other type of self-defense weapon in my room as I listened to the sound of stealthy footsteps creeping about the corridors, as well as up and down the stairs.

    Sometimes these noises stopped outside of my bedroom door, hesitated, and went away again. I heard muffled sentences and occasional half-uttered screams that were faint, but discernable. Then, a light breeze passed by me as the swish of invisible garments reached my ears.

    The eerie feeling that I’d felt the night before returned with a forcefulness unmatched. I sat up in bed and held my hand to my heart while I did my best to slow the beating that threatened to get out of control. Unlike the night before when the fireplace was ablaze with illuminating light, I had lit only a small fire that rapidly turned to embers. With the candles snuffed out, I was forced to rely on the glow of the embers and the filtered rays of the full moon through the window to see my surroundings. The shadows bounced about, but I was still able to make out a cloaked figure hovering in the corner of the room.

    “Who are you and what do you want?” I nervously asked. The figure remained silent as it slowly moved toward me.

    “This is my home,” I said with a boldness that I didn’t feel.  “You are not welcome.”

    “Why do you wish to have this home?” the figure asked in a deep voice that had a hint of echo to it.

    Surprised by the question, I was even more surprised by the way I calmly replied with, “I wish to bring it back to its glory days and to share it with others.”

    “Glory days?” the figure mockingly said. “Those were times long gone. The house belongs to me now.”

    “I purchased this house,” I insisted. “I have the deed to it.”

    “You may have the deed, but I have lived in it,” the figure argued. “It belongs to me. You will leave.”

    Fear was replaced by indignation over the shadowy figure’s demand that I leave a home that I’d put so much of my heart and soul into and would require even more before its beauty could shine through once more.

    “If you care so much for this home,” I challenged, “Why have you let it go into such disrepair?”

    “It is as I desire it to be,” the figure firmly announced.

    “It is not as I desire it,” said a female’s voice from seemingly nowhere.

    “Josephine!” the figure bellowed. “Why have you come?”

    “I never left,” the voice replied. “I simply saw no reason to negate your occupancy until now.”

    “Why now?” the figure asked.

    “Finally, there is someone who is willing to return the life and love to the walls of my home,” Josephine said. “I have cried decades of tears for want of such a thing to occur. Now that it has, I will not allow you to prevent it. You must go.”

    “I have occupied this place too long for you to be able to push me out,” the figure bitterly announced.

    “Perhaps, if it were just myself doing the pushing,” Josephine said with conviction.

    Too stunned and amazed by what was occurring before my very eyes, I stayed motionless while I listened to what I discovered to be two discarnate beings verbally debating over who should take control of the house that I now owned. I was tempted to ask them both to leave, since the house now belonged to me, but, since I was only now being exposed to the reality of a world beyond the here and now, I was uncertain what the protocol for such a request would be. So, instead, I remained stoic and silent while I waited to see what the outcome of this verbal debate might be.

    To my surprise and dismay, the arguing grew quite potent. So potent, in fact, that the stillness of the air left the room. It was replaced by what I could only describe as a violent wind. The bedroom door rattled, along with the windows. A fleeting fear that the glass might shatter flashed through my head before my attention was turned to the fact that the room seemed to expand in the darkness as the figure of a woman in a Victorian gown appeared before me.

    Although I had already become aware of the presence of the cloaked figure, he was merely a shadow. This woman, on the other hand, was as opaque as myself.

    She was neatly put together with not one hair out of place. Her dress was of vibrant colors that glowed in the moonlight. As I stared in startled wonderment, several equally opaque spirits, both male and female, in Victorian attire joined her. Soon, the room was filled with what I inherently knew were former occupants of the grand house.

    The shadowy figure stood his ground, alone against a roomful of spirits wanting him out. At first, as the energy he projected blew like a hurricane through the room to the extent that I clung fast to the bedpost, I thought for sure that he would win. It took a moment for them to gather together with hands firmly clasped, but when they did, the wind changed direction and forced the shadow into oblivion.

    I sat in silence on the edge of the bed while I debated what to do next. The spirits faded away, one by one, until only Josephine remained.

    “You need not fear us,” Josephine said. “We are pleased that you bring to this home the life and love that it deserves. It has been our desire for decades. We will protect you and it from this moment on.”

    With that, she also faded away.

    Feeling safe and satisfied, I silently smiled and retreated to the security of my bedcovers. Within moments, I fell into a deep, exhausted slumber.

    I awoke the following morning to the sounds of workmen bustling about the house. Surprised that I’d slept for so long, I raced to join them. As the day progressed, my thoughts, and memories of the battle between spirits the night before faded. By the time nightfall returned, I considered it nothing more than a vivid dream.

    The restoration of the house continued until it was restored to its original glory with no more incidents from the unseen world. Since there were no more bumps in the night, bedclothes mysteriously sliding off me on their own, or spirits appearing before me, I eventually completely dismissed the dream as a reaction to the unsavory ambiance of a neglected home.

    Today, I operate an historic inn that offers tours that are accompanied by the history of the house and its occupants that I acquired from the local library and town records. On rare occasions, I will receive a report from one of my overnight guests reporting vivid dreams of a woman in Victorian dress smiling as she stands at the foot of their bed.

    Vampire Witch
    Vampire Witch Trilogy
    Book One
    Eileen Sheehan

    Genre: Paranormal/thriller/romance
    Publisher: Earth Wise Books
    Date of Publication: 01/01/2016
    ISBN: 978-1726737524
    ASIN:  ‎ B0195YJ1Q0
    Number of pages: 378
    Word Count: 91,903

    Tagline: She falls for two handsome vampire brothers. Now, she must choose…. Lovers of VAMPIRE DIARIES or TRUE BLOOD will enjoy this story.

    Book Description: 

    Discovering the mother that you thought was dead for over a decade is very much alive will shake your world.

    And so begins Casey’s dilemma. Add to that her mother has become a mutant vampire and has promised her in marriage to a wicked vampire king in order to unite the two kingdoms. Now, let’s combine that with the fact that the bearer of such news is a hot and sexy guy who turns out to be a vampire and he steals her heart. Then, to top it off she finds that he has an equally hot vampire brother vying for her love and who she just might have feelings for too.

    Ready or not, Casey’s life just took a turn for the strange.

    Join Casey in this sizzling, action-packed first book of a paranormal romance thriller trilogy.

    Book Trailer: https://bit.ly/3PDgAWJ

    Amazon      BN     Kobo     Apple     Smashwords



    Luthias groaned and raised his hand to his head.  Gwendoline was at his side in a flash.  She lifted him into a position that allowed him to easily drink the liquid she held to his lips and then lowered him back down again.

    “This will help him regain a bit of his strength, but he’ll still need blood,” she said. She went to a tall refrigerator in the corner of the room and inspected its contents. “I doubt I have enough to bring him back to normal.”
    “How much do you need?” I asked.

    “He’s almost bled dry,” she said.  “I have enough to keep him alive, but not much more than that.”

    I bit my lower lip while I watched Gwendoline pull every bag of blood she had in her supplies and place them on a tea cart to roll next to the table.  She emptied the first bag into a glass and urged him to drink.  He weakly obliged. By the time she’d fed him the last bag, the hollow around his sunken eyes was beginning to disappear and his wounds were starting to shrink.

    I pointed this out to Gwendoline and she smiled faintly.

    “If he has more blood will they heal completely?” I asked.

    “Within seconds,” she said.

    “Where does he usually get his blood?” I asked hesitantly.

    “He hunts deer or wolf. Large animals are generally the best,” she replied.

    “No humans,” I mused admiringly.

    “Verso vampires refrain from drinking human blood whenever possible.  The risk of developing an addiction is too great,” she explained. “We live peacefully amongst ourselves and rarely venture out into the rawness of what’s left of our planet. An addiction to human blood would require they leave Verso.”

    “There are some who drink it,” I said.  “A maid told me humans don’t last long in Verso because rogue vampires drink their blood until they’re dead.”

    “That’s true,” she said with a nod. “It takes a strong vampire to be able to stop drinking a human’s blood before they drain them dry. In my centuries of life, I’ve known of only a few who could do it.”

    “Is it the magic that keeps you alive?” I asked.

    “Indeed,” she replied with pride. “As it will ye.”

    “I plan on becoming a vampire,” I reminded her.

    “Yes, but until ye do, the magic will slow down the aging process,” she explained. “There’s no need to rush things.”

    “How old was Geo when he was turned?” I asked while I mindlessly stroked the length Luthias’s arm.

    “He was twenty-eight. He had a wife and three children, poor lad,” she said.

     “I never thought about him having a family,” I gasped. “What happened to them?”

    “They were killed by the raiding vampires. Geo was saved because of the strong magic in his veins.  Luthias found him and brought him to me to tend to.  He looked much like Luthias does now,” she said.

    “When did Luthias turn vampire?” I asked.





    About the Author:

    Sitting at her antique rolltop desk in her home in upstate New York, Internationally Published and Award Winning author, Eileen Sheehan, writes steamy romance thrillers for the mature adult with a sexy male and strong female. The majority of her novels are paranormal, but some are just plain novels about people in love. As the years progressed, so did her writing style. Although she still includes romance and has a happily ever after ending, her stories tend to have more mystery, thrills, and horror in them.

    She makes it a point to write a novel length that will allow the busy readers to be able to sit down in an evening (no more than two) and be taken on a journey that was created by her active imagination without having a week go by before they 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.

    Eileen started out as a freelance writer for periodical magazines and newspapers. From there, she tried her hand at writing screenplays. Her screenplay, “When East Meets West” was a finalist in the 2001 Independent International Film and Video Festival at Madison Square Gardens, NYC. Finally finding her niche, she lets her imagination loose with paranormal romance/thrillers. 

    If you want to see more quality writings at a reasonable price, please support her efforts by leaving a review and becoming a follower










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    Giveaway – A Nutcracker Nightmare by Christina Romeril @dollycas @RomerilChris

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    A Nutcracker Nightmare (A Killer Chocolate Mystery)
    by Christina Romeril

    About A Nutcracker Nightmare


    A Nutcracker Nightmare (A Killer Chocolate Mystery)
    Cozy Mystery
    2nd in Series
    Setting – Montana
    Crooked Lane Books (October 17, 2023)
    Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 320 pages
    ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1639104917
    ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1639104918
    Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BSKRF471

    Perfect for fans of Joanne Fluke and Laura Childs, when twin sisters Hanna and Alex help out at the local high school reunion, volunteering takes a turn when they find a former classmate’s dead body.

    Hanna and Alex, owners of the Murder and Mayhem book and chocolate shop, are busy preparing for the Harriston High School’s reunion weekend. Neighbors will connect with old friends and perhaps try to avoid old foes. One person no one can avoid is Kyle, the former star quarterback, who is busy using his entire playbook to try and score with Hanna, even threatening her if she doesn’t play nice. At the reunion, Alex glimpses more drama than nostalgia as insults are flung around like a football at a Friday night game. The party is put on hold when Alex finds the dead body of none other than Kyle himself, bludgeoned to death by a nutcracker that the sisters admired earlier in the night.

    Hanna quickly becomes the prime suspect—someone saw her slap Kyle in the face at the reunion dance. She’ll need her sister, their sleuthing canine, Watson, and their old friends and colleagues to help break this case wide open. While looking through old yearbooks and taking a stroll down memory lane, Alex uncovers a few secrets about Kyle, now, it seems like everyone had a motive to kill him.

    But when the suspects start becoming the victims, Alex and Hanna know that they can’t melt under the pressure—they must find the killer before they become just another yearbook memory.

    About Christina Romeril

    Christina Romeril is the author of the Killer Chocolate Mystery series. The series is set in Montana at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, one of her favourite places to visit. She and her husband live a few hours away in a small village in Southern Alberta. When Christina isn’t writing she loves to hike in Waterton Lakes National Park, or just hang out there eating gourmet hot dogs and ice cream. When the former banker isn’t enjoying nature, she loves to create and consume chocolate confections. Not necessarily in that order.

    Purchase Links – Amazon – B&N – Kobo – Bookshop.org 

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    Giveaway – Cruel and Splendid Mermaids by Julie Catherine @xpressotours

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    Cruel and Splendid Mermaids
    Julie Catherine
    (Broken Mermaids, #1)
    Publication date: October 17th 2023
    Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy

    For mermaids and humans, the rules are the same: be careful around strangers, be wary of magic and before you dive in, check what’s lurking under the waves.

    Nineteen-year-old Ellara Merme’s whole life she’s known one purpose: to mate with men, to procreate, and to bear offspring to fight in Neptune’s underwater army. No problem… There’s just one hiccup. Her siren song doesn’t work.

    No one can know.

    She’s a broken mermaid with a faulty lure and she has only one week left to make the damaged song work. But all that can change with the ocean’s next deadly storm. Dragged from a shipwreck, mythology says a rescued sailor will be so grateful he’ll fall into anyone’s arms. Even a broken mermaid’s. Still, there’s a reason why merfolk and humans don’t get along. And a lot can go wrong when a girl from the ocean washes up on the shore.

    Think mating is easy? Think again.

    Cruel and Splendid Mermaids is a first-person dark and playful underwater fantasy. Book one in the Broken Mermaids series.

    Goodreads / Amazon


    EXCERPT

    This was the best part of every day. Floating in the surf, watching the earthy pinks, bathing in the heavy, orange glow. The manner in which the morning sunlight hit the beach and the other beautiful things on the shore.

    He was early today.

    Just a bit.

    Always running like clockwork.

    His tanned, heaving chest, warm brown and stretched firm over muscles. Blood pumping to his heart and lungs. The way his whole body flexed in his gait. The steady footfalls landing in the sand. Little divots tossed up with each tread. His body moved forward, reconnecting with the earth. Over and over. I couldn’t look away.

    I would take any, of course. But this man was my favorite.

    So deliberate in his path.

    Though human and mermaid timelines didn’t one hundred percent line up, I liked to think we were of similar age. I eyed him up. Close, anyway. The backwards cap over wavy brown curls. Hair that only got curlier as he started to sweat. I liked his gray, cotton running shorts. That bare chest. I loved his strong, limber legs. It would be nice if he could be my first.

    Not just nice. A dream.

    The only dream of my heart.

    I wasn’t picky, I wouldn’t be, I knew that. A man was a man was a man. But there was something about him. Every step that he ran. So damn firm and so upright. I rubbed my belly everyday as he passed.

    “Put a baby in me,” I sometimes whispered, although he couldn’t hear me. That was clear, because no coughing fit overtook those simple words. I was out here in the waves and he was up there. Running home. Running for sport. Running somewhere. And anywhere. And everywhere.

    I just floated.

    Waiting.

    Watching every day ’til he passed.

    Then, I’d kick up my fin, dive beneath the waves and head for home. Another day in the life of a mermaid. A new beginning. A brand new chance to finally, finally show all of Merme my true worth.

    Author Bio:

    Julie Catherine is an author, screenwriter and playwright.

    Website / Goodreads / Newsletter





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    Giveaway – In The Wick Of Time by Valone Jones @dollycas

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    In the Wick of Time (Magic Candle Shop Mystery) by Valona Jones

    About In The Wick Of Time


    In the Wick of Time (Magic Candle Shop Mystery)
    Paranormal Cozy Mystery
    2nd in Series
    Setting – Savannah, Georgia
    Crooked Lane Books (October 17, 2023)
    Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 288 pages
    ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1639105077
    ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1639105076
    Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BSKWTKZN

    Tabby Winslow will help her twin sister Sage with anything and everything—and that includes putting out the flames of suspicion when Sage’s boss is found murdered in this magical mystery, perfect for fans of Amanda Flower and Sofie Kelly.

    December in Savannah, Georgia, is a sight to behold. With all the festivities—including the traditional riverfront luminary display during the boat parade—twin sisters Tabby and Sage Winslow are busier than ever setting up for the big celebration. But that isn’t the only thing on the sisters’ minds. Both Sage and her fellow employee Mary Nicole are vying for the sought-after assistant manager job at the plant nursery. But when Loren Lee, their boss, is found dead, and Sage becomes the police’s favorite suspect, both Winslow girls know that they’ll need more than a flicker of magic and their sisterhood to solve the murder and clear Sage’s name.

    Soon, Tabby realizes that this is just one of the many problems they have. If being a suspect for murder wasn’t enough, there are more magical problems that they have to fix: Sage’s boyfriend is having a paranormal experience of his own he can’t control, there’s an energy vampire searching for his supposedly lost cousin, her cat suddenly dislikes her, and oh—every time Tabby hiccups, she turns completely invisible. The suspect list grows with each day and it seems everyone has a reason or a connection to Loren Lee.

    Tabby and Sage are burning the candle at both ends—but will it be enough to keep their friends safe and find this killer? Or will they be burned by their efforts?

    About Valona Jones

    Valona Jones, also known as Maggie Toussaint, writes paranormal cozy mysteries set in coastal Georgia. A former scientist, she’s drawn to the study of personal energy. She sharpened her people-watching skills as a lifelong introvert and had a bank vault of personal observations when she began to write fiction. Her newest release is In The Wick of Time, book 2 in the A Magic Candle Shop Mystery, preceded by Snuffed Out, which released Jan. 2023. She’s a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime with more than twenty-five published works of fiction. She lives in coastal Georgia, where she’s seen time and tide wait for no one.

    Author Links

     Purchase Links – Amazon – B&N – Kobo – BookShop.org

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