tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18671609501110940282024-03-18T00:00:31.298-04:00Gizmo's ReviewsShelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.comBlogger3859125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-33975910450071557222024-03-18T00:00:00.001-04:002024-03-18T00:00:00.134-04:00#Review - Invocation by Aileen Erin #YA #Fantasy<b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7MEr0231h366htiTXXD0X8E4kOCRGdUP0rVMDiX68JvNUn_d0y_fiOZ4oXi4Mvb8cat9sS_7AFBchgK4V6JLpFXgX-okR5TpTpC6uNx6UBKB7vbcxsI8ZlyI1miLYpfuLgO3Is22fHendn2LXBe2tMGH1NrltafM4BECLJQ6tCseAuIGuKWgNnPQvYzE/s392/cover312234-medium.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="255" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7MEr0231h366htiTXXD0X8E4kOCRGdUP0rVMDiX68JvNUn_d0y_fiOZ4oXi4Mvb8cat9sS_7AFBchgK4V6JLpFXgX-okR5TpTpC6uNx6UBKB7vbcxsI8ZlyI1miLYpfuLgO3Is22fHendn2LXBe2tMGH1NrltafM4BECLJQ6tCseAuIGuKWgNnPQvYzE/s320/cover312234-medium.png" width="208" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Series:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> Days of Iron & Clay # 1</span><br />
<span>Format: Ebook, 413 pages</span><br />
<span>Release Date: </span><span style="background-color: white;">March 19, 2024</span><br />
<span>Publisher: </span><span style="background-color: white;">Ink Monster, LLC</span><br />
<span>Source: Publisher</span><br /><span>Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy</span></span></b><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">There are three things I know without question.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white;">One: demons are real.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Two: humans make awful mistakes that get them in demonic trouble more often than you’d think.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white;">And three: </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">I’m the only one who can help them.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white;">I straddle the line between the mortal and spiritual realms every day. People might think they’re two different places, but they’re not. They lay on top of each other. It’s messy, and that’s why so many people need my help. Since I was little, I’ve been called all kinds of names—</span><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">unusual, abnormal, even insane</i><span style="background-color: white;">. Which is fitting, since they keep throwing me in to mental facilities. I’ve been in and out of them my entire life.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">But no matter what people say, no matter what I’m risking, I will always help those in need.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Because there’s an endless war carrying on all around us, every minute of every day. One that can’t be seen by mortal eyes. But I can see it, the spiritual battle for mortal souls, and I’m working hard to make sure my father is on the losing side. He — </span><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">Astaroth, Satan’s general</i><span style="background-color: white;">— is why I can do this. He’s why I’m not normal. I can’t have friends, a life, or a boyfriend. I won’t be selfish enough to drag someone into this fight. But I’m not lonely. Not exactly. I have my mom. She’s my rock, my best friend, my partner. She helps me do what needs to be done, and she’s never afraid when it feels like I’m always afraid.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">Because I hear my father whispering my name each night, his taunts echoing through the spiritual realm. He’s hunting me, and I know the day will come when I must face him again.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Every portal I open could be the one that finally pulls me back to Hell, and I wonder if I will be </span><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">brave enough, strong enough, good enough</i><span style="background-color: white;"> to fight him.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;" /><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">My name is Samantha Catherine Lopez, and I am Nephilim. This is my story.</span></span></b><div><b><br /></b>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Aileen Erin's <i>Invocation </i>is the first installment in the author's <i>Days of Iron and Clay</i> series. Even though it is said that you do not have to have read the <i>Alpha Girls</i> series, it would be nice to understand the world this story takes place. Especially since a bunch of characters from the Alpha Girls series play pivotal parts in this story. The world recently woke up to the news that supernaturals like werewolves, witches, vampires, and other supernaturals are real. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The story follows Samantha Lopez who is not exactly human, but something else. A Nephilim. Samantha just happens to be the daughter of a human and a fallen angel named Astaroth who is willing to do anything to get his wayward daughter back in hell where he thinks she belongs. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Samantha also appeared in a short novella called <i>Two More Days</i>. 8 years ago, Samantha escaped from Hell and the man who claims to be her father. To this day, Sam hears his voice when she is trying to relax. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Samantha, who is the resident demonologist, is the person you call if you are demon possessed or in trouble. She's so good, that she is constantly busy sending lower & higher demons back to Hell from where they escaped. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Samantha is destined to be an important, extraordinary person who is set on protecting innocent humans from demon infestations and evil spirits - via exorcisms and creating portals to Hell. With Heaven & Hell battling for millennia, Sam and her friends are all that stand in the way of the apocalypse.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sam, who helped Tessa McCaide (Alpha Werewolf who has visions of the future) defeat her father, now lives in a supernatural community in Texas called The Sanctuary. Sam's friends/family include her mother/partner Elena Gomez, Phoenix Herrera (former soccer phenom), Frank (Priest), Eli (Archon Warrior Angel), Gabe (Demon-dead Nephilim), Dastien (Tessa's mate), Cosette (Fey princess), Claudia (Witch), Lucas (Peruvian Alpha), Axel, and Chris (Werewolf). As I said, all of these characters were part of the Alpha Girls series. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There is something of a dramatic event that happens at the beginning of this book which ends up with the story skipping years before ending in the present. Later, Sam is forced to rescue another friend, Van (Fey Warrior) from Hell after her father captures him, and uses him as bait and trap for Sam. Sam is not perfect. She gets into situations that end up with her in trouble. But she is a spiritual being, whose powers are spiritual, and even though Eli is her friend and protector, there are things that not even he can do without without becoming one of the Fallen.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">I have every intention of continuing this story once the sequel releases next winter. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></div></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Invocation-Days-Iron-Clay-Book-ebook/dp/B0BWPFKGCT/ref=sr_1_2?adid=082VK13VJJCZTQYGWWCZ&campaign=211041&creative=374001&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.giIYOjq_duJhJouZ2dVWNbXdI3K-EQxoymJTXv_wtcxTYoWpzn_LZkzlQ-ezsW6eNEQTiBZZ0A7F3hav2XoNHdBtHNZZ4CrPEYl8msGH_Rp6omc2i5yLxUGy3p4mq_U8Ec1TjZI9TQkQO8K-GM9kAi1165GMqfIZCnWZR1JjsTdNKYLXC0InQFkcblSE6iVzjl8b4FCeQt0pMDZ_8WC76VCJ9tAn9TBulWy0wjcjFlI.jrb4I81blkB-hKTa3yMcwrS2tv3dOd4S0mL_CoqaV5U&dib_tag=se&keywords=Invocation&qid=1710725119&s=books&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/invocation-aileen-erin/1122623865;jsessionid=B980DA368A710DE605A921C6D748397F.prodny_store01-atgap09?ean=9781943858774" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/invocation-14" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-40477485327069065332024-03-15T00:09:00.001-04:002024-03-15T00:09:03.943-04:00#Review - What Monstrous Gods by Rosamund Hodge #YA #Fantasy<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSna_iFUjRRsP3nLOV8P3UKrgc7PJO1RGSIUX27fV5S_CzF_BeHQtI4s3CVsRwlnYTRR0G28KEpuDo4jk9liUgCKbNsyrw56OFXoL8TWQyxj8cDBnXZiAzI6_jlsWuNg6TalfSX1MJwt-WGmeehMi5gpzMrZLlTH3k_fGxvTem4PS0YUXRkE0jDdADzx8/s648/9780062869135_01f3f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="429" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSna_iFUjRRsP3nLOV8P3UKrgc7PJO1RGSIUX27fV5S_CzF_BeHQtI4s3CVsRwlnYTRR0G28KEpuDo4jk9liUgCKbNsyrw56OFXoL8TWQyxj8cDBnXZiAzI6_jlsWuNg6TalfSX1MJwt-WGmeehMi5gpzMrZLlTH3k_fGxvTem4PS0YUXRkE0jDdADzx8/s320/9780062869135_01f3f.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Standalone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 368 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 5, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Balzer + Bray</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy</span></b><div><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>From the <em>New York Times</em> bestselling author of <em>Cruel Beauty</em> comes a darkly romantic and subversive new standalone fantasy twist loosely inspired by the classic Sleeping Beauty fairy tale.</b></p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><strong>A rich and romantic new standalone fantasy perfect for fans of <em>These Violent Delights</em> and <em>The Shadow Queen</em>.</strong></p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>Centuries ago, the heretic sorcerer Ruven raised a deadly briar around Runakhia's palace, casting the royal family into an enchanted sleep—and silencing the kingdom's gods.</b></p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>Born with a miraculous gift, Lia's destiny is to kill Ruven and wake the royals. But when she succeeds, she finds her duty is not yet complete, for now she must marry into the royal family and forge a pact with a god—or die.</b></p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>To make matters even worse, Ruven's spirit is haunting her.</b></p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>As discord grows between the old and new guards, the queen sends Lia and Prince Araunn, her betrothed, on a pilgrimage to awaken the gods. But the old gods are more dangerous than Lia ever knew—and Ruven may offer her only hope of survival.</b></p><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>As the two work together, Lia learns that they're more alike than she expected. And with tensions rising, Lia must choose between what she was raised to believe and what she knows is right—and between the prince she is bound to by duty...and the boy she killed.</b></p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Rosamund Hodge's <i>What Monstrous Gods</i> could be the author's personal journey to address her conflict with her faith. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">From </span><em style="background-color: white;">Cruel Beauty</em><span style="background-color: white;">, a re-imagined Beauty and the Beast, to </span><em style="background-color: white;">Gilded Ashes</em><span style="background-color: white;">, a re-imagined Cinderella, to </span><em style="background-color: white;">Crimson Bound</em><span style="background-color: white;">, a re-imagined Little Red Riding Hood, and </span><em style="background-color: white;">Bright Smoke, Cold Fire</em><span style="background-color: white;">, a re-imagined </span><em style="background-color: white;">Romeo and Juliet</em><span style="background-color: white;">, all the way through this latest book, Rosamund is building a brand as an author who reinvents classic tales—and does it extremely well. </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Centuries ago, the heretic sorcerer Ruven raised a deadly briar around Runakhia's palace, casting the royal family into an enchanted sleep—and silencing the kingdom's gods. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">17-year-old </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">Lia Kurenava</span><span style="background-color: white;"> has grown up an orphan, raised by nuns in a world where the royal family has been deep in an enchanted sleep for hundreds of years. It's Lia's destiny to breach the enchanted hedge circling the palace and break the curse, unleashing a new golden age for Runakhia.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">But when she succeeds, she finds her duty is not yet complete, for now, she must marry into the royal family and forge a pact with a god—or die. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">To make matters even worse, Ruven's spirit is haunting her. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">As discord grows between the old and new guards, the queen sends Lia and Prince Araunn, her betrothed, on a pilgrimage to awaken the gods. But the old gods are more dangerous than Lia ever knew—and Ruven may offer her only hope of survival. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">As the two work together, Lia learns that they're more alike than she expected. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And with tensions rising, Lia must choose between what she was raised to believe and what she knows is right—and between the prince she is bound to by duty...and the boy she killed.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Rosamund infuses the classic story with fresh twists including sorcery, a fascinating pantheon of gods, a lush and courtly setting, and a romance that will take your breath away. While the story takes its initial inspiration from Sleeping Beauty, it then spins off into something gloriously dark, romantic, and thought-provoking—in short, something that only Rosamund Hodge could write. </span></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">Readers love a great enemies-to-lovers romance—and this is one for the books! </span><span style="background-color: white;">Lia is a complex protagonist who deals with timeless universal challenges that will resonate with teen readers, such as questioning authority and the faith one has been brought up to believe in and carving out your own path in life. While the old world prayed to a pantheon of Gods, this new world believes in something else entirely. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ruven may not be a POV co-lead, but he is a major play nonetheless. He is in every way Lia’s foil. What she considers blasphemy, he considers truth, and vice versa. In a curious twist, the author states that she likened this story to Kylo Ren and Rey in The Last Jedi. </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-55091358869070444332024-03-14T00:00:00.001-04:002024-03-14T00:00:00.143-04:00#Review - The Dead Years by Jeffrey B. Burton #Thriller #Suspense<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3ZhGpF8vQvQdNDsGr3B0B8O2ygYiEeg0pgUNJiPa9xigyPfdiP4WkjaF0RDPkeWF2VtRePZ_o1gUIqgTZ-KNC_Z8p7ZQB9TSt1sVF4S38TqJwOUWh9fdNVorR5EMc-O2CKDFf3KFMF_CVlCXvXyzyifI4pPwMfNvliC_-TElTkfACfckDT1KavpadhA/s401/cover312899-medium.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="255" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3ZhGpF8vQvQdNDsGr3B0B8O2ygYiEeg0pgUNJiPa9xigyPfdiP4WkjaF0RDPkeWF2VtRePZ_o1gUIqgTZ-KNC_Z8p7ZQB9TSt1sVF4S38TqJwOUWh9fdNVorR5EMc-O2CKDFf3KFMF_CVlCXvXyzyifI4pPwMfNvliC_-TElTkfACfckDT1KavpadhA/s320/cover312899-medium.png" width="203" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A Chicago K-9 Thriller</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 244 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 5, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Severn House</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Thriller / Suspense</span></b><div><b style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 12px;"><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><i>A serial killer, dormant for years, reawakens after viewing a Netflix docuseries depicting his string of homicides. The killer is not happy with his portrayal and no one in the cast and crew is safe! The first installment of a gripping new thriller series set in Chicago and featuring a young sibling sleuth-duo and their working dogs.</i></span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Siblings Cory and Crystal Pratt are still trying to get their lives together after a tragic accident which killed their parents years ago. The only thing that distracts them now is their jobs. With Crystal working as a newly minted detective at the Chicago Police Department and Cory owning a dog training academy with two human remains detection dogs of his own, their professional paths cross every now and then.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Crime, and especially murder, in Chicago is nothing new, but when a string of killings happen that seem to be connected to a Netflix docuseries and its cast and crew, Cory and Crystal are called in to stop the number of bodies from piling any higher.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">But when the siblings start poking around the killer's business, the killer sets their sights on the pair . . . and particularly on Cory and his dogs! Will they be able to escape the fury of the serial killer or become the newest victims?</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">This fast-paced thriller, with insight into a serial killer's mind, is a perfect up-all-night binge-read, and a great choice if you love spirited detectives, great action - and very good dogs!</span><br /></b><div><b><br /></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Jeffrey B. Burton's <i>The Dead Years</i> is the first installment in the author's <i>A Chicago K-9 Thriller</i> series featuring a sibling sleuth-duo and their working dogs. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A serial killer, dormant for years, reawakens after viewing a Netflix docuseries depicting his string of homicides. The Dead Night Killer is not happy with his portrayal and no one in the cast and crew is safe! Key Characters: Cory Pratt (23), Sole proprietor of Cor Canine Training Academy, Crystal Pratt, Detective Chicago PD Violent Crimes investigator, Alice (bloodhound), and Rex (springer spaniel).</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">7 years ago, The Dead Night Killer suddenly stopped killing. Nobody knows why. Except for the killer. But now the bodies are starting to pile up again. Then again, that's nothing new for Chicago. Anyone associated with the Netflix </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">docuseries </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">is finding themselves tracked down by the serial killer. Cory and his sister Crystal are slowly getting on with their lives after losing their parents in a freak storm. Cory still has issues and blames himself, but thankfully he has Alice and Rex to keep him from losing himself. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The only thing that distracts them now is their jobs. Crystal has recently been minted as a detective and Cory is the one-man band who operates his own canine training academy, and now as a consultant to the Chicago P.D. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">But when the siblings start poking around the killer's business, the killer sets their sights on the pair and particularly on Cory and his dogs! Will they be able to escape the fury of the serial killer or become the newest victims?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">The author tends to alternate each chapter from a different character including the serial killer and yet another who I won't spoil. The killer's part of the story is creepy. Seriously. But necessary to understand why after 7 years, the DNK killer chooses to pick up his killing. Burton is the writer of another </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">K-9 series called <i>Mace Reid K-9 Mystery</i>. As with the previous series, Burton's dogs tend to steal the show, and thankfully Cory has both of them to keep him sane, and safe after he becomes a target of the killer. </span></span></div></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Years-Chicago-Thriller-Book-ebook/dp/B0CJ9JG2ZV/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-dead-years-jeffrey-b-burton/1144086916?ean=9781448312405" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-dead-years-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-22376616139754759912024-03-13T00:17:00.001-04:002024-03-13T00:17:31.485-04:00#Review - Still See You Everywhere by Lisa Gardner #Thriller #Suspense<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJT1_FVtD_NmUC2I7iFshrOqLKqDzpHmt4XRG5JHiQiXTRSb_VwiuvW4HKvCe5r2mIecbRWcV4SXzHQjPTLqSTew4un3sd8Vlon88lAESG4WJ2H-kiPMzlywEuBilTsH1t9D4cYeWKEKoH00u0la10FUISBOBCcz2yjTyFV298Ncep3ibIQwM2i4msYM8/s1517/9781538765067_0c9c6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1517" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJT1_FVtD_NmUC2I7iFshrOqLKqDzpHmt4XRG5JHiQiXTRSb_VwiuvW4HKvCe5r2mIecbRWcV4SXzHQjPTLqSTew4un3sd8Vlon88lAESG4WJ2H-kiPMzlywEuBilTsH1t9D4cYeWKEKoH00u0la10FUISBOBCcz2yjTyFV298Ncep3ibIQwM2i4msYM8/s320/9781538765067_0c9c6.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Frankie Elkin # 3</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 416 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 12, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Grand Central Publishing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Thriller / Suspense</span></b><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 20px;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">Frankie Elkin is an expert at finding the missing persons that the rest of the world has forgotten, but even she couldn’t have anticipated this latest request—to locate the long-lost sister of a female serial killer facing execution in three weeks’ time.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">She has called herself "death," but people called her the devil.</i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">The case was sensational. Kaylee Pierson had confessed from the very beginning, waived all appeals. Despite the media’s chronicling of her tragic circumstances—the childhood spent with a violent father—no one could find sympathy for “the Beautiful Butcher” who had led eighteen men home from bars before viciously slitting their throats.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">Now, with only twenty-one days left to live, Pierson has finally received a lead on the whereabouts of the sister who was kidnapped over a decade ago, and she needs Frankie’s help to find her. The Beautiful Butcher’s offer:</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">When was the last time your search ended with finding the living?</i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">Unable to resist the chance for a rescue, Frankie takes on Pierson’s request. Twelve years ago, five-year-old Leilani went missing in Hawaii. The main suspect? Pierson’s tech mogul ex-boyfriend, Sanders MacManus. Now, on a remote island in the middle of the Pacific—the site of MacManus’s latest vanity project—fresh evidence has appeared. In order to learn the truth and possibly save a young woman’s life, Frankie must go undercover at the isolated base camp. Her challenge: A dozen strangers. Countless dangerous secrets. Zero means of calling for help. And then the storm rolls in…</span><br /></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Still See You Everywhere</i> is the Third installment in author Lisa Gardner's <i>Frankie Elkin</i> series. This story is shades </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">of Agatha Christie’s </span><i style="background-color: white;">And then There Were None </i><span style="background-color: white;">and Michael Crichton’s </span><i style="background-color: white;">Jurassic Park,</i><span style="background-color: white;"> in its descriptions of a Pacific atolls' beautiful yet terrifying island ecosystem. Frankie Elkin is the female version of Jack Reacher, except without the military experience. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">She's a recovering alcoholic. She has more regrets than personal belongings. She has no mailing address, or property to her name, or a real phone number.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">She misses a detective in Boston. She mourns the loss of a man in Wyoming. All of her belongings can be stuffed into a suitcase, and she usually travels by bus. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">Yet, she has a curious ability to find missing people, especially the so called overlooked and marginalized. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">She's mostly successful, with 20 cases thus far, and that is why a lawyer (Victoria Twanow) for a death row inmate named Kaylee Pierson, aka The Beautiful Butcher, asks to meet with Frankie. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">It seems as though Kaylee with face her mortality in 3 weeks by lethal injection, but she has a request for Frankie. Find my young sister Leilani who she lost contact with. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Allegedly, a man named Sanders MacManus, a tech mogul kidnapped her sister 12 years ago and hasn't been seen since. Frankie is told that MacManus might be found in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, hours from Hawaii which means that she will have to go undercover and hope nothing goes wrong. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">So, Frankie soon finds herself being flown cross country to Los Angeles, then Hawaii, and lands on a place called Tetiaroa Atoll. Tetiaroa is filled with a variety of dangerous giant coconut crabs, ginormous wolf spiders, and maybe </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">drug-related criminal activity or human trafficking after a sub-washed up onshore. To complicate matters further, someone is actively sabotaging the resort's operations, putting staff members' lives at risk, and to make things even more dangerous </span><span style="background-color: white;">Frankie and the island's archaeologist find the dead body of a woman that went missing. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Frankie, who recently survived a brutal killer in Wyoming and likely has a version of Post Traumatic Stress, must think that bad luck follows her everywhere. Even though Frankie finds Leilani, she soon realizes that she has been used for something much bigger than she realized. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are wolves on Pomaikai heavily disguised in sheep’s clothing and we only see their fangs towards the end.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So, the reason for my rating is that nothing happens for a large chunk of this book. I also don't think this is the strongest book of the series. Frankie meets an interesting cast of characters and finds herself friends with Ann and Trudy who provide the meals while trying to avoid being eaten by crabs. The cast is as mysterious as the island they are expected to work on. Some are not who they say they are. There are those who think that Frankie is here for nefarious reasons. And, there is danger ahead on the horizon which will leave Frankie lucky to be alive. </span></span></div></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Still-Everywhere-Frankie-Elkin-Novel-ebook/dp/B0C6Q73P2D/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Audible-Still-See-You-Everywhere/dp/B0C6R68DS1/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Audible </a>| <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/still-see-you-everywhere-lisa-gardner/1143566297;jsessionid=9FF57143B539956EE90B5E26510C1E92.prodny_store01-atgap10?ean=9781538765067" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/still-see-you-everywhere-1" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-21316118248430168752024-03-11T00:00:00.001-04:002024-03-11T00:00:00.163-04:00#Review - A Grave Robbery by Deanna Raybourn #Historical #Mystery #Victorian<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXsBCqr1hbw6ipcSnxC0Kz86fAgcRBhYd1Sb_rK_mppO97CQZRZu3h4H3enp-WpePbyJWV8yX-Nkb9iV6-P46heTjwIs36FJ3QwEAbppfFEJ3cCvi8GvRN5XURFWDCitwGP8AsrCCIoE3Ya-Xjm_1JPs67WEVGPHnil_2qxk7Pll-jvT_RSEX42iXs6c/s1510/9780593545959_a689f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXsBCqr1hbw6ipcSnxC0Kz86fAgcRBhYd1Sb_rK_mppO97CQZRZu3h4H3enp-WpePbyJWV8yX-Nkb9iV6-P46heTjwIs36FJ3QwEAbppfFEJ3cCvi8GvRN5XURFWDCitwGP8AsrCCIoE3Ya-Xjm_1JPs67WEVGPHnil_2qxk7Pll-jvT_RSEX42iXs6c/s320/9780593545959_a689f.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><b>Series: </b></span><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Veronica Speedwell Mystery # 9</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 336 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 12, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Berkley</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Mystery & Detective / Historical / Victorian</span></b><div><span style="font-family: Open Sans;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Veronica and Stoker discover that not all fairy tales have happy endings, and some end in murder, in this latest historical mystery from <i>New York Times</i> bestselling and Edgar Award–nominated author Deanna Raybourn.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Lord Rosemorran has purchased a wax figure of a beautiful reclining woman and asks Stoker to incorporate a clockwork mechanism to give the Rosemorran Collection its own Sleeping Beauty in the style of Madame Tussaud’s. But when Stoker goes to cut the mannequin open to insert the mechanism, he makes a gruesome discovery: this is no wax figure. The mannequin is the beautifully preserved body of a young woman who was once very much alive. But who would do such a dreadful thing, and why? </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Sleuthing out the answer to this question sets Veronica and Stoker on their wildest adventure yet. From the underground laboratories of scientists experimenting with electricity to resurrect the dead in the vein of Frankenstein to the traveling show where Stoker once toured as an attraction, the gaslit atmosphere of London in October is the perfect setting for this investigation into the unknown. Through it all, the intrepid pair is always one step behind the latest villain—a man who has killed once and will stop at nothing to recover the body of the woman he loved. Will they unmask him in time to save his next victim? Or will they become the latest figures to be immortalized in his collection of horrors?</span></b><span style="font-family: Open Sans;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>A Grave Robbery</i>, by Deanna Raybourn, is the Ninth installment in the author's <i>Veronica Speedwell </i></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">H</span><span style="background-color: white;">istorical mystery series set in Victorian England, featuring intrepid adventuress and sleuth Veronica Speedwell, and her partner, Revelstoke Templeton-Vale. Veronica and Stoke have been cataloging Earl of Rosemorran's vast collection of artifacts while also putting their lives on the line to solve curious mysteries that have nearly taken their lives more than once.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">In this story, Lord Rosemorran has purchased a wax figure of a beautiful reclining woman called "Anatomical Venus" because of his daughter Lady Rose and asks Stoker to incorporate a clockwork mechanism to give the Rosemorran Collection its own Sleeping Beauty in the style of Madame Tussaud’s. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Stoker is enamored of the wax figure. He can't get over how much the mannequin resembles his beloved Veronica. However, that is not the only shock that Stoker experiences.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">When Stoker goes to cut the mannequin open to insert the mechanism, he makes a gruesome discovery: this is no wax figure. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">The mannequin is the beautifully preserved body of a young woman who was once very much alive. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">But who would do such a dreadful thing, and why? </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Sleuthing out the answer to this question sets Veronica and Stoker on their wildest adventure yet. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">How did she come to be in a glass coffin in a warehouse? But the truth is dangerous and many people wish it would stay buried in the past.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">From the underground laboratories of scientists experimenting with electricity to resurrect the dead in the vein of Frankenstein to the traveling show where Stoker once toured as an attraction, the gaslit atmosphere of London in October is the perfect setting for this investigation into the unknown. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Through it all, the intrepid pair is always one step behind the latest villain—someone who has killed once and will stop at nothing to recover the body at all costs. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Will they unmask the villain in time to save his next victim? Or will they become the latest figures to be immortalized in his collection of horrors? One of the historical aspects of this story is that there were anatomically correct figures that were made when real bodies were in short supply. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have read the Veronica Speedwell series from the very first book, <i>A Curious Beginning</i>. I have watched as Veronica and Stoker's relationship has grown to the point where they are inseparable.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Veronica is a cheeky character, and I love how she always seems to find trouble when she should be focusing on her lepidoptery job. Stoker is the more serious character and he has the scars to prove how much he has been through. Veronica and Stoker actually call in two people to help. J.J. Butterworth, a female reporter who knows that Veronica is carrying a heavy secret about her parentage, and Mornaday, who works for Sir Hugo Montgomery of Scotland Yard. I do recommend that the series is best enjoyed if you read the books in order. </span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Chapter</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">1</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">London, October 1889</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I draw the line at monkeys," Stoker said with considerable severity. "I will have no monkeys, Veronica."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Stoker was usually amenable to animals of every description, but the fact that the creature in question was currently sitting atop his head in a posture of nonchalance had doubtless contributed to his irritability.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The monkey in question was a golden lion tamarin-Leontopithecus rosalia, to be exact-also known as a golden marmoset, a description which is far more enticing than the creature itself. It was small, weighing no more than a pound and a half, and of modest proportions. Its quizzical expressions and the bright orange hair that circled its head in an exuberant impression of a lion's mane might have been charming, but the effect was spoilt by its naked face and downturned mouth. It was scarcely a year old, but it studied everything around it with the sour judgment of a wizened old person. Occasionally, when it looked at me, it tipped its head to the side and pulled its mouth further down, as if it could penetrate my secrets and found me wanting. It was unpleasant in the extreme, and the fact that it had taken to Stoker with an affection that bordered on the aggressive was a welcome development. It had been a gift to our aged friend, Lady Wellingtonia Beauclerk, from a Brazilian admirer, and in a moment of lunacy, I had agreed to care for it until Lady Wellie could make permanent arrangements. Unfortunately, there were few listings for callitrichines in the Situations Wanted advertisements in the London papers.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"It is hardly my fault the little beast prefers you," I said serenely. "Lady Wellie assured me it would be no trouble. A dish of tea, a spoonful of fruit, and a secure little nest is all it requires for its comfort, I am informed. And you must admit, it does not ask for much beyond that."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Much beyond?" Stoker's voice took on a distinctly strangled note. "Veronica, she drinks out of my teacup. She purloins food from my fork. And the least said about her unhygienic sleeping arrangements, the better."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He might have been grumbling, but I observed with a smothered smile that he had already assessed the monkey's gender and applied the correct pronouns.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"It is adorable that the little beast dotes on you so," I assured him. "You are a very large, strong man. Surely you do not begrudge food and drink for such a tiny creature."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I do not begrudge her the food and drink. I begrudge her the fact that she sleeps upon my pillow, and this morning she tried to join me in the bath." A delectable rosy blush tinted his cheeks.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"One can hardly blame her," I murmured, delighted to see the blush deepen to crimson. Stoker and I had, for some time, enjoyed a thoroughly satisfying and thrilling personal relationship, a meeting and mingling of minds and bodies that was as successful as our working partnership. We were both us natural scientists, Stoker with an affinity for large mammals and extensive taxidermic skills whilst I preferred lepidoptery. We were employed by the Earl of Rosemorran-great-nephew of the monkey-riddled Lady Wellie-with cataloguing, repairing, and arranging his vast store of artefacts, art, and other agreeable treasures for eventual display in the Rosemorran Collection, the museum he planned to open for the edification of the general public. We had initially anticipated that his lordship's possessions, including the hoards inherited from his ancestors, a wealthy and acquisitive group, could be organised and ready for installation within a few decades. But as his lordship was an incorrigible haunter of auction houses, showroom sales, and other people's attics, the amount we had to sort seemed to increase on a frankly alarming basis.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The benefit to this, of course, was that Stoker and I could rely upon our employment to extend into extreme old age. The drawback was a tendency towards melancholy when contemplating exactly how much remained to be done. It did not help matters that we were, all too frequently, called away from our endeavours by the crime of murder and occasional instances of grand larceny. More times than would seem probable, Stoker and I had been prevailed upon-or had chosen, if I am honest-to involve ourselves in the investigation of the most heinous crimes. We had thwarted villains, saved innocent men from the hangman's noose, and restored priceless jewels to their rightful owners. We had masqueraded as royalty, foiled ancient curses, and evaded certain death. Our escapades were as invigorating as they were unlikely, and I had adored each and every one.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">But I was conscious that morning, as a brisk October wind teased russet leaves from the branches of the trees, of a certain restlessness. We had, only the month previous, concluded a successful investigation that had imperilled both of our lives. Stoker had scarcely healed from the dislocation of his shoulder, and our dogs-five at last count-had just begun to accept that we were at last home and settled. Without the benefit of marriage, Stoker and I naturally occupied separate quarters at the earl's Marylebone estate of Bishop's Folly. A series of small, perfectly appointed pavilions had been built by one of the earl's ancestors-a Roman temple, a miniature pink Scottish castle, and so forth. I had claimed the French Gothic chapel for my own use whilst Stoker slept in the Chinese pagoda. Next to these charming buildings was a pond of significant size and depth to permit swimming, and bordering this pond was a shrubbery where the earl's Galápagos tortoise, Patricia, frequently upended herself, legs waving woefully in the air and giving lamentable cries until a rescue party could be formed to put her to rights.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Beyond the shrubbery was the Belvedere, a freestanding ballroom of sorts which held the bulk of the collected artefacts. It was workroom, office, laboratory, and club, furnished with such oddities as a decaying camel saddle, a collection of caryatids, the workings of a Sicilian puppet theatre, and an Egyptian sarcophagus which served as our sideboard. Busts of emperors jostled with mediaeval weapons, and paintings of dour Madonnas looked down upon Wardian cases filled with creatures of every description. Upstairs, the snuggery provided shelving for acres of books and periodicals along with Napoléon's campaign bed-a surprisingly comfortable spot to nap. A porcelain Swedish stove provided tea-making facilities and a handy cloisonné cupboard was always stuffed with tins of biscuits, gingerbread, and assorted sweets. There were cushions for the dogs, and an entire wall of cubbyholes crammed with papers, waxes, inks, brushes, pens, paints, glues, filaments, furs, wires, and every other supply we might require. The roof was sound, the walls thick, and his lordship's numerous-and frankly anarchic-progeny were strictly forbidden to enter without adult accompaniment.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It was, in short, the happiest place on earth, in my estimation, and I was never more contented than when engaged with a new batch of Lepidoptera. I had meant to spend the forenoon writing up the talk I had been invited to deliver to the Aurelian Society, but the morning's deliveries had distracted me. They included a pair of elegant cases of French design, each holding a pristine sample of the Madagascan moon moth. I had sat for several minutes, admiring the elegant sweep of their hindwings and the vividness of their eyespots before Stoker and his monkey interrupted me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I turned back to my magnifying glass and my enormous silk-spinning beauties. "I have every faith in your ability to cope with one of the smallest primates in existence," I assured him.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I have work," he muttered. It was with an heroic effort at restraint that I did not point out he was interrupting my own work. It has been my experience that the male of the species, though often thoroughly illogical, can-when encouraged to sit quietly and think hard-be guided into a position of sense. I applied myself to my moths whilst Stoker considered his options. He had just begun to feed the monkey bits of honeycomb from the paper twist in his pocket when a discreet cough sounded from the doorway.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I do hope I am not come at an inconvenient time?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked up at our employer with sincere pleasure. "Your lordship! It has been an age since you have visited the Belvedere," I said, laying down my magnifying glass. "We have made real progress since your last inspection."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I have no doubt," Lord Rosemorran said. He seemed a trifle uncomfortable, tugging at his collar. His fingers, as usual, were begrimed with ink and left a grubby mark upon the linen. It did not matter. His clothing already bore traces of encounters with his children. His garments were streaked with the acids, inks, and paints of their various activities. I was only glad to see no traces of Lady Rose's latest endeavours. Her attempts to dye her aunt's white Persian cat the same colour as a peony had resulted in the entire household's linen turning a virulent shade of pink. She was the youngest, and by far the most villainous of the earl's brood, and I made a point of avoiding her whenever possible. I do not care for children even when they are biddable, quiet, and clean, and Lady Rose was never any of those.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As if intuiting my thoughts, the child in question bounded in behind her father, her eyes dancing with an unholy light. "Have you asked him, Papa?" she demanded.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The earl shifted uneasily. "I was just coming to that, my dear."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She hopped from foot to foot. "Do it now, Papa. You must!" Her tone was imploring, and she gave him a look only an indulgent father would interpret as winsome.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What is it you wish, Lady Rose?" I asked.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Her expression turned baleful. "Nothing from you, Miss Speedwell. I need Stoker," she said. The very sound of his name was adoring on her lips. Like females of all ages and most species, Lady Rose harboured a tender spot for Stoker. Whether it was the courtly manners which had been bred into him by his viscountess mother or the juxtaposition of those manners with his staggering appearance-one need only say the words "Elizabethan buccaneer" to conjure tumbled witch-black locks, an occasional eyepatch, and a wealth of tattoos and golden earrings-most feminine creatures found themselves utterly beguiled by him.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Oh," Lady Rose breathed as she looked at Stoker properly. "You have a monkey on your head. Did you mean to?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Yes," he told her solemnly. "I hear it is quite the fashion this year. Even the queen has one-a chimpanzee, I am told. It sits on her head in place of a crown and sleeps in a golden bed in the palace."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Lady Rose grinned. "You are very silly," she informed him.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Stoker returned the smile and gently removed the monkey from its perch, depositing it into the marble embrace of a handy caryatid. "Now, what can I do for you, my lady?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Before Lady Rose could reply, there was a commotion at the door. Porters arrived bearing an enormous and obviously weighty crate. Lady Rose danced around it. "She's here, Papa! She's here!"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked in some alarm to his lordship. "She?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The earl hurried to explain as Stoker directed the porters where to place their burden. "It is a trifle complicated. Perhaps it is better to show you."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The porters eased the crate to the floor and left, their pockets weighted with the earl's generous gratuities as Stoker applied a prybar to the lid. It was the work of moments to have the thing opened, and as the wooden sides of the crate fell flat, we stared in frank astonishment.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Inside the crate was a long glass box, a crystal casket, and inside lay a waxwork figure on a satin pillow. It was a young woman with long dark hair, rippling unbound over her shoulders. She wore an old-fashioned dress of heavy red velvet edged in fine lace, four inches deep. The neckline was deep and square, revealing an unblemished décolletage the same pale hue as the graceful hands. They were not, as one might expect, folded at the breast in a posture of stiff repose. Instead, they rested at her thighs, palms gently curved, the fingers tapered and relaxed. Her face was singularly beautiful, each feature moulded with grace, from the arch of the dark brow to the delicate line of the jaw. The complexion was pale except for the flush across the cheekbones and rosy lips which were softly parted. The whole effect was one of a maiden captured in enchanted slumber, a fragment of a fairy tale translated from the page to our workroom.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"She is exquisite," Stoker said hoarsely. His gaze rested dreamily upon her face, and I suppressed a flicker of irritation. One cannot be envious of a waxwork, I reminded myself firmly. I turned to our employer. "Where did you find her?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"There is a warehouse in Shoreditch that currently holds a few items I haven't had the chance to transfer here," he said. I looked around at the already crowded Belvedere wondering precisely how much more his lordship intended to bring us. We could scarcely move about the place as it was. He must have seen something of my thoughts in my expression, for he hurried on. "Only a few items," he assured me. "Very small. You will hardly notice them when they arrive. But I happened to stop in to deposit a quite modest collection of-"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"My lord, you are not only keeping things in Shoreditch we knew nothing of, you are adding to them?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He had the grace to look abashed. "Well, one sees things and one simply cannot resist them." He spread his hands helplessly. "In this case, I had purchased a full set of German tilting armour-very fine, fourteenth-century-from an auction house quite near to the warehouse. It seemed easiest to take delivery there and leave the armour until we had cleared space here in the Belvedere. Whilst I was there, I happened to notice the adjoining warehouse was clearing out items that had been left and never claimed." He nodded towards the figure in the glass casket. "When I heard there was a waxwork for sale, it seemed the happiest of coincidences. Rose had asked for one for her birthday."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Had you?" I asked his daughter.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She was hopping from one foot to the other, fairly vibrating with excitement. "Oh, yes. Sidonie takes me sometimes to Madame Tussaud's." Their mother long dead, the earl's children were left frequently in the care of his sister. Since governesses left the house as frequently as the soiled laundry, the lady's maid, Sidonie, was occasionally pressed into service to lend a hand. I was not surprised that her notion of an appropriate outing for Lady Rose was a trip to the waxworks. The excursion was cheap and thrilling and conveniently located a quick walk away in Baker Street. "I am particularly fond of the Hall of Horrors," Lady Rose went on. "But Sidonie thinks I am too young to see them, so I made a point of escaping her to see the murderers. She found me in front of Burke and Hare," she said, pulling a face. "They robbed graves, you know. A nasty thing to do. So then we went to see something nicer and she showed me the Sleeping Beauty."</span></div>
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<br /></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-43314930731791406162024-03-08T00:00:00.003-05:002024-03-08T08:00:54.669-05:00#Review - Murder Road by Simone St. James #Thrillers #Suspense<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6Rwc7eAlqOM6DSP3GeLTFM4modR9ljEyYo-ji8iDOkSmnWX5rwg8dRHUvQAHiE7RRO6sdx-M4697TpZWwN4CDsdRldRBNVJFN5SgRR9Dn6pJSRXWabM4nXuA17OG8BDcWkr_M3FDlqg_HcX_qF_48aRuEg_aJWp6HbJ7z_f0wDr1K3ym2q9pfE-Rxzk/s1510/9780593200384_f79f4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO6Rwc7eAlqOM6DSP3GeLTFM4modR9ljEyYo-ji8iDOkSmnWX5rwg8dRHUvQAHiE7RRO6sdx-M4697TpZWwN4CDsdRldRBNVJFN5SgRR9Dn6pJSRXWabM4nXuA17OG8BDcWkr_M3FDlqg_HcX_qF_48aRuEg_aJWp6HbJ7z_f0wDr1K3ym2q9pfE-Rxzk/s320/9780593200384_f79f4.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Standalone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 352 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 5, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Berkley</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Thrillers / Suspense</span></b><div><b><br /></b><div><b><i style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">July 1995.</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"> April and Eddie have taken a wrong turn. They’re looking for the small resort town where they plan to spend their honeymoon. When they spot what appears to a lone hitchhiker along the deserted road, they stop to help. But not long after the hitchiker gets into their car, they see the blood seeping from her jacket and a truck barreling down Atticus Line after them.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">When the hitchhiker dies at the local hospital, April and Eddie find themselves in the crosshairs of the Coldlake Falls police. Unexplained murders have been happening along Atticus Line for years and the cops finally have two witnesses who easily become their only suspects. As April and Eddie start to dig into the history of the town and that horrible stretch of road to clear their names, they soon learn that there is something supernatural at work, something that could not only tear the town and its dark secrets apart, but take April and Eddie down with it all.</span><br /></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Simone St. James's <i>Murder Road</i> is the story of a<span style="background-color: white;"> young couple who finds themselves haunted by a string of gruesome murders committed along an old deserted road. The story is set in 1995 Michigan. Two days ago, April Delray and Eddie Carter were married. On the way to a resort </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">on the shore of Lake Michigan where they hoped to spend their honeymoon, t</span><span style="background-color: white;">hey find themselves lost in Coldlake Falls after taking a wrong turn onto Atticus Lane. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">They soon become suspects in a murder investigation after they help a hitchhiker badly hurt to the local hospital. </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Detective Quentin seems to have his own agenda, and what better way to solve a decades-old murder than by arresting a couple who has their own secrets. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Atticus Lane, where April and Eddie discovered the hitchhiker either by chance or by accident, has been named Murder Road because there have been 5 other murders of hitchhikers on this road going back to 1976. The first victim has never been identified, but she has been labeled as the Lost Girl.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Both April and Eddie have their own secrets. April isn't her real name, and it appears that she has been keeping a low profile hoping not to attract any attention. She has a job serving food at a bowling alley and met Eddie. Meanwhile, Eddie, who served in the Gulf War, sometimes sees things. And in this case, Eddie may have seen the Lost Girl in the truck that chased them to the hospital. While ducking and weaving away from scrutiny, April and Eddie could have picked up and run away, but they choose to stay and fight for their innocence. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Fortunately for the couple, they encounter several individuals who help them along the way starting with Rose who runs her own Bed & Breakfast. Then there are the sisters </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Beatrice and Gracie Snell, two resourceful teens who are better sleuths than the detectives in charge. What is even stranger, could it be that Lost Girl intentionally lured the couple here? And if so, for what reason? </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The author adds enough realistic detail to place you in that decade without bombarding you with so much 90’s trivia that it distracts from the story. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Murder Road, like the author's previous installments, has supernatural horror elements, and a thriller twist, but at the heart of the story is a mystery.</span></span></span></div>
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<div style="border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; height: 320px; line-height: 26px; overflow: auto; width: 500px;">
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Chapter One</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">That July night seemed full of possibility, with the empty highway stretching out before us. I had just woken up from a nap in the passenger seat, my head foggy as I remembered where we were. I took off my flip-flops and pulled my bare legs up, crossing them and running my hands through my hair. The digital clock on the dash said it was two in the morning, and the road didn't look like the same road we'd been on when I fell asleep. I wondered where we were going. There was no way I would fall asleep again.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"We're lost," I said.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Eddie glanced over at me from the driver's seat. "I don't think so. We took a wrong exit, that's all. I'll get us back on the interstate."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked out the window at the narrow country road, lined with dark trees, and thought we were definitely lost-but the truth was, I didn't care. I was riding at night in Eddie Carter's Pontiac, which had a front seat like a sofa. It was July of 1995 and I was twenty-six years old. I was here because Eddie and I were on our honeymoon. We had been married just over twenty-four hours.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">We were headed for a motel that was a cluster of cabins on the shore of Lake Michigan. We'd budgeted enough money to stay exactly five nights. We planned to swim, play Scrabble, barbecue burger patties on the rusty charcoal grill, drink half-warm beer from a cooler, swim some more, then go to bed.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Repeat five times, and then we'd make our way home to the small apartment we rented together in Ann Arbor, and Eddie would go back to work fixing cars and I'd go to my job at the bowling alley. We'd both go to work every day, then we'd come home and have dinner that was probably one of six kinds of sandwich, and then we'd go to bed. Repeat every day, forever.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I glanced over at Eddie. He was frowning, concentrating on the road. His brown hair had grown out since he left the army, though he still kept it short. He was wearing a light gray T-shirt and worn jeans. He wasn't a huge man, but he was sleekly muscled, and his biceps were hard under the sleeves of his T-shirt, his physical presence at odds with his quiet, studious expression. At twenty-seven he was a year older than me, though he seemed much more mature. As I looked at those biceps, it hit me yet again that I had married a man instead of a boy.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Married. I had to toss the phrases around in my head, trying to get used to them. I married him. We got married. Eddie married me. I am his wife. We are a married couple.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The words still felt strange.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Do you want me to pull the map from the glove box?" I asked him.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I think I know where we are," Eddie said. "Roughly, at least. Something about this is familiar. I think we're heading south. There should be a turnoff to get back on the interstate."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Are you tired?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The question seemed to amuse him. "No."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Right. He'd slept in all kinds of weird places, at weird times, while he was overseas. I didn't know the details of what he'd done in Iraq-he didn't talk about it much. But I'd seen Eddie say he was going to sleep for exactly one hour, and then do it, as if his brain had a timer. It was one of his mysteries.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I leaned forward and turned on the radio, twisting the dial and watching the needle move along the numbers. Most of the stations around here were off the air at this time of night, and much of the dial was static. I finally found some country music that wavered in and out of existence, like a ghost passing from room to room. "Haunted cowboys," I said as a man's voice warbled patchily into the silence of the car. "Dead a hundred years, and still trying to drink whiskey and find a woman."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Eddie smiled. He was the only person I'd ever met who liked my jokes.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Don't worry, April," he said, which was a little strange, because I wasn't worried. Or was I?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked out the window again. It was pitch-dark out there, not a streetlight or lit window in sight. A three-quarter moon hung low and crisp in the sky. It was the kind of night that wasn't suffocatingly hot, but if you slept with the window open, you'd wake up with clammy skin and damp, chilled sheets. You'd stay tucked in bed until sunrise, when it started to get hot again.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"There's no one out there," I said. "It's like we launched into space."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Not true." Eddie pointed. "There's someone right there."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Sure enough, through the trees a light glowed. Low at first, then brighter, lighting in a smooth flow. It wasn't the flip of a switch or a flashlight. It took me a moment to place it, but it seemed more like someone turning up a kerosene lamp, making the flame go higher.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Was it inside a house? Or someone outside in the trees? I couldn't tell. I watched the light as we passed it, turning as it shrank behind us. I should have felt comforted, but I wasn't.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What was that?" I asked as the country music on the radio changed tunes, then wafted out of range again.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Beats me," Eddie said. "Look, we'll give it another ten minutes. If we don't see a sign, we'll-Oh, Jesus."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I turned back to face front, and I saw what he saw. In the beam of the headlights was a man at the side of the road. A teenager, maybe. He wore a baggy jacket and was walking slowly, his head down. As our headlights hit his back, he didn't turn.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Eddie slowed the car so we didn't pass him, but kept him in our headlight beams. "Drunk, do you think?" he asked me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I watched the figure take another slow, careful step. He still didn't turn our way, though we must have been the only car to come down this road for a long time. On second look he was small for a man, and I noticed jeans that flared at the bottom.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I think that's a woman," I said.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Could be." Eddie kept the car at a crawl, inching behind her. There was something strange about the way she didn't turn, but there was also something pathetic about it. "She could still be drunk," Eddie said.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Maybe," I said.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"She might need help. Should we stop?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I thought about the light we'd passed behind us, and something cold touched my spine. "I think she needs help."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"All right. Roll down your window."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I cranked the window down as Eddie pulled up beside the figure. He leaned across me as the car slowly rolled, his voice sounding friendly and authoritative. "Hi there. Do you need help?" he called out my window.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">For the first time the figure paused and lifted her head. It was a woman with brown hair cut short, exposing her ears and the back of her neck while bangs fell over one eye. Her skin was pale, and I could see a faint spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She stopped walking and turned our way, squaring her shoulders as if she'd just noticed us. She didn't speak.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Do you need some help?" Eddie asked again. "We can drop you somewhere."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The woman looked at me. I gave her a smile and a wave. I hoped it made her feel better. A lot of people thought I was pretty-they used the word pretty, not beautiful. I was high school yearbook kind of pretty, not the kind of beautiful that made men crazy. Still, before Eddie I'd been asked out all the time. There's no accounting for taste.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"You can get in," I told the woman. Or girl? It was hard to tell in the dark. "We're nice people, I promise."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The girl had fixed her gaze on me, as if Eddie wasn't there. "I shouldn't," she said. Her voice was soft and low, like she was making an effort.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Of course she was wary. It was the middle of the night. The girl wove in place, and I put my hand on my car door handle, thinking I might get out and help her. Eddie put his hand on my knee, halting me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked at him. He shook his head.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Staying where I was, I turned back to the girl. "We're heading for the Five Pines Resort," I said, giving the name of the cheap motel Eddie and I were going to. "We took a wrong turn off Interstate 75. I'm April and this is Eddie. Eddie Carter. We're married. Just married."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Whether the girl took all of this in or not was anyone's guess. She was still looking at me-as if she'd seen me before, or maybe as if she was memorizing me for later. She was wearing a jacket that was too big for her and fell past her hips, the sleeves too long. It might have been Army green. She pulled it tighter around her and looked down the road behind us.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I followed her gaze, leaning my head out of my window. There was no one else on the road, but I thought I heard a soft sound. Leaves shuffling along the ground. The air was oddly cold. I blinked into the darkness, trying to match a movement to the sound. There were leaves stirring, lifting as if in a breath of wind. And yet there was no wind that I could feel.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Are you okay?" Eddie asked the girl as I stared at the leaves. "Are you sick?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The girl kept her gaze fixed on the road. Maybe she was watching the leaves; I couldn't tell. Her voice sounded like it was coming from the other end of a telephone line. "No, I'm not sick."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The leaves settled, and I turned back to her. "What's your name?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The girl paused again. She still seemed reluctant, but it would be wrong to just drive away and leave her. She was all alone and it was the middle of the night. Where was she going?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I thought I heard the shuffle of leaves again, faint on the road behind us. I was suddenly glad I hadn't gotten out of the car. Stranded girl or not, I felt the urge to leave, to drive as fast as possible. I wanted to get out of here.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The girl's fingers curled into the fabric of her coat, clutching it tighter. She bit her bottom lip briefly, still looking down the road, and then she seemed to come to a decision. "I'll take a ride. Thank you."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She opened the door to the back seat and got in. She moved slowly, like an old lady, and I wondered if she was hurt. She didn't have a bag or even a purse. She leaned into the back seat and briefly closed her eyes, as if she'd been on her feet forever.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What's your name?" I asked her again as Eddie pulled off the shoulder and onto the road again.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Rhonda Jean."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"That's a nice name. Where are you going?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Rhonda Jean seemed to pause, as if thinking about this or changing her first answer. "Coldlake Falls." She closed her eyes again, resting her head against the back of the seat. "It's a few miles ahead."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I've heard of that place," Eddie said. "I have no idea where, though."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I opened the glove box and pulled out the map, folding and refolding the complicated squares and squinting at it in the darkness. "Is it on the way to the Five Pines Resort?" I asked Eddie.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"No idea, but I'm sure there will be someone there to ask for directions."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Depends how big a town it is," I said to Eddie, still turning the map in my hands. "It's late. Maybe nothing's open. If we get lucky, we'll find a gas station."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I don't think it's that small," Eddie said. "There has to be something."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"There's a hospital there," Rhonda Jean said.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Eddie and I both went silent. I felt a trickle of alarm move up my spine.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked at the girl in the back seat. She was motionless, her eyes still closed. Her hands clutched her jacket shut.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Did someone hurt you?" I asked her, my voice low.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Rhonda Jean winced at that, though she didn't open her eyes. "I'm sorry."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">In the driver's seat, Eddie's voice was as low and calm as my own. "Do you need a doctor, Rhonda Jean?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I don't know." Rhonda Jean's eyes blinked open, and for a second they were unfocused. "I don't think a doctor will help."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I let the map slide from my hands, down to my feet. I kept my gaze on the girl in the back seat. Everything became clear and still in my head. I knew now that this was why she had looked at me at first like she recognized me. It was because she did. We'd never seen each other before, but we recognized each other. Women like us recognized each other all the time.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Two things happened at once. When I thought about it later, I was sure about it. The timing was very clear. Both things happened at the same time, like a switch had been flipped in my life, changing it forever.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The first thing was that I reached into the back seat and touched the edge of Rhonda Jean's jacket. I gently pulled it open. It was unfastened, only wrapped around her like a robe, and her grip was limp now and unresisting.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Inside the jacket, on the front of her shirt, I saw the black wetness of blood.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">At the same time, a pair of headlights appeared out the back window, a car on the road a mile behind us, light pinpoints in the dark.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked from the back window to Rhonda Jean's face. Her eyes were open, focused now, and she was staring at me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I'm sorry," she said again. "He's coming."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Chapter Two</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">For a second, I just looked at Rhonda Jean's pale face, seeing the pain and exhaustion etched there. Maybe I should have felt surprised. I didn't know. I only knew that I bypassed surprise and felt things I didn't know existed click in my brain at those words.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I'm sorry.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He's coming.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"April?" This was Eddie in the driver's seat. His voice sounded stern, army stern. He knew something was wrong.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Rhonda Jean is injured," I told him, still turned around in my seat and looking at the girl. "Really bad. Under her coat. She's bleeding everywhere."</span></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-45537085463850185062024-03-07T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-07T00:00:00.134-05:00#Review - Three Kinds of Lucky by Kim Harrison #Fantasy #Paranormal<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9zoLZZ0AxpckHeA0zmCgM8ad5OnhjSAxHv3ehSOG1dExlrh6vc24i1xxvrfxRQ54NrlFEenEN5POkEJM7X6INUwVhxeLsH2Uh3i2zOlr19e1pLNcpgFYVfOr2Yvtoo4Bh7wmCO-IMO_rw4FOB-0R0y_ntkZcGZFoVabH0mDiGE1CkaY4DwPxg3bvDkk/s1512/9780593437476_9fe46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA9zoLZZ0AxpckHeA0zmCgM8ad5OnhjSAxHv3ehSOG1dExlrh6vc24i1xxvrfxRQ54NrlFEenEN5POkEJM7X6INUwVhxeLsH2Uh3i2zOlr19e1pLNcpgFYVfOr2Yvtoo4Bh7wmCO-IMO_rw4FOB-0R0y_ntkZcGZFoVabH0mDiGE1CkaY4DwPxg3bvDkk/s320/9780593437476_9fe46.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The Shadow Age # 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 464 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 5, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Ace</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Urban Fantasy</span></b><div><b><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans";"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Luck is its own kind of magic, in this first book in an electrifying new contemporary fantasy series from the author of the #1 <i>New York Times</i> bestselling Hollows novels.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Petra Grady has known since adolescence that she has no talent for magic—and that’s never going to change. But as a sweeper first-class, she’s parlayed her rare ability to handle dross—the damaging, magical waste generated by her more talented kin’s spellwork—into a decent life working at the mages’ university.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Except Grady’s relatively predictable life is about to be upended. When the oblivious, sexy, and oh-so-out-of-reach Benedict Strom needs someone with her abilities for a research project studying dross and how to render it harmless, she’s stuck working on his team—whether she wants to or not.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Only Benedict doesn’t understand the characteristics of dross like Grady does. After an unthinkable accident, she and Benedict are forced to go on the run to seek out the one person who might be able to help: an outcast exiled ten years ago for the crime of using dross to cast spells. Now Grady must decide whether to stick with the magical status quo or embrace her own hidden talents . . . and risk shattering their entire world.</span></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Open Sans;"><b><br /></b></span><div>
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Three Kinds of Lucy</i>, by Kim Harrison, is the first installment in the author's <i>The Shadow Age</i> series. The story is told in the first-person narration by Petra Grady. The story is set in a place called the City of St. Unoc where St. Unoc University has the highest percentage of magic users anywhere. 10-years ago, Petra Grady's father was killed in what's being called the Shadow Break of 2014. Petra is a sweeper first-class whose job it is to be the frontline defense against deadly shadows created by mages. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In this world, there are sweepers, spinners, and weavers who apparently are all but extinct. Sweepers aren't exactly famous, but they are necessary. <span style="background-color: white;">Petra has known since adolescence that she has no talent for magic—and that’s never going to change. Or will it? But as a sweeper first-class, she’s parlayed her rare ability to handle dross—the damaging, magical waste generated by her more talented kin’s spellwork—into a decent life working at the mages’ university. She's also known to do things that make others question whether she really does have magical abilities that she's just ignored.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Petra's relatively predictable life is about to be upended. When Benedict Strom needs someone with her abilities for a research project studying dross and how to render it harmless, she’s stuck working on his team—whether she wants to or not. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Only Benedict doesn’t understand the characteristics of dross like Grady does. After an unthinkable accident hours after she tender's her resignation, she and Benedict are forced to go on the run to seek out the one person who might be able to help: an outcast named Herm Ivaros who was exiled ten years ago for the crime of using dross to cast spells. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Now Grady must decide whether to stick with the magical status quo or embrace her own hidden talents . . . and risk shattering their entire world. She quickly ends in a battle between her own roommate who is working with the separatists, as well as her neighbor who apparently belongs to the militia. One wants to destroy spinners and sweepers, and the other believes that Petra is someone who may have the answers to controlling the rampaging shadows. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">*Thoughts* Like the author's <i>Hollows </i>series, this story takes place in an alternative city where something major happened to change the world. What makes Petra different from Rachel, is that Petra can see the magical waste that is left behind by mages like Rachel who seemingly don't care about the waste they leave behind. Part of this book was a see-saw ride between Petra being caught between two factions, and the fact that Petra learns more about her own father, and her own abilities than she has in the 10 years he's been gone. <span style="color: #1e1915;">In many ways, this story is unique in its magical world, and its characters, so, I do intend to continue if I am able. </span></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">1</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I leaned into the turn, bike tires humming until the pavement roughened and my smooth ride dissolved into a rumble, unheard but felt as Nine Inch Nails blared in my earbuds. The mirror attached to the handlebar was less than helpful with the vibrations, but traffic had stopped and I slowed, feeling the afternoon heat from the street as I scanned the commuter cars, their windows up and air-conditioning on. My spandex kit emblazoned with a nonexistent bike-messenger service gave me some slack, but I'd had enough near misses with doors to be wary.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">That's why the helmet and skidproof gloves. Both had the sweepers' triangle logo on them, as did my backpack and water bottle strapped to the bike frame. So did the blueprint tube over my shoulder, the metal tube heavily stickered with grunge and alternative rock bands.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Reason one for a bike, I thought as I rolled past the cars. Here outside the university campus, the low, squat buildings did little to hide the late sun, and I squinted as I found the intersection. The light changed before I got there, and after making eye contact with the driver on my left, I jammed on the pedals in time with the hard beat in my ears to cross the street.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I kept up with traffic, muscles moving smoothly as I watched the street and sidewalk in a familiar pattern of defense. My gaze, though, kept returning to a glinting shimmer half a block up. It looked like a heat mirage and I stifled a call of warning when a woman stepped right into the hazy glow and picked it up like dog doo. Immediately she tripped on the sidewalk-and the distortion of dross clinging to her heel was gone, used up in a flash of bad luck.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Two doors away, a more certain gleam lurked under a painter's scaffold. The shimmer was unseen by nearly the entire world's population, oblivious as they walked through it to snag wisps of dross and carry them over the entire city. A tiny half percent had some sense that it was there, and an even smaller fraction, like me, could actually do something about it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The city of St. Unoc just east of Tucson had one of the highest percentages of magic users this side of the Mississippi, bringing the usual ratio of one in a thousand to more like eight out of ten. The ratio at our closed campus, named after the small city, was even higher. But that was what made St. Unoc University special-and my job essential to keeping the silence of our existence.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I signaled a lane shift, checking behind me before sliding over to give the hazy glimmer a wide berth. Dross never broke on me, but it might pop my tire if I drove through it. No reason to tempt fate, I thought, knowing someone would be along to sweep it up. It was a rather large chunk of dross, though. A mage was being careless with his or her magic.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Big surprise, I thought as I bunny-hopped up onto the curb, slowing to a crawl as I swung a leg over the saddle and rode on one pedal to the bike rack before a three-story office building. Behind me in the street, a horn blared followed by a crunch of fender. I turned, knowing the accident would be right where that heat-distortion-like haze was.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Or had been, I thought as the drivers in ties and power dresses lurched out of their vehicles, tired and surly from the heat. Maybe I should have tried to gather it up, but I had a pickup, and even the best of us wouldn't sweep dross during rush hour. Besides, the haze of latent energy was gone, used up in the crash. Any left was probably stuck under one of the cars, where it would stay, slowly breaking down as snapped belts and leaking hoses: a long-running total.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The bike rack by the door was a small pocket of stillness between the ornamental cacti and the overgrown lavender, and I jerked one earbud out, letting it hang as I took off my helmet and fluffed my bangs to ease my helmet-head coif. Sometimes it sucked to be able to see the origins of the bad luck that was so common that it was accepted as the natural order of things and not someone else's magical waste.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Reason two for a bike," I whispered, my blueprint tube and backpack over my shoulder as I timed the revolving door and went inside. "Door-side parking is always available."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I pulled my other earbud out as the cool of the building hit me. There was a definite flow of people leaving, and I got only a cursory check at the front desk as I signed in and opened my bag for inspection. The elevator was empty, and Reznor fought with the Carpenters on the way to the top floor.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The air felt different when I got out. Clearly I was among the point-five percent. Magic. I could smell it more than the unspent jet fuel from the nearby air base: the tang at the back of my throat and a hint of ozone pricking my nose.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Which isn't always a good thing, I thought when the floor receptionist recognized the sweeper insignia on my kit and pointed me down a hall even as she reached for a phone to alert the building manager. Most mages could see the waste they generated when doing magic: a flicker of distortion, a hazy glow near the eye's blind spot. The two required semesters of dross manipulation and capture were usually enough to give magic users the skills to direct dross into traps without touching it, but only Spinners and sweepers had the ability to physically touch dross without it breaking on them in a wash of bad luck.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Which was how I landed my sweeper job eight years ago at the soul-crushing age of eighteen. Eighteen and pigeonholed into a low-status but surprisingly high-demand job, for even though I couldn't do magic, my dross-handling skills made me not only an essential worker but also a frontline defense against deadly shadow.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Most people, though, only saw a trashman, and as I strode down the hall I heard a whispered "That's Petra Grady? She looks like a bum."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My stilted smile faltered. Bum? Sure, I looked like a messenger, but they'd called me because they couldn't handle it. Besides, if I had shown up wearing velour robes and carrying three yard-long engraved sticks, I'd end up in an insane asylum.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Petra Grady? Ms. Grady?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The man's voice pulled me to a stop and I turned on my heel. A heavy man in a suit a half size too small for him was making his arm-swinging way to me. "Guilty as accused," I said, hating my high voice, but five-foot-four, small, athletic frames seldom make for a low, sexy lilt.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Thank you for coming on such short notice." The man, clearly the building's manager, strode forward, pulling me into his wake as we continued down the corridor. It went without saying that he was a mage. "Um, I'm Mark," he added. "The psi manager."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Which meant he was the one where the buck stopped when there was a dross issue. He'd whispered the last, but that he said it meant the entire floor was probably mages. Psi manager wouldn't be on his pay stub, but I'd agree he was a manager of some sort as I took in his lunch-spotted tie, ample middle, and scuffed brown shoes. He looked like a mundane, but I was willing to bet that the ornate class ring pinching his plump finger was actually his lodestone.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The piece of glass at the center had been utterly unremarkable until he had bonded to it, allowing him to use and store the light energy that touched it-or at least half of the light energy. Mages used the wave half; Spinners used the particle. What was left after separating light into its two parts was discarded as dross. That was where I came in; for though I couldn't do magic, I could touch the waste they made with impunity.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Still, seeing the stone on his finger, a long-dead envy flickered and went out.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I, ah, found out about the spill this morning," Mark added, clearly nervous. "But I think it's been free-roaming for two days." He pointed to the left and we went deeper into the building.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"That's two days too long," I said, and he shrugged. You leave dross alone and it gets bigger, attracting other dross until its natural dissociation isn't spilled coffee and crashed computers but six-car pileups and elevators dropping to basement floors.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"And a right here," he said as we turned into a short hall ending in double fire doors. "It's in a back office. Aren't you supposed to have a spotter?" he added as he ran his badge at the reader. The speaker beeped, but the door didn't move. Flushing, Mark tried again.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"My assistant is graduating this week," I said as he tried a third time-and got the same result. St. Unoc's university made a practice of pairing promising new students with experienced sweepers for a yearlong work-study/assessment program. I, though, had been working with the same mage for the last two years as she gathered data for her thesis on dross abnormalities. But Ashley's thesis was written and she'd be gone next week. I was going to miss her. I hadn't thought I'd like a housemate when she first proposed sharing rent, but Ashley had been surprisingly accommodating. For a mage.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"It does this all the time," Mark said, nervous as he ran his card again, and finally the lock disengaged. "It's not the escaped dross."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Sure," I said, preferring to reserve judgment.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Mark shoved through the doors and held them for me. I followed, soaking in the feel of the large, close-ceilinged, open-concept room, with its low partitions and full-spectrum lights. It was after hours and the desks were empty. Hazy dross drifts lingered like dust bunnies under chairs and in the corners, evidence of their hidden magic: covert coffee-reheats, avoid-the-boss glamours, forget charms to steal from the fridge and hide illicit computer use. It was small stuff that when left to its own devices did little more than cause a paper cut or spilled coffee . . . a burrito explosion in the microwave at the worst.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As expected, the floor's ambient trap was moderately full, the tripod-like arrangement of sticks conveniently disguised as a water-cooler stand. As I watched, a drift of dross slipped like a living sunbeam under an office door at the back of the room. Goose bumps prickled over me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Something drew it in there.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Tyler?" Mark called as I stifled a shudder. "The sweeper is here."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Oh, thank God." A middle-aged man popped up from behind a distant desk. He ran a hand through his thinning hair before dropping it to fix his rectangle glasses more firmly atop his narrow nose. He, too, had a thick class ring to hold his lodestone. His, though, had been multifaceted to mimic a diamond. "It's in my office," he said as he came forward, black shoes scuffing. A white lab coat added to his professional look, and I wasn't surprised when he angled to the door that the dross had vanished under. Someone had taped a Do Not Enter sign to it, and I rubbed the goose bumps out.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"How confident are you that it's still in there?" I asked as I unslung my backpack and blueprint tube. Despite the low ambient dross levels out here, the security door had stuck, and there were signs of accidents: a broken carafe in the trash, a busted chair upside down on a desk. Someone had thrown out a keyboard.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Pretty sure," Dr. Tyler said, his wince convincing me otherwise. "The only other exit is through the building's servers. I, ah, don't know why I couldn't catch it," he added as he touched the wand in his breast pocket. The stick was disguised as a stylus, unnoticed among the pens, highlighters, and laser pointers. The mild attractant it contained was a convenient way to collect dross in mixed company or if the mage didn't know how to use an attraction spell. I had one myself because even though I could touch dross with no trouble, the initial jolt of connection had always been uncomfortable.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"The longer it's free-roaming, the harder it is," I said, but he knew that. His first mistake was letting it get away. His second was going home over the weekend and leaving it for Monday. Which would make it three days free-roaming, not two. I stifled a smirk as I took my phone from my pocket and brought up an e-invoice. Hazard pay. "Mark, I'm glad you're here. If you'd authorize this, please?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Mark took the offered phone, sighing. "I was hoping this might be on our loom contract."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I smiled as my phone dinged. "Picking up a three-day spill is not on your agreement."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Three days?" Mark looked at Dr. Tyler, who had the decency to flush. "You told me it was two."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Or I could put you on the schedule," I said lightly. "That would take about thirty percent off. I could probably have someone out here by Wednesday."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I can't go back in there," Dr. Tyler said, and Mark sourly put his thumb to my phone.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"That bad, eh?" I tucked my phone away and pulled the Do Not Enter sign from the door, stifling a shudder at the sensation of pinpricks tripping down my spine. There was a hell of a lot of dross behind it. I could feel it. "What are you doing to make such a large dross deposit?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Mark shifted from foot to foot. "Dr. Tyler uses a class-three attraction spell to clean the building servers of dust and building dander to help prevent server crashes. He does the charm in his office. It's quiet, and there are three gated doors between it and any, uh, mundane."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A class-three gravity manipulation to limit dust? Telekinesis at its finest. Most mages who specialized in attraction spells quit at being able to roll a pencil from under their chair or slam a fly against a window. Making a room-wide psi field to hold that much magic meant Dr. Tyler was good. Really good. "And the dross got away . . . how?" I asked.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Tyler sat back against the nearest desk, arms over his chest and clearly not liking that I was insinuating he didn't pick up after himself. "I had it bottled. The seal broke," he said tightly.</span></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-20843371087587013032024-03-05T00:15:00.002-05:002024-03-05T00:15:58.235-05:00#Review - Listen for the Lie by Amy Tintera #Mystery #Thriller<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBitvRiuyJqq9cXX2cwZeb6GUAKHf_G5YrUMRI3gj4-1vV6Rhm6tyZgWZKHZPutYfkODYA8R8yFPDDeK2qjb9EPr8H_Khs-CbKTzaIuyWoIKyCDpCZMylOyPqO1XLgPV8JQdfK16CDYuu9W-Q0De-lUlacopk8hxXb8jaObgezGIuaOncQHukkkjk3sQ/s1510/9781250880314_53505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBitvRiuyJqq9cXX2cwZeb6GUAKHf_G5YrUMRI3gj4-1vV6Rhm6tyZgWZKHZPutYfkODYA8R8yFPDDeK2qjb9EPr8H_Khs-CbKTzaIuyWoIKyCDpCZMylOyPqO1XLgPV8JQdfK16CDYuu9W-Q0De-lUlacopk8hxXb8jaObgezGIuaOncQHukkkjk3sQ/s320/9781250880314_53505.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Standalone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 352 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 5, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Celadon Books</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Mystery / Thriller</span></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">What if you thought you murdered your best friend? And if everyone else thought so too? </b><b style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">And what if the truth doesn't matter?</b><b style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><br /></b><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>After Lucy is found wandering the streets, covered in her best friend Savvy’s blood, everyone thinks she is a murderer. Lucy and Savvy were the golden girls of their small Texas town: pretty, smart, and enviable. Lucy married a dream guy with a big ring and an even bigger new home. Savvy was the social butterfly loved by all, and if you believe the rumors, especially popular with the men in town. It’s been years since that horrible night, a night Lucy can’t remember anything about, and she has since moved to LA and started a new life.<br /><br />But now the phenomenally huge hit true crime podcast "Listen for the Lie," and its too-good looking host Ben Owens, have decided to investigate Savvy’s murder for the show’s second season. Lucy is forced to return to the place she vowed never to set foot in again to solve her friend’s murder, even if she is the one that did it.<br /><br />The truth is out there, if we just listen.</b></p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"The truth doesn’t matter."</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Amy Tintera's <i>Listen for the Lie</i> is a thriller mystery with a plethora of twists, dark humor, and surprises as one woman travels back to her hometown of </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Plumpton, Texas</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> to face the hatred of being thought of as the woman who killed her best friend 5 years ago. As the story opens, Lucy Chase's world is about to come crashing down thanks to one man's True Crime podcast. She not only expects to lose her job at an investment firm, but she will also likely lose her boyfriend. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Thanks to Ben Owens' "Listen for the Lie" Podcast, and the fact that Savannah Harper's younger sister believes that Lucy got away with murder, Lucy has little choice but to return to her hometown at the behest of her grandmother who is turning 80. A hometown where Lucy and her best friend Savannah Harper were the golden girls of the small Texas town. Lucy married a dream guy with a big ring and an even bigger new home. Savvy was the social butterfly loved by all, and if you believe the rumors, especially popular with the men in town.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Lucy's marriage didn't last that long because one night, a night that Lucy can't remember, her best friend was murdered and she was picked up walking the streets wearing clothes dripping in blood. Lucy's injuries were severe so she left for California to heal. Lucy tried her hand at romance novel writing while working boring jobs<span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">, but it's not enough to escape the traumatic effects of a brutal incident that occurred five years ago, or the curious voice in her head.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">One of the darker sides of this story is Lucy's ever-increasing ability to visualize creative ways to kill those who anger her or accuse her of doing things she doesn't remember. That includes her ex-husband, her parents, people who she went to school with, and a variety of others. The only person who seems to believe that Lucy is innocent is her scene-stealing grandmother, Beverly. Even though Ben is clearly doing the podcast to extend his fame, he might actually be the one person who can dig up the truth about that night. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The story itself is told in shifting narratives </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">from Lucy and the chorus of the town in Ben’s podcast, </span><i style="background-color: white;">Listen for the Lie</i><span style="background-color: white;">, and podcast episodes that carefully reveal Lucy’s mysteries in a page-turning, thrilling way. The one thing about amnesia tropes is that you have an unreliable narrator. A narrator who can be cutting, sarcastic, and sometimes downright churlish at times. If you were to cut out all the cheating that happens in this book, you would have a lot of room for other things. In many ways, while this is a serious subject matter, the writer chose to write a comedic mystery thriller. </span></span></div>
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<div style="border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; height: 320px; line-height: 26px; overflow: auto; width: 500px;">
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">CHAPTER ONE LUCY</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A podcaster has decided to ruin my life, so I’m buying a chicken.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I make plans for this chicken as I sit in my cubicle at Walter J. Brown Investment Services, waiting to be fired. I stopped pretending to work two hours ago. Now I’m just staring at recipes on my phone, dreaming about sticking lemons up a chicken’s butt.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It’s an apology chicken, for my boyfriend.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It’s like that engagement chicken. The one women make to persuade their boyfriends to propose? Except this is a “sorry I didn’t tell you I’m the prime suspect in my friend’s murder” chicken.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Apology chicken, for short.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Lucy?”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I look up from my phone to see my boss standing at the door of his office. He adjusts his tie and clears his throat.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Could you come in for a minute?” he asks.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Finally. They clearly decided to fire me this morning. Glass office walls are a strange choice always, but especially when you have a meeting with three other managers, and none of them can stop glancing over at your assistant, whom they are clearly discussing, for the entire conversation.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Sure.” I slide my phone into my pocket and follow him into his immaculate office.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I’m struck by how pristine it is, even after nearly a year of working for him. There’s nothing on the beige walls. No boxes piled in a corner. The desk is completely bare except for the monitor and the keyboard.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Every evening, when Jerry Howell walks out of his office, he leaves absolutely no evidence that he was ever there. He probably missed his calling as a serial killer.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Of course, he’s only in his midforties. Plenty of time to take up a new hobby.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk and try to put a pleasant expression on my face. One that doesn’t betray the fact that I was calmly thinking about him murdering people.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">(A side effect of being accused of murder is that you spend a lot of time thinking about it. You get used to it.)</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jerry reaches up to touch his hair, and then quickly folds his hands on top of his desk. He does that a lot. I think he used to play with his hair, but he’s balding now, and it’s cut very close to his scalp.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“I’m sorry, Lucy, but we have to let you go,” he says, to the surprise of no one.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I nod.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“We’re downsizing, unfortunately.” He looks at a spot just past my shoulder instead of at my face. “Having assistants double up. Chelsea is going to assist both me and Raymond. I’m sorry.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Chelsea’s really getting the short end of the stick here. Double the work, all because of a true crime podcast.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“I understand.” I get to my feet. Jerry looks relieved that I’m not going to make a scene.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Through the ill-advised glass wall of the office, I can see a security guard already standing at my desk. It’s standard procedure when someone is fired, but I can’t help but notice that all three of the assistants who sit in my cubicle pod have fled.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I guess we’re not getting “sorry you were fired for being a suspected murderer” drinks.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My desk is not as clean as Jerry’s, and I have to take a minute to gather up my mug, water bottle, purse, and several tubes of lip balm. The security guard hovers the entire time.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He marches me through the now-silent office to the elevator while everyone either watches or pretends not to see. Chelsea looks pissed.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I step into the elevator. The door slides shut.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The security guard leans closer to me with a grin. One of his front teeth overlaps the other.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“So, did you do it? Did you kill her?”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I sigh. “I don’t know.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Seriously? That’s the truth?”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The elevator door opens again with a </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">ding</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">. I step out and look at him over my shoulder.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“The truth doesn’t matter.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">CHAPTER TWOLUCY</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It’s probably unfair to say that a podcast ruined my life.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Technically, my life was destroyed the night Savvy was murdered.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">And then it was destroyed again, the next day, when I decided to take an early-morning stroll with her blood drying on my dress.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">And for a third time, when everyone in my hometown decided that </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;"> was the one who killed her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">But a podcaster dragging the case into the public eye, five years later, doesn’t exactly </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">improve</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;"> my life.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I’m making the apology chicken, because my former coworkers aren’t the only ones listening to Ben Owens’s newest season of his true crime podcast. My boyfriend, Nathan, was weird when he came home from work last night. He was late, and smelled like beer, and he wouldn’t look at me. Clearly, someone clued him in.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">To be honest, I never had any intention of telling him. Nathan has almost no interest in anything besides himself. I didn’t think it would come up.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I’ve known plenty of self-absorbed men, but Nathan takes the cake. It’s my favorite thing about him. I can’t even remember the last time he asked me a personal question. When I told him that I’d been married for two years, in my early twenties, he said, “No worries, want to go to a movie?”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I’m sure he must have googled me at some point early in our relationship, but the case didn’t generate national media attention, and I was never actually arrested for the crime, so you have to do a tiny bit of digging to find me. That is way too much effort for Nathan.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">But now, thanks to my least favorite podcaster, murder is the very first thing that pops up when you google “Lucy Chase.” So I’m making apology chicken and preparing to get dumped. Immediately after getting fired.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">To be fair to Ben Dipshit Owens, Nathan and I probably wouldn’t have made it more than another month or two, even without a surprise murder thrown into the relationship. We’d only been dating for three months when he offered to let me move in with him. My lease was up, and we were still in the sex-all-the-time phase of our relationship, so it seemed logical. I was there every night anyway.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Unfortunately, that phase ended about two weeks after I moved in. I’m pretty sure Nathan regretted his decision, but he’s the kind of guy who avoids conflict at all costs. So, we’ve been awkwardly living together for two months now, even though I’m pretty sure neither of us is all that thrilled about it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Let this be a lesson to all the men out there who can’t handle conflict—man up and dump your girlfriend, or you might end up living with a suspected murderer indefinitely.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The front door opens, and Brewster runs over to greet Nathan, tail wagging.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I’d be lying if I said that Brewster’s little furry yellow Lab face didn’t factor into my decision to keep living with this man. He may be a deeply average dude, but he has great taste in dogs.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Also, decent taste in apartments. The recently renovated nine-hundred-square-foot one-bedroom with a dishwasher </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">and</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;"> an in-unit washer/dryer is more than I’ve ever been able to afford in Los Angeles. It has these gray hardwood floors and bright white marble countertops that aren’t all that trendy anymore, but still clearly signal that you pay a monthly rent that would horrify people in most other parts of the country.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Hi, boy.” Nathan spends a long time petting his dog, trying to avoid looking at me. “Something smells good.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“I made chicken.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He stands, finally glancing my way. His attention turns to the chicken, cooling on the stove.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Great.” He loosens his tie and pulls it off, unbuttoning his collar.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I used to love watching him do that. He always stretches his neck to one side as he pulls free his top button, and there’s something really sexy about it. Every time he’d come home, I’d stop what I was doing and hop over to give him a kiss. I’d run my hands into his dark hair, perfectly combed to one side for work, and muss it up a bit, because I think it looks better that way.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He notices me staring at him and suddenly looks alarmed. “I, uh, I’m going to change.” He rockets into the bedroom like I might chase him down for a kiss.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I pull out a carving fork and knife. The chicken now seems like a bad idea. Maybe I don’t care enough to apologize.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Then again, I’m going to have to find a new place to live if Nathan kicks me out, and landlords tend to require pesky things, like proving you have an income.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I pierce the chicken just as Nathan walks back into the room. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I briefly imagine stabbing the fork straight into his neck. It’s two-pronged, so it would leave twin bloody little holes, like a vampire bite.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My other hand is holding the knife, and I stare at him as I double-fist my weapons, waiting. I want him to say it first. He’s the one who clearly thinks I’m a murderer; he should have to say it first. I’m pretty sure those are the rules.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I stare. He stares.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Finally, he says, “How was work?”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“I was fired.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He edges around me and reaches into the counter next to the fridge. “Cool. You want some wine? I’m going to have some wine.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I wait for my words to sink in, but he just reaches for the bottle of wine, oblivious.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I stab the knife into the chicken, right between the breast and thigh. I may have used a bit more force than necessary.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Nathan jumps. I smile.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">At this rate, he’s going to end up married to a murderer.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Listen for the Lie Podcast with Ben Owens</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">EPISODE ONE—“THE SWEETEST GIRL YOU EVER MET”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya Harper: She got away with murder, and everyone knows it. Every single person in Plumpton knows that Lucy Chase killed my sister. It’s just that no one can prove it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya Harper was eighteen years old when her older sister, Savannah, was murdered. She describes Savannah as fun and sweet, the kind of woman who could organize a party in less than an hour and make it look like she’d worked on it all month.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: She was just so nice and welcoming to everyone. And she was the best sister. When she was in high school, she’d let me hang out with her and her friends sometimes. And we weren’t even close in age. She was six years older than me. I didn’t know anyone else who had a big sister who let a little ten-year-old tag along to football games.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya was happy to talk to me, but she was skeptical that I’d find anything new.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: You know that my family has hired three different private investigators, right? Like, my parents did not give up. I don’t know if there’s anything left to find.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ben: I’m aware, yeah.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: I guess it couldn’t hurt, though. I mean, it’s been five years and it’s like no one even cares anymore that Savvy is dead. They’ve all given up.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A quick note here—you’ll often hear people who knew Savannah refer to her as “Savvy.” It was what most people called her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ben: So you haven’t heard any updates from the police or the DA or anyone?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: Not in years. They all knew Lucy did it, they just couldn’t prove it, I guess.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ben: There have never been any other suspects?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: No. I mean, Lucy was covered in Savvy’s blood when they found her. She had Savvy’s skin underneath her fingernails, there were scratches on Savvy’s arm and bruises shaped like Lucy’s fingers. People saw them fighting at the wedding. Lucy killed her. She killed my sister and got away with it because the useless police department said there wasn’t enough evidence for an arrest.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ben: Have you had any contact with Lucy recently?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: No, not since she left Plumpton. She’s never come back, even though her parents still live here.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ben: As far as you know, is she still claiming to have no memory of the night Savannah died?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: Yeah, that was her story.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ben: Do you believe her?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Maya: Of course I don’t believe her. No one believes her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Is it true that no one believes Lucy Chase? Is she hiding something, or have the people of Plumpton accused an innocent woman of murder for five years?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Let’s find out.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I’m Ben Owens, and this is the Listen for the Lie podcast, where we uncover all the lies people tell, and find the truth.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-16246710705203482242024-03-04T00:07:00.001-05:002024-03-04T00:07:21.406-05:00#Review - Aftermarket Afterlife by Seanan McGuire #Fantasy #Contemporary<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQzNLOW2VfM-t97Z-w17xVqYDKsaHkUGM35DUOWw86D6ezH-vnOdlfsO2qDoS2R16moA3X1kRnmPNhF-zyx8QwgZwj_NAHays-0EPCB2v7eXSoO3j96-DcwIVI5rDQgxvdEAc0ErzdV3gsr0Zp0ROvpgW11P4sw9zfji7BrsqXh-4AZvticggFf51Alc/s1500/9780756418618_a624a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqQzNLOW2VfM-t97Z-w17xVqYDKsaHkUGM35DUOWw86D6ezH-vnOdlfsO2qDoS2R16moA3X1kRnmPNhF-zyx8QwgZwj_NAHays-0EPCB2v7eXSoO3j96-DcwIVI5rDQgxvdEAc0ErzdV3gsr0Zp0ROvpgW11P4sw9zfji7BrsqXh-4AZvticggFf51Alc/s320/9780756418618_a624a.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">InCryptid </span><span class="pve_seriesNumber " style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">(#13)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Paperback, 368 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">March 5, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: DAW</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Fantasy / Contemporary</span></b><div><span style="font-family: Open Sans;"><b><br /></b></span><div><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Seanan McGuire's <i>New York Times</i>-bestselling and Hugo Award-nominated urban fantasy InCryptid series continues with the thirteenth book following the Price family, cryptozoologists who study and protect the creatures living in secret all around us</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Mary Dunlavy didn't intend to become a professional babysitter. Of course, she didn't intend to die, either, or to become a crossroads ghost. As a babysitting ghost, she's been caring for the Price family for four generations, and she's planning to keep doing the job for the better part of forever.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">With her first charge finally back from her decades-long cross-dimensional field trip, with a long-lost husband and adopted daughter in tow, it's time for Mary to oversee the world's most chaotic family reunion. And that's before the Covenant of St. George launches a full-scale strike against the cryptids of Manhattan, followed quickly by an attack on the Campbell Family Carnival. </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">It's going to take every advantage and every ally they have for the Prices to survive what's coming—and for Mary, to avoid finding out the answer to a question she's never wanted to know: what happens to a babysitting ghost if she loses the people she's promised to protect?</span></b><span style="font-family: Open Sans;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Aftermarket Afterlife</i>, by Seanan McGuire, is the 13th installment in the author's <i>InCryptid</i> series. <span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">The InCryptid series is set in a world where parallel evolution and dimensional rifts have resulted in humans sharing the planet with multiple species of cryptids capable of passing for human, among many other differences and divergences. </span><span style="background-color: white;">84 years ago, 16-year-old Mary Grace Dunlavy had an unfortunate accident that would send her to becoming a crossroads ghost. A ghost who would speak for the people with the Crossroads bargains with. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">As a babysitting ghost, she's been caring for the Price family for four generations, and she's planning to keep doing the job for the better part of forever.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">Mary has been a babysitter for everyone from Alice Price to Verity's daughter Olivia. </span><span style="background-color: white;">The Aeslin Mice even gave her an honorary name as The Phantom Priestess. If you haven't started reading this series yet, get to hopping! </span><span style="background-color: white;">Mary is the only person who knows the entire family history. Now that Crossroads is gone thanks to Annie, no spoilers, she can now answer any question the family asks of her. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Mary's position in the Price family means that her novel is uniquely wide-ranging and intimate.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Over her 84 years as a caretaker, she has only lost 4 people. So, be forewarned that things are going to get dangerous really quickly and, if you've read this series from the beginning, you may get really sad. While the family is waiting for Alice and Thomas to finally come home after years of Alice trying to find Thomas, the Price family enemies, the </span><span style="background-color: white;">Covenant of St. George attack the Campbell Family Circus, and the Dragon lair under Manhattan looking for William. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Ever since Verity publicly 'outed' the family on national television, the family and the Cryptid community as a whole have been holding their collective breaths, and waiting the the Covenant to strike. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">The Covenant has decided that now is the time to sterilize North America of ungodly abominations and race traitors like the Price family, and while they are at it, why not take a chance at capturing Antimony who is being stalked by Leonard Cunningham even though she's come into her powers as an elemental sorcerer like her grandfather. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">The stakes couldn't feel any higher this time, and as I said, people will die. People you have known since the first book in this series. Because of this attack, Mary does what all good caretakers do. She makes a plan. She asks for help from a variety of characters. And, she puts her own existence on the line to stop the war between her family, and the Covenant. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">I guarantee that you will meet every single member of the family, and the extended family, including Alexander, Shelby Tanner, and Rose Marshall. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Most of the books in this series feature characters like Verity Price (3), Grandmother Alice (2), Sarah Zellaby (2), Antimony Price (3), and Alexander Price (2). </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">After you have taken a breath, take a moment and read the novella at the end of the book called </span><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915;">Dreaming of You in Freefall</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">I can only tell you that it's told from Verity's point of view and it is highly emotional. I can also say that you should not under any circumstances read the novella before the rest of the book.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Aftermarket-Afterlife-InCryptid-Book-13-ebook/dp/B0CHVB51TD/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Aftermarket-Afterlife-InCryptid-Book-13/dp/B0CQKLJ18Z/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Audible </a>| <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/aftermarket-afterlife-seanan-mcguire/1144003865;jsessionid=0D6A13D5F7B7580EE6CEE591FA01BA70.prodny_store02-atgap08?ean=9780756418618" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/aftermarket-afterlife" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-50027161185166448362024-02-29T00:01:00.006-05:002024-02-29T08:23:34.128-05:00#Review - Rift in the Soul by Faith Hunter #Fantasy #Contemporary<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGtVwVwi4xJ2z8AtmZBri7v51J5z6XHWzExxrjFj03Ls0c8Be0UsBXKFMsddKldVbRDTlsT4aLPzkqyanR-6MNHcGJba7XBame_-gGzTRsGb9CRyQ9gCNkY-nDft7YoWi9JHlxjSWQX5LFPSN3pG4tjDxhU48FmXr_FgvkjIHs0kYuZxDxXL5S_W_rTM/s1636/9780593335796_7314a.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1636" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGtVwVwi4xJ2z8AtmZBri7v51J5z6XHWzExxrjFj03Ls0c8Be0UsBXKFMsddKldVbRDTlsT4aLPzkqyanR-6MNHcGJba7XBame_-gGzTRsGb9CRyQ9gCNkY-nDft7YoWi9JHlxjSWQX5LFPSN3pG4tjDxhU48FmXr_FgvkjIHs0kYuZxDxXL5S_W_rTM/s320/9780593335796_7314a.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Soulwood # 6</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Paperback, 400 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: March 5, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: ACE</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Urban Fantasy</span></b><div><b><br /></b><div><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Nell Ingram and her team face a dire, supernatural evil in this newest thrilling paranormal procedural in the <i>New York Times</i> bestselling Soulwood series.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Nell Ingram draws her powers from deep in the earth, and uses them to help Psy-LED, the Psychometric Law Enforcement Division, which solves paranormal crimes. When a local vampire calls to report a dead body on her compound, Nell knows she and her team have to be ready for anything.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">But the dead body is just the beginning of a mystery that involves supernaturals of all kinds, including some of the most powerful vampires in the country. As Nell gets closer to the truth, she begins to understand that the perpetrator is tracking her too—and that there is something personal about this crime. Something with roots that go almost as deep as those in Soulwood.</span></b><div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Faith Hunter's <i>Rift in the Soul</i> is the Sixth installment in the author's <i>Soulwood </i>series. Story Locale: Tennessee. Main character: </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Nell Ingram. Nell uses her innate magical abilities to work with an agency policing paranormals in this series set in the same world as the Jane Yellowrock novels. Nell Ingram is a Special Agent for Psy-LED, </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">the Psychometric Law Enforcement Division, which solves paranormal crimes. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This is a dangerous time for Psy-LED. </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Weird stuff is happening the the vampire world. Scions are walking into the sun after getting their souls back thanks to Jane Yellowrock's actions in saving an Angel from a Demon. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Nell, Rick LaFleur, and Ayatas Firewind have been called out to the local vampire's house - Ming of Glass, Master of the City of Knoxville - to retrieve a dead body. Expecting a trap - their expectations are rewarded when they are forced to defend themselves. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">The vampires had been acting strangely since the crowning of the Emperor of Europe, and Ming blames Nell who isn't quite human. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">When Nell greets Ming of Glass, everything is off. She learns that some of Ming's Vampires have walked into the sun, and it seems that a really dangerous man named Tomas de Torquemada, who was once a Catholic priest, is looking for something called the Blood Tarot to change the world and his destiny. Interesting since Nell herself has also been searching for the Blood Tarot. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">Ming tries to get Nell to kill a powerful and ancient vampire, Tomas who plans to destroy everything.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">Because of what happened at Ming's, and the fact that many, many factions really want to get their hands on the Bloot Tarot, Nell is given a bodyguard (Yummy aka Yvonne) to help protect her from Tomás and his vampires, black witches, blood witches, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">power-hungry</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;"> humans, shifters, and others. We also learn that Soul, the Deputy Director of Phy-LED, and a powerful arcenciel, has been missing for 3 weeks. To make things worse, a family secret is about to be exposed, and Nell and her team need to move quickly to avoid further bloodshed.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">We learn so much more about Nell’s family thanks to a very determined Nell who has had enough of her family and their secrets. As her powers grow, the same can be said of her younger sister, Mud whom she recently adopted. Mud is also gaining powers as a plant-woman, throughout Soulwood’s land. We get to see Esther, who recently divorced, and has two twin babies, now living in Soulwood, and is also gaining powers.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> When vamps attack, they have zero chance against the power of 3 plant women. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Nell's team </span><span style="background-color: white;">is made up of witches, shifters, and empaths. Nell, who calls herself Plant Woman, fits right in with her Soulwood powers, and she now has a solid foundation of support. The team includes Occam (who she intends to marry) Ayatas (Jane's brother), T-Laine, JoJo, Tandy, Mandy (newest member) & Rick, who dare I say isn't all that bad? Nell has really come into her own, as she is a powerful woman controlling her Soulwood land and plants, and her connection to the Green Knight, protector of Soulwood, has grown stronger.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Nell is in love with her cat-man, Occam, and since I am here, the Christmas time wedding is the perfect ending for this book and series? Whose to say?</span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">One</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I stepped on the dirt by the driveway and sniffed the winter air. A cold snap had come through at dusk, and the scent of the Tennessee River only yards away rode high and warm on the night, rising in a swirling mist that obscured much of the landscape. There wasn't time for a deep read of the land, but I needed a feel for it, so I bent and touched the soil with a fingertip, sending my thoughts through the upper layers of dirt and lawn, skimming the surface.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The earth around me was unsettled, as property walked by the undead usually was, but there was no sense of danger. Nothing hurtled through the earth and grabbed me, no wild energies, no fear, no vines or roots, so that was good, but the soil felt different from the last time I had read it. The sense of death was stronger and there was a mixture of something disturbed, disquieted here, so I pushed a little deeper. I caught a hint of fire and excitement, of an unresolved exhilaration, as if the earth rode the brink of something wild. It felt the way it must feel to be at the top of a roller coaster, ready to plunge down. Though I had never been on a roller coaster and couldn't imagine why I ever would want to.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The important thing was that nothing dangerous leaped at me. That was a good start.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I opened my eyes and studied the property owned by Ming Zhane of Glass, the Master of the City of Knoxville. There were several dark circles near the rear of the otherwise pristine lawn, like burned spots, places that might correlate with the sensation of fire. There were burn warnings all over the eastern half of the state, but I could envision Ming demanding the autumn leaves be burned. Her blood-servants would have complied.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">While I was down low and out of sight of the house, I pulled the mini-psy-meter from a pocket. It was about the size of a cigarette case, and while not as sensitive as the larger model, it would do in a pinch. Before leaving HQ, I had checked the device against the ambient magics of the witch and the were-creatures of Unit Eighteen, and so a quick reading was possible.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Of the four psysotopes, the device settled firmly in the reading for vampires, so whatever this visit was for, it was likely not a situation with mixed paranormal-creature politics.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I stood, stepped back onto the drive, and glanced at the other cars. Their lights were off, drivers barely visible in the thickening mist. When I gave a thumbs-up, they climbed out of their vehicles, closed their doors, and walked to me across the concrete.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Regional Director Ayatas FireWind, the man I had taken to calling my boss-boss, gave me a small nod, telling me to go ahead. They had my back. Rick LaFleur, Special Agent in Charge of PsyLED Unit Eighteen, glanced at the house and back to me, his black eyes telling me to be careful. Even had there been no mention of a body, the two bosses would have come as my backup because, as Rick said when the call came in, "Weird shit is happening in the vamp world."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked back at the potted tree strapped into the passenger seat of my newish car and contemplated bringing the tree with me. Instead I closed the car door I had left open, shutting off the interior lights. Full dark fell on us. Ming's people hadn't turned on the security and landscape lights, which was a little odd. The mist from the river swirled higher and closer, more dense. I locked the car with the small fob.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I reseated my Glock 20, not that I expected to need it here. Ming had requested my presence, personally, to report a dead body, and when the new Master of the City of Knoxville wanted to report a crime, Unit Eighteen listened. Thanks to her, I was lead on this interview, and should Ming be bringing a case to the unit, and not vampire politics, it was possible that I would be lead on my very first case. Rick was betting it was vampire politics, but either way, anytime there were vampires, there was danger.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The two bosses had attended the coronation of the Emperor of Europe only a week past, and they had brought back tales of weird vampire actions and unusual personnel changes. They had even seen a vamp laughing with her fangs out, which they couldn't explain. Vampires could not laugh-laughter was a human emotion-while in predator state. It wasn't possible. Yet they had both seen her laughing.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Since LaFleur and FireWind had returned from New Orleans, vamp rumors of the wild and crazy kind had begun to circulate in Knoxville too. None of the reports were believable, and none had involved video evidence, but everyone wanted a look-see at the locals.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">T. Laine, Unit Eighteen's resident witch, had called it "wackadoodle stuff."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Comms check," FireWind said.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Ingram here."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"LaFleur here."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Copy, FireWind, Ingram, LaFleur," Jones said, back at HQ.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Rick and Aya positioned themselves in front and behind me, and together we crossed the concrete drive to the front entrance. Ming didn't live in a castle like Dracula, but she owned a megamansion and several acres on the edge of the Tennessee River. Prime real estate. An attached six-car garage, greenhouse, big barn, and outbuildings. I smelled manure and hay and that familiar scent of horse I remembered from my upbringing at the God's Cloud of Glory Church. It brought a sense of peace that tried to replace the natural uneasiness of a law enforcement officer visiting a vampire lair after dark.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The men separated, leaving me in front. My bosses standing behind me, I knocked on the front door and rang the bell.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Nothing happened. Minutes went by.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I knocked again. Aya checked his watch. He still wore a watch, and not just one of those wrist computers/cell phones. Checking it was ingrained. Rick stared at the security camera, his long white hair catching in the misty breeze. He tilted his head and said, "Someone's coming."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Rick LaFleur was a black wereleopard. There were indications he had sharper senses even in human form and they got sharper closer to the full moon. Were-creatures also got skittish at that time of the month and, while we waited, I counted ahead to the three days when the were-members of PsyLED Eighteen would go furry. I'd rather not have to deal with Rick's big-cat on Ming's property, and I was safe on that point.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The door opened. Standing inside should have been the butler. Instead it was Cai, Ming's human primo, her number one blood-servant, but a vastly different Cai from the last time I saw him. Cai was slim, wiry, Asian, and skilled in several martial arts forms. He moved with that liquid grace of the well-trained fighter, and had all the charm of a steel blade. He did everything for Ming, from keeping her schedule to supposedly killing vampires who got out of line. That was hearsay, but had seemed likely. Until tonight.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Tonight he was grinning. A happy human grin, like a maybe-a-little-drunk kind of grin. And there was blood on his cheek and the neckline of his white T-shirt. "Ming's guests." He threw his arms to the sides in welcome. "Come in come in come in," he said, running the words together. "Ming is . . ." He gestured off into the darkness of the house, turned, and walked away, leaving the door open and three law enforcement agents standing there.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Is that an invitation?" I asked.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"We assume so," Aya said, stepping past me, moving right, his weapon suddenly in his hand.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Though we don't know what the invitation is for," Rick finished for him, stepping inside, to the left, his weapon also drawn.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Right. It might be an invitation for me to be supper to the vampires.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"This is the same kind of behavior we saw in New Orleans among many of the blood-servants, and Ming's people have no reason to still be celebrating so long after the coronation of the emperor," Aya said softly.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I drew my weapon but didn't chamber a round. I should. But I didn't. Somehow this didn't feel like an ambush. Which, of course, would make it a really good ambush. I pressed a light switch on the wall and the foyer brightened.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I don't see a DB," I said, looking around. "No blood spatter on walls or floor. No stink of decay on the air. But Cai did have blood on his shirt."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Patterns at my feet drew my eye. The foyer had been refloored in white marble. In the center, tiny pieces of gray marble, brass, and glistening steel had been inlaid and formed a pair of blades, the sharp steel blades crossed. The single-edged blades themselves had been embedded in the floor; they appeared real but were strangely shaped. One blade looked as if an ax had been crossed with a machete and then a dragon had taken a bite out of the sharp edge. I knew nothing about fighting with blades, but even I could tell the dragon-bitten section was for snagging an opponent's blade out of their hand. The other blade was similar but without the snagging-dragon-bite, and a longer cutting edge. They were different but they were also clearly a pair of blades intended to be used together. The ends of the blades, where they should have attached to real handles-hilts?-were made of brass or gold and were shaped like dragon snouts, as if the steel was erupting from their mouths. Above and between the crossed blades was a green, faceted square.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Ingram," FireWind snapped. There was an edge of "pay attention" in the tone.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What's that?" I pointed at the floor.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Ming's new crest," FireWind said, his tone still sharp. "Since she became MOC."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As if my up-line boss hadn't just snapped at me, I holstered my weapon and started taking pictures, sending them back to HQ. Aya grunted in approval. I was learning how to read him. I flipped on more lights and took shots of the parlor to the left and the hallways leading off into darkness. According to county records, the clan home of the Master of the City was nearly twelve thousand square feet, so I wasn't getting much of the house, but it was the first time I'd been in a position to film it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As I worked, Rick explained to me, still a newbie, "It's customary for the Master of the City, the most powerful Mithran in the territory, to have their crest inlaid in the entry floor of the city's Council Chambers headquarters, to remind friends and visiting enemies alike who they would have to fight and conquer. Ming is both the MOC and head of the only vampire clan in Knoxville, so her home does double duty."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ming had been given MOC status by Jane Yellowrock. I remembered that. When I had taken photos of everything I could without wandering around, I pulled the psy-meter from my pocket and quickly took a reading of Ming's foyer. The readings were all over the place.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">At a warning signal from Rick, I slid the device away.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Cai wandered toward us from the main sitting room. "You're still here?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Ming demanded to see me," I said. "She said she had a body for me. Get her. Please."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Oh. Sure. Sit sit sit sit." He waved to the sitting room. Then he said, "No. Wait. Tea. I should make tea. Come come come come. This way."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked at FireWind, who had a faint smile on his face and gestured I should take point. Cai led the way to the kitchen, which was decorated in black and white with emerald touches here and there. Two six-burner stoves, each with three ovens, and the commercial refrigerator and commercial freezer made my heart thump hard with envy. This was a bakers-canners-chefs' paradise. It would make the Nicholson mamas at God's Cloud of Glory Church turn green.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Cai put on a kettle and got out a fancy tea tin and six cups with saucers. He started humming, something that sounded like a dirge, then suddenly he was whistling what sounded like the music for the old Gilligan's Island TV series.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I looked at the bosses. Both were trying not to appear amused but not doing a good job of it. I wasn't amused. Things felt wrong here. As the water heated, Cai wandered along the counter and out the door at the far end.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What in God's good heaven is happening?" I asked, my voice soft.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">No one replied, but Rick and Aya began to open cabinet doors and drawers and I realized they were conducting a search. For which we didn't have a subpoena. Aya pulled a bottle from a small refrigerator and spun it slowly. "Nineteen forty-seven Cheval Blanc. A bottle sold at auction for over three hundred thousand dollars recently."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A bottle of wine? That bottle was worth more than I owned altogether in the whole world.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Rick opened the commercial refrigerator and said, "The blood-servants are eating well. Whole suckling pig, baby potatoes, and asparagus." He shut the door.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Feeling emboldened, I checked out the stoves and the ovens. They were not just functional, they were works of art, and I ran my hands across the decorative steel corners. The stoves had to cost a fortune, but vampires were often quite rich.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I turned off the kettle, which was steaming, but I didn't make tea. I wanted to read this place, which meant I needed something made of wood that had been here a long time. The floors were marble tile; the cabinets looked new and were painted black inside and out.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Aya closed a second wine fridge and opened a huge pantry. Now I had pantry envy. And it had wood floors.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I held up a hand to let him know I was about to go to work. Walking past him, I slipped off one shoe and placed my bare foot on the wood floor.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Cold and ice met my questing energies. I pushed through, to the underside of the wood planks, and then to the wood supports beneath. Wood, unless petrified, always had a form of power that I could read. Here there was nothing. The wood that constructed this house was truly dead. It no longer had energy, no longer had a . . . a soul, for lack of a better word. I slid my shoe on, stepped back into the main kitchen, and made hard eye contact with each man, trying to communicate, Problem. Magical problem.</span></div>
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<br /></div></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-26956976247697091422024-02-28T00:00:00.001-05:002024-02-28T00:00:00.240-05:00#Revew - The Games of Enemies and Allies by K.M. Shea #Paranormal #Fantasy<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmbcLBx8YraLwnATRFucJRR5IhbV3sgIug2t7cc_LUNAI-Sl-AxVtM5rTYtp-J00xxPOG9th1AVofgjNTbWgFe-CvBb3wEkjPuuY1WbTQgMZ9789gX_Ju3jcKX6Bhp-ZoGtIEpqFcdSYJLya4OVoAiX3d3YmuM-Y_FyxO3TOnHkL7cIXzxatbRDvtOPZU/s1500/81LhfWhUAjL._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmbcLBx8YraLwnATRFucJRR5IhbV3sgIug2t7cc_LUNAI-Sl-AxVtM5rTYtp-J00xxPOG9th1AVofgjNTbWgFe-CvBb3wEkjPuuY1WbTQgMZ9789gX_Ju3jcKX6Bhp-ZoGtIEpqFcdSYJLya4OVoAiX3d3YmuM-Y_FyxO3TOnHkL7cIXzxatbRDvtOPZU/s320/81LhfWhUAjL._SL1500_.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Magic on Main Street # 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Kindle, 372 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: January 12, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: K.M. Shea</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Kindle Unlimited</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Urban Fantasy</span></b><div><b><br /></b><div><b><span class="a-text-bold" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;">At night they’re enemies. During the day they’re friends. Only one of them is aware of this…</span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />My stress levels skyrocketed after I discovered the deadly vampire who has taken over downtown is Considine Maledictus, one of the most powerful vampires alive.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Now I’m even more reluctant to tangle with him, but he’s started showing up in the middle of my investigations, even if they’re outside his territory. I never know if he’s there to fight or to lend me some unexpected help.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />I don’t have time to ponder his weird behavior, because a group of local wizards are up to some shady practices. They’ve never been fond of the non-magical, but suddenly they’re popping up all over the city, “helping” humans.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />At least I can count on my vampire friend and next-door neighbor, Connor, for some laughs. Except…he’s been acting strange and is even more touchy-feely than usual these days.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Regardless, I’m going to stay focused on protecting my city. I’m just not sure if I should be more concerned about the wizards, or the chaotic vampire who swaps from friend to foe on a nightly basis.</span><br /></b><div><b><br /></b>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div aria-expanded="true" class="a-expander-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content a-expander-content-expanded" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 20px; position: relative;"><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>The Games of Enemies and Allies</i> is the second book in the <i>Magic on Main Street</i> urban fantasy trilogy and is part of the <i>Magiford Supernatural City</i> world. This series is packed with humor, magical fights, and a sweet, slow-burn romance between a slayer who battles social anxiety and a vampire who is sick of his immortality. Key Characters: Jade O'Neil and Considine Maledictus. Setting: The fictional city of Magiford where humans and supernaturals share a city.</span></span></div><div aria-expanded="true" class="a-expander-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content a-expander-content-expanded" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 20px; position: relative;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Jade works for the Magical Response Task Force which is part of the Department of Supernatural Law Enforcement. She is </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">a vampire slayer who has left the comfort of her family of vampire slayers to move to Magiford to choose a career in protection rather than killing. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now, she works with a revolving group of supernaturals (Curia Cloisters) who call her Blood, while ensuring that supernaturals stay in their lane and don't try to cause problems like the Fae, Orrin. She's even become a team leader in her short time. </span></span></div><div aria-expanded="true" class="a-expander-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content a-expander-content-expanded" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 20px; position: relative;"><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Jade has made friends with a vampire named Connor who lives in her same building. Jade has also made her very own nemesis in Ruin aka Considine who loves to push her buttons by showing up whenever there's trouble. Considine, meanwhile, is an elder vampire who has accepted the responsibility of his friend, Ambrose Drake's family, which includes Killian Drake. Killian has tried hard to find out what Considine is doing in town but to no avail. Considine is really good at not letting anyone know where he is, or when he is stalking them in a game of cat and mouse.</span></span></div><div aria-expanded="true" class="a-expander-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content a-expander-content-expanded" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 20px; position: relative;"><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In this installment, the game is afoot, as it were. House Tellier seems to be up to something, and Jade is eager to prove they are out of line. First, it was fireworks, then it was saving a library where they donated a statue, and finally, it's making it appear as though they were saving humans on an icy bridge. To make matters even more twisted, Jade seems to be the target of a dangerous dragon shifter named Gisila. She seems most interested in something that is kept at Tutu's Crypta and Custodie, and Jade has been close to exposing her secrets. </span></span></div><div aria-expanded="true" class="a-expander-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content a-expander-content-expanded" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 20px; position: relative;"><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Jade, who is really shy when it comes to intermingling with people, seems to be trying to break the ice with her teammates. The most curious aspect is that she is always given the most interesting people to be part of her Team Blood. The other curiosity in this book is when Jade finally learns who Considine is, and how far Considine goes to protect her from danger when she is hunted by rogue elements and the dragon shifter. Jade, who always wears a mask at work so nobody knows who she is, may have some issues after this story.</span></span></div><div aria-expanded="true" class="a-expander-content a-expander-partial-collapse-content a-expander-content-expanded" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 20px; position: relative;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="a-text-italic" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So, after careful research, I have learned that this is a mini-trilogy as part of a larger series that is set in a world where humans live more or less with supernaturals. While this story has plenty of action and suspense, there is also plenty of humor among Jade's co-workers, including Sunshine. Lastly, there is a character named Hazel who is Killian's One. Apparently, Hazel is the one who </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #1e1915;">keeps the appropriate parties on their toes.</span> Especially House Tellier. Hazel is from the author's Hall of Blood and Mercy series. </span></span></div><div class="a-expander-header a-expander-partial-collapse-header" style="background-color: white; bottom: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; opacity: 1; outline: 0px; position: absolute; width: 599.325px;"><a aria-expanded="true" class="a-declarative" data-a-expander-toggle="{"allowLinkDefault":true, "expand_prompt":"Read more", "collapse_prompt":"Read less"}" data-action="a-expander-toggle" data-csa-c-func-deps="aui-da-a-expander-toggle" data-csa-c-id="lttad8-iz3c50-peg1pe-13cn4" data-csa-c-type="widget" data-csa-interaction-events="click" role="button" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #007185;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span class="a-icon a-icon-extender-collapse" style="background-image: none; background-position: -94px -293px; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: 400px 900px; border-color: rgb(15, 17, 17); border-image: initial; border-style: solid; border-width: 0px 2px 2px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: inline-block; height: 7px; margin-left: 2px; margin-right: 0.385em; margin-top: -1px; opacity: 1; padding: 3px; position: relative; transform: rotate(-135deg); vertical-align: baseline; width: 7px;"></span></span></a></div></div></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKV2qIHd6tp-MenNlwiGg9hHiKywlGCzvbb03L7hkPF7slQf2JF7H_jgBJquqk4VS3pBvdF6sf1wCM5EWbQuzdyGHVxOi7__UGXLNssDbiqdE6hhmCC12_FEAKFAp2xAtyoUWbOirZ1M/s1600/sig.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKV2qIHd6tp-MenNlwiGg9hHiKywlGCzvbb03L7hkPF7slQf2JF7H_jgBJquqk4VS3pBvdF6sf1wCM5EWbQuzdyGHVxOi7__UGXLNssDbiqdE6hhmCC12_FEAKFAp2xAtyoUWbOirZ1M/s1600/sig.png" /></a></div>
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<br /></div></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-6042002362873450642024-02-26T00:16:00.004-05:002024-02-26T08:33:04.252-05:00#Review - Ghost Island by Max Seeck #Mystery #Occult<b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TtUjzUXbeC2jRNCGsHcjfe4bYvUNXKV-EYnEdYInJIhK3Y-wKuneNLYiD_J0YvqNunptTu3DkBeui_I9Bdv5l9h5wa8W1kXI1TUCtpWqJJjFB1sxiOfVHOCatHTmwNvWNTRl8JyCyriGp5F7fwzQL_XLIeTRic7YtuXV6z0hKvghwDsC89ioMjBCZI8/s1500/9780593438862_de104.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_TtUjzUXbeC2jRNCGsHcjfe4bYvUNXKV-EYnEdYInJIhK3Y-wKuneNLYiD_J0YvqNunptTu3DkBeui_I9Bdv5l9h5wa8W1kXI1TUCtpWqJJjFB1sxiOfVHOCatHTmwNvWNTRl8JyCyriGp5F7fwzQL_XLIeTRic7YtuXV6z0hKvghwDsC89ioMjBCZI8/s320/9780593438862_de104.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet;">Series:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span> Jessica Niemi # 4</span><br />
<span>Format: Paperback, 384 pages</span><br />
<span>Release Date: February 27, 2024</span><br />
<span>Publisher: Berkley</span><br />
<span>Source: Publisher</span><br /><span>Genre: Mystery / Occult</span></span></b><div><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><br /></span></b><div><b><span style="font-family: trebuchet;"><span style="background-color: white;">On a secluded island, homicide detective Jessica Niemi must investigate a drowning that is tied to a frightening ghostly legend in this riveting new novel from the <i>New York Times</i> bestselling author of THE WITCH HUNTER.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Jessica Niemi is put on leave after a violent altercation between her and a belligerent man makes headlines. To escape the unwanted scrutiny, Jessica travels to a remote island in the Åland archipelago and rents a room at a small seaside inn. She is hoping to be left alone as she faces the possibility that she is losing what is left of her sanity but three elderly visitors have arrived at the inn for their yearly sojourn. Jessica learns that they are the remaining ‘birds of spring’, former refugees who fled Finland as children during World War II and lived together for a few months in an orphanage on the island.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">The orphanage no longer exists but the local legend about one of its inhabitants, a girl named Maija, still haunts the surviving orphans. Every evening Maija would put on her blue coat and stand on the pier, looking out at the dark water until one night, she disappeared and was never seen again. When one of the ‘birds of spring’ is found dead, drowned alongside the same pier, and Jessica learns about two other deaths from the past, also connected to the orphanage, she has no choice but to try and put the pieces of this terrifying mystery together.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Jessica can’t be sure whether she’s facing a killer or—just like the legend says—the ghost of Maija, the girl in the blue coat. Uncertain what is real and what is not, Jessica desperately searches for answers that she hopes will stop the murders and finally silence her own demons once and for all…</span></span><br /></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscBu6JLa1CKK1b4sQqRgL4X9Dmvm-bEhe2q2rJGKOYhEZL4IVtMNB71h07WypqUiurf4TRQ3VrNikc7jdjUUfap0nC_ScM8fkr0veLGvyNVdRcIGdksCEIuT81I_bfMIkJ3ge2OenOo4/s1600/35stars.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscBu6JLa1CKK1b4sQqRgL4X9Dmvm-bEhe2q2rJGKOYhEZL4IVtMNB71h07WypqUiurf4TRQ3VrNikc7jdjUUfap0nC_ScM8fkr0veLGvyNVdRcIGdksCEIuT81I_bfMIkJ3ge2OenOo4/s1600/35stars.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Ghost Island</i>, by Max Seeck, is the fourth installment in the author's <i>Jessica Niemi</i> series. Or, as certain outlets are calling it, A Ghost of the Past novel. This story alternates between the year 2020, and the year 1946. Helsinki Violent Crimes Detective Sergeant Jessica Niemi </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">is haunted by her dark past and the scars left by a coven of witches that nearly destroyed her. Jessica has faced not only a murderous cult but also human trafficking and the assassination of a government official.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Even though she is one of the lead Detectives in her unit, and has the record to back up her experience, she is having issues with dissociating what is real, and what is not. After a violent </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">altercation between her and a belligerent man makes headlines, her boss Helena Lappi, who despises Jessica, orders her to take off until an investigation can be completed to see if Jessica's actions were warranted or not. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">To escape the unwanted scrutiny, Jessica travels to a remote island in the Åland archipelago and rents a room at a small seaside inn. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">She is hoping to be left alone as she faces the possibility that she is losing what is left of her sanity and likely her job as well as something she never expected. When three elderly visitors arrive at the inn for their yearly sojourn, Jessica learns that they are the remaining ‘birds of spring’, former refugees who fled Finland as children during World War II and lived together for a few months in an orphanage on the island. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The orphanage no longer exists but the local legend about one of its inhabitants, a girl named Maija, still haunts the surviving orphans. </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Every evening Maija would put on her blue coat and stand on the pier, looking out at the dark water hoping that her father would come and bring her home. The parents never arrived because their ship sank. Then one night, she disappeared and was never seen again. When one of the ‘birds of spring’ is found dead, drowned alongside the same pier, and Jessica learns about two other deaths from the past, also connected to the orphanage, she has no choice but to try and put the pieces of this terrifying mystery together. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">*Thoughts* </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The story is told in two-time levels, so in flashbacks, you learn a lot about life in the orphanage, which was not always unproblematic, and also about the fates of the individual children.</span></span><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">In this book, everyone is a suspect. Even Jessica. Dead bodies have a tendency to appear whenever she's around. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Jessica's co-workers like Yusuf play minium parts in this story since they are afraid that they will become the next target of Helena's wrath. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">With the surprise the author reveals in the middle of this mystery, I find it hard to believe that there will be another installment in this series. </span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">1</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">2020</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The hum is so soft that it isn't really disturbing. Even so, Jessica can't help but notice it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The other woman is waiting for her to speak, has been for almost a minute now. The thought in Jessica's head is unusually clear, but uttering it requires effort.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I guess I'm trying to say . . . I'd anchored my life in another person's presence," she begins, and is caught off guard by the confident note in her voice. "Saw it from someone else's perspective. Does that make any sense?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The woman sitting across from Jessica in a beige armchair doesn't immediately respond, uses the silence to encourage Jessica to continue thinking out loud. She is skilled at leading; the session seems to be progressing according to a predetermined choreography instead of there being two equals sitting there in armchairs, conversing without an agenda. Everything is clinical and coordinated, but Jessica doesn't let it bother her. She knew what she was getting into when she started her psychotherapy sessions a month ago.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Before I met Erne . . . I was lost. I didn't understand it at the time . . . And now-"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Suddenly Jessica's voice thickens as if she is forbidden from continuing. As if someone else is forbidding her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The therapist doesn't rush Jessica; she sits in her seat, adjusts her grip on her ballpoint pen. Retracts the tip, then clicks it back out. Under some circumstances, the intermittently repeated mannerism would make a restless impression, but the psychiatrist repeats it in a controlled fashion.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica looks at the woman's angular knuckles and light blue fingernails. They're surprisingly glossy, and for this reason it is somehow brazen for them to be the fingernails of a doctor specializing in psychiatry: a client opening up her heart might have the right to expect something more conservative. More empathetic. Something that shows her therapist isn't above the situation.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Jessica?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica looks up at her therapist's face. "What?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">There's a break in her train of thought; perhaps her brain was trying to scan for visual stimuli as an excuse for her to stop talking.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A tender look creeps across the therapist's suntanned face. "Please go on. You were saying that you were lost, and now . . ."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It takes Jessica a moment to reorder her thoughts. She doesn't actually want to reveal her insight to this woman-or to anyone else, for that matter-but at the same time she is burning with a desire to hear the conclusion articulated out loud, to let the words spill out for a professional to assess. She wants to know whether her demons are capable of dodging the psychiatrist's sharp eye, of hiding skillfully, or might they nakedly expose themselves as a result of this sudden insight?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I guess I've never really liked my life. Or myself, actually. Then suddenly there was someone who admired me in his own way. Loved me. The way a father loves a daughter. And it gave life meaning." Jessica sits there listening to the words she just uttered, as if they echoed in the emptiness. And suddenly she is overcome with shame. "I'm not totally sure whether this is about losing Erne Or about losing a perspective that was important to me. About the fact that I didn't just love Erne. More like I loved myself the way he saw me," she continues, despite her rational mind's insistence that she stop.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The psychiatrist lowers her notepad to the armrest and presses her fingertips together.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She looks serious.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I think we are possibly now on the cusp of something major."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica cannot help but hear the massive cliché in this sentiment. Is this supposed to be the breakthrough they're always talking about on TV series?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"But . . . ?" she asks.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The therapist smiles, as if to reward Jessica for her insightful question. "But at the same time, I'm a little worried."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica shakes her head because she isn't totally sure what the other woman is referring to. Not totally, although she has an enlightened guess.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Do you feel as if your life hasn't had a purpose since Erne died?" the therapist asks, raising her head slightly. "Did that die along with Erne?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica looks at the other woman, whose face looks concerned. Perhaps it's purely professional concern, but it's concern nonetheless.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">And when Jessica doesn't respond, the other woman continues: "Do you feel like at some point in your life you began to live for Erne alone?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica frowns; a rising nausea sears her throat. She reaches for her glass, takes a swig of room-temperature water, and turns toward the window. The leafless branches of the large oak sway in the wind; they crook like bony fingers stripped of flesh. The ceiling lights dim, casting the room in gloom. The hum grows louder, as if the electromagnetic potential in it is increasing.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"It's typical for people to want to please others, for instance their parents, and when the people on whose behalf we have made these efforts-which at times are in profound conflict with our own self-image-depart from our lives for good . . . the death can leave an enormous void. This void entails not only longing but also meaninglessness. The person no longer knows how to or even if they want to live solely for themselves. Am I on the right track?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica doesn't reply. She watches the branches that continue to dance outside, sees them penetrate the room through the seams of the white window frames without shattering the panes of glass. They slither across the floor and wrap around her ankles like gleaming black snakes. Gradually they tighten their grip, probe warily. "Because if that's the situation we're dealing with," the therapist says, "we need to approach it with the requisite seriousness."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica blinks several times, and the lighting in the room returns to normal.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The snakes retreat, withdraw to the other side of the window frame, and freeze into trees again, as if in reverse entropy. For a moment, the yellow light in the room feels blinding.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The psychiatrist reaches for her pad and starts making notes. Jessica sees the woman's wrist move the pen but isn't sure what she's writing. Has she just jotted down the words "depressed" and possibly "self-destructive" in her leather-bound book? That would be a pretty apt description of Jessica's state, which means the headshrinker has earned her hourly fee, she supposes.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Who does?" Jessica says, lowering her glass to the table. The nausea has overtaken her entire body; her stomach is roiling and her esophagus is burning. She has the urge to dash into the bathroom to vomit, but she restrains herself, swallows a few times.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What do you mean?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"You said we have to approach it seriously."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"You and I," the therapist clarifies, and adjusts her thin-framed glasses. "We've gone over a lot of things this past month and made some important observations, but today is the first time I've heard something we absolutely must address. I'd call it a hopelessness of sorts. It's important to pull ourselves out of such mental states, even if it's not necessarily easy."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Out in the freezing air, the branches stop moving until a powerful, howling gust brings them back to life. This time they don't cause Jessica to lose her focus.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Tuula?" Jessica says, hearing how strange the name sounds when spoken out loud. It's probably the first time over the course of their brief patient-therapist relationship that Jessica has called the psychiatrist by her first name.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Yes?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Over the last couple years alone I've investigated a dozen manslaughters or murders . . ." Jessica chuckles without smiling. "When you break through a brick wall and find a beautiful young woman inside . . . or see a man who has been stoned to death, his bashed-in skull covered by a still-bloody headful of hair . . . or when you smell the flesh of someone who's been burned alive . . . which in turn makes you think that somewhere in the world dogs are cooked alive, because the adrenaline produced by the terror and pain makes the meat tender . . ."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The psychiatrist looks ill at ease and would presumably like to ask Jessica to stop in order for her to define clearer boundaries for their conversations, but she cannot interrupt her patient, not now that Jessica is giving more of herself than ever before.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Do you understand what I'm getting at?" Jessica says, then continues before the psychiatrist has time to react: "I've never had any hope. None of us do. But in the past I guess I knew how to deal with it better. I'd accepted the meaninglessness of my own existence."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The psychiatrist shuts her notebook and presses it into her lap, under her palms. "Jessica. We need to consider the alternative that-"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A wave of nausea washes over Jessica's body, and she springs out of the chair in the middle of the psychiatrist's sentence. The nausea that began on her way here has been churning inside her for the entire session and is growing less bearable with every passing instant.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I have to go."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"But it's only half past," the psychiatrist says in confusion, craning her neck to see the wall clock behind Jessica.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Sorry. I'll pay for the full hour."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"That's not what I-"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Thank you, Tuula."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The other woman looks dumbfounded but quickly pulls herself together: "Shall we book the next session?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica doesn't reply. The branches of the oak tree scratch the window, and she shoots them a quick glance.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I don't think we're going to be seeing each other again. Good-bye.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">2</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Over the wail of the wind, Jessica hears the heavy wooden door shut behind her. The sky beyond the apartment buildings peering over Kruunuvuorenkatu is a pale gray. The wet rails splitting the narrow street carry the clank of the approaching streetcar.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Watery snowflakes glue themselves to Jessica's face as she adjusts her scarf to cover her cheeks. The vomit rising from her throat compels her to lower her head. She tries to draw in fresh air through her nostrils, hopes this will deter the swelling nausea, but the cold wind only intensifies the burn she's been feeling in her nose since sitting down in the psychiatrist's armchair.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica knows she won't make it home. She glances at the building portico; the ornamental iron gate is open. There's not a soul in the long, vaulted passage leading to the inner courtyard. The courtyard is her only hope; she won't make it any farther than that. Jessica takes a few unsteady steps, passes through the gate, and is glancing back a final time when the stomach acid gushes up and out of her esophagus and splatters to the asphalt.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She wipes her mouth, bends over, and retches again.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Out on the street, the streetcar clatters past. Jessica swears to herself, raises her head, and gives herself a minute. She hawks up the dregs of vomit from her throat and spits the bile-saturated clumps to the ground.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Then she hears squelching footfalls carrying from the courtyard. Someone's coming.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She quickly pulls herself up to standing and leans with her hand against the wall, but the bearded man in the neon yellow safety coveralls who has trudged out from behind the rug-beating rack has already seen too much.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What's going on here?" he asks, standing at a safe distance with his hands on his hips. There's no concern in his voice, more rebuke: he's like a teacher who has just ambushed ninth graders at their smoking spot.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What does it look like?" Jessica says, wiping her mouth on her coat sleeve.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"How dare you?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Sorry. But it's not like I asked to feel sick."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The man sneers in disgust; his face darkens. "Do you even live here?" he says, grabbing a snow shovel leaning against the building. "I don't remember ever having seen-"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica doesn't answer, just turns to continue on her way.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Hey, answer me! Are you drunk? You're going to clean up after yourself, damn it!"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Jessica pauses at the iron gate and looks back. She doesn't have any reason to behave threateningly; just the opposite: she should act in accordance with her values, apologize and explain that she simply isn't feeling well. That's the truth, after all. She would, of course, pay for the cleaning, including an extra fee for the repulsiveness of the task, if doing so would get this courtyard tyrant guarding his little kingdom to calm down.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"You're fucking drunk," he says, looking Jessica up and down.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">But the building super-judging by his eagerness to call Jessica to account, that's who he must be-has through his own behavior laid a weak foundation for this encounter's dynamics.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"What if I were?" Jessica says.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The man laughs. The mouth between the pockmarked cheeks turns up in a gleeful smirk. "You can be as drunk as you want, but you're not going to make a mess of my yard, goddamn it."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I'm sorry. I don't feel well," Jessica says, and is about to continue on her way again.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">But the man won't relent. "Hey, little miss," he says, his voice a meter closer than it was before.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Little miss. Something inside Jessica blazes up.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She turns around to feel the man's thick fingers clenching her wrist.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Let go," Jessica says quietly, but the fingers' grip just tightens.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The man brings his face closer, as if sniffing for alcohol on Jessica's breath. Apparently he's not a germophobe, considering she just puked. The jeering smile oozes with a condescending lust Jessica learned to identify long ago but would never learn to tolerate.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Let go," Jessica says, trying to yank her arm free.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The man shakes his head and raises the shovel. "You're not going anywhere until you've cleaned up this mess. Or should I call the police?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Let go of me."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The man tightens his grip. Of course Jessica could tell him she's a police officer herself; an ID confirming the matter is in her wallet. But she doesn't want this guy to know any more about her than necessary. His eyes bore deeply into Jessica's, which are no doubt red after many sleepless nights. He probably thinks she's some sort of street trash, and Jessica's old sneakers, gray sweats, and black lived-in parka don't help matters.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Goddamn junkie whore. I know your type . . . ," he says, and for a few silent moments something ignites in his eyes: maybe it's the sensation of power; maybe it's the titillation of the unexpected encounter and the situation. Maybe it's a desire to punish, to give a drunk girl some fatherly discipline. Jessica tastes the vomit in her mouth, takes in the fifty-year-old man's fat cheeks and coarse stubble. The jubilant look on his face.</span></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-64709696469375423312024-02-23T00:39:00.001-05:002024-02-23T00:39:26.898-05:00#Review - The Lady in Glass and Other Stories by Anne Bishop #Fantasy #Anthologies<span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0KkSaBRK93w4dq3pndo5WCbD05B2N7cQOA5w-saoSOgC1ZKOzWviFlWg1EAM85rrjguvfODRwa8IAX60Dg0IdeDYf4_CyJn9Lkv-77K-NRdkycxOHYUyJCWvYXpJhI0CrjLb6GhMW10BX1L8R8PCkvKguXhnrzk4QgHme9nOKUKCW0K3lNp1D3RWf7A/s1510/9780593639054_397d1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0KkSaBRK93w4dq3pndo5WCbD05B2N7cQOA5w-saoSOgC1ZKOzWviFlWg1EAM85rrjguvfODRwa8IAX60Dg0IdeDYf4_CyJn9Lkv-77K-NRdkycxOHYUyJCWvYXpJhI0CrjLb6GhMW10BX1L8R8PCkvKguXhnrzk4QgHme9nOKUKCW0K3lNp1D3RWf7A/s320/9780593639054_397d1.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Series:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><span> Anthology</span><br />
<span>Format: Hardcover, 480 pages</span><br />
<span>Release Date: February 27, 2024</span><br />
<span>Publisher: ACE</span><br />
<span>Source: Publisher</span><br /><span>Genre: Fantasy / Collections & Anthologies</span></b></span><div><b style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-size: 12px;"><b><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></b></b></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b><span style="background-color: white;">A magical collection of stories new and old spanning across all of Anne Bishop’s most beloved fantasy worlds.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Here, together for the first time, the shorter works of </span><i style="background-color: white;">New York Times </i><span style="background-color: white;">bestselling fantasy author Anne Bishop are included in one dazzling volume.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">A master of bringing fantasy worlds to life, this collection showcases Bishop’s impressive range, from the rarities of her earliest writing to the Realms of the Blood, from darker fairytale retellings to the Landscapes of Ephemera, and from standalone stories of space exploration and fantastical creatures to the contemporary fantasy terrain of the World of the Others.</span><br style="background-color: white;" /><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Includes previously published and unpublished tales, as well as two brand-new stories, written especially for this collection: “Friends and Corpses,” a murder mystery in which the corpse has some decidedly unusual qualities, and “Home for the Howlidays,” a heartwarming return to the Blood Prophet Meg Corbyn and the shapeshifting Simon Wolfgard from The Others.</span></b><br /></span><div><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Anne Bishop's <i>The Lady in the Glass and Other</i> Stories is a collection of over a dozen short stories, some longer than others, including some never before released short stories for this release. T<span style="background-color: white;">wo brand-new stories include <i>Home for the Howlidays</i> (The Others), and <i>Friends and Corpses</i> (unusual murder mystery).</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">Some of the stories have not been available in decades, including tales that were released in a very limited way, or have been out of print, or were never published at all. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">T</span><span style="background-color: white;">his collection will allow readers to experience a wide variety of Anne's shorter works, including all her very early stories that she wants to share, as well as all the other short pieces that were published over the years, and the two new stories.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The book starts with <i>The Lady in the Glass</i> which was written in 1989. First published in 2am Magazine. After the Great Foolishness, she came to them when the earth shifted one day, an unremarkable occurrence in the times. Men were out hunting and discovered a woman in a glass tube. The debate rages for a long time about what to do before choosing to let her remain isolated. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Bear Trap</i> (2024) Published here for the first time by permission of the author. *The story is about a girl who gets caught in a Bear Trap by a hunter, later escapes, and finds her own happy ending. <i>Not a Princess</i> (2024) Published here for the first time by permission of the author. The story is about a woman named Matilda who decides that she is going to create a princess. Could be a recreation of Rapunzel. </span><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The Weapon </i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">(1991) First published in 2am Magazine.</span><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The story takes place during a war, maybe the Civil War? </span><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Hotting Fuggam and the Dragon (1993) </i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">First published in Figment.</span><i style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Tunnel (1998) Published in Horrors! 365 Scary Stories. Is there light at the end of the tunnel, or certain doom?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Part II of this collection is called The Fairy Tales. The stories include <i>Match Girl</i> (1995) Published in Ruby Slippers, Golden Tears. *According to the author, this is one of the darkest stories she's ever written, and I will have to agree with her. The story contains physical and sexual violence and torture. </span><i style="background-color: white;">Rapunzel </i><span style="background-color: white;">(1997) First published in Black Swan, White Raven. Villain origin story. </span><i style="background-color: white;">The Wild Heart</i><span style="background-color: white;"> (1999) Published in Silver Birch, Blood Moon. Sleeping Beauty retelling. </span><i style="background-color: white;">The Fairest One of All</i><span style="background-color: white;"> (2003) Published in Lighthouse Magazine. Snow White retelling </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Part II is a collection from the author's Black Jewels series. The stories include <i>By the Time the Witchblood Blooms</i> (2000) published in Treachery and Treason by Laura Anne Gilman and Jennifer Heddle. The story takes place between the end of the Daughter of the Blood and the beginning of Queen of the Darkness. T</span><span style="background-color: white;"><i>he Khaldharon Run</i> (2024) Deleted scene from Heir to the Shadows was </span><span style="background-color: white;">originally </span><span style="background-color: white;">published in (1999). The story takes place between sections one and two of Chapter 10. </span><i style="background-color: white;">The Price</i><span style="background-color: white;"> (2004) Published in Powers of Detection edited by Dana Stabenow. The story takes place between the story Kaeleer's Heart in Dreams Made and Tangled Webs. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Part III is from The Landscape of Ephemera with The Voice (2012) First published as an e-book in 2012. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Part of Bridge of Dreams (2013). </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">The World of the Others: Home for the Howlidays (2024) Published here for the first time in any form by the author. This is a Meg and Simon story that takes place a few months after the events in Etched in Bone. </span><span style="background-color: white;">"The Dark Ship" (2022) First published in Heroic Hearts by Jim Butcher. This is a story about pirates, vampires, and Elders, and a woman who ends up bridging the gap between humans and others. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Part IV is New Places including a story called "Friends and Corpses" (2024) Published here for the first time. If you like zombie stories, you'll enjoy this one. Cecily Blanque works for a company called Deceased Reclamation. But what happens when she discovers that her own mother and her aunt are not who they claim they are? </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Part V is A Potpourri of Stories including The Day Will Come (2001) First published shortly after 9/11/2001. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Truth and Story (2005) was part of the author's Guest of Honor speech at Tylacon in Tasmania. </span><i style="background-color: white;">Stands a God Within the Shadows (2008) Published in Imaginary Friends. </i><span style="background-color: white;">Inspired by a piece of music and the phrase "stands a god within the shadows."</span><i style="background-color: white;"> </i><i style="background-color: white;">S</i><span style="background-color: white;">he Moved Through the Fair (2012) was First published by ArmadilloCon and Fandom Association of Central Texas. This is a freaky ghost story that spans generations. </span><span style="background-color: white;">A Strand in the Web (2002) First published in Orbiter, reprinted in Stranded. The story originated by a quote about humankind being one strange in the web of life. "One Earth, One Chance."</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans";"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">THE LADY IN GLASS</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Who was she, this one who sleeps in the glass coffin? How long has she slept? She is beautiful, so beautiful. Her hair is as black as a raven and looks as soft as the clouds. Her skin is as white as the Elderman's best porcelain and unmarked by time or life; and yet her cheeks have the blush of a perfect apple, and her lips are as red as the most perfect rose. Her eyes, closed in her eternal sleep, are they blue with innocence, gray with wisdom, or dark with the mysteries of the world?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Who was she?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She came to us when the earth shifted one day, an unremarkable occurrence in our times. Some men from our village were out hunting. One moment they were walking through a narrow pass between high grassy hills, and the next they were sprawled on their backs as the earth trembled and one of the hills was sliced apart as cleanly as a sharp knife cuts through cake.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">And there she was.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">They could not believe what they saw. Cautiously they climbed to where she lay, testing each foothold lest their presence on the loosened earth cause a further slide that would bury them, and her. As if in a dream, they used their guns as shovels and carefully eased her from the hill.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">When they returned to our village, they came not with the meat needed to fill hungry bellies but with her. Sweating and struggling, they carried her back, fearing all the time that the smallest pebble, the merest twig, would cause one of them to stumble and overbalance the load, which would surely have ended in her destruction.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The Elderman ordered them to carry her into his house to protect her from the elements, particularly the harsh, hazy sun, and everyone crowded in to look at her. Even those who had never been permitted to cross his threshold before forgot propriety as elbow jostled rib and feet were trod on in the effort to get a better look. It took but a few minutes for a fight to break out, and when the bodies thudded against the long table the Elderman's family dined on-the table on which the coffin lay-the Elderman roared his disapproval and banished all but the council of elders from his house.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Even after the door had been closed and barred and all the windows curtained, still the villagers had stood outside, whispering among themselves and wondering, wondering.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She is not like us, and yet she is. She is what we once were, before that terrible, terrible thing happened that is only called the Great Foolishness-a stupid name for that horror in the past that gnarled and bent us so and yet, miraculously, left so much untouched.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She is what we once were, tall and straight of limb; but we are all that's left of humankind. We are all that's left of Man.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">We have a library in our village, a rare thing for so small a place. Books are precious. It is a week's travel to a city where they can be bought, and they are dearly priced. Still, we have a collection, a sign of communal affluence. Thrice each week, the Historian or one of his clerks stands before the assembled village and reads from one of them. It is wonderful. When I was young, I wanted to be a clerk (I never dared aspire to be Historian). I had the intellectual gifts required, but my father, who had grown tired and uncaring, thought the fields sufficient employment for me, and his second lifemate (my mother died early-not an unusual occurrence among our wemen) was more interested in advancing the standing of her own child in our village than in tending to me. But he is already gone and I am here, sitting through the night hours, keeping the lady company.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">But I ramble. 'Tis a sign of age.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The Elderman tired of having the village underfoot whenever he tried to leave his house. He tired of faces trying to peer into his windows, so he ordered a viewing hall to be built where all could come and see the lady.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Day after day they came to see her. The men came and stared, hungering for her beauty. The wemen came and stared, pain and hatred in their eyes.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Every man has a duty to take a lifemate. Our survival depends upon procreation, no small thing anymore, for if the Great Foolishness deformed and twisted the men, it was even crueler to those who hold the basket of our survival.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">They are so ugly. They are humped and bent, their limbs twisted and misshapen. Only their eyes are beautiful, deep and full of strange longings, half-remembered dreams. Men live with them to have a helpmate, to satisfy their bodies' needs, to hopefully produce a child.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It is a great crime among us to desert a lifemate. It is a social disgrace not to perform the marriage duty often enough for her to conceive. It is, at best, a trial for both parties. When a weman feels the need for a man's body, and usually this is only a handful of days in the course of her blood time, she informs him of his duty. On these days he is excused early from his day's work so that he is fresher, more fit to provide the seed. At least once on each of these days he lays his body down upon hers. Then, if they are lucky, her blood time will come and go, and the life within her will quicken. And if they are very lucky, they will have a child. If not . . . Even the childra, the unchild, is allowed to suck once at its mother's breast-if it has a mouth to suck with-before being given a small vial of breeleth, or dragon's breath, a sweet, deadly poison that works quickly and without pain.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">So the men would come to the viewing hall from the fields and stare, drinking her in, memorizing her before hurrying to their huts and their beds to perform their duty in a darkened room.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">One day, one of the wemen, having discovered that her lifemate could no longer stand to do his duty for her without gazing first upon the lady, stood in the viewing hall before a large crowd and pondered aloud what the lady's lifemate must have looked like. And they could all see him: taller than she but built just as straight, limbs muscled and whole, darker skinned than she, skin that had been gently kissed by the sun, and raven hair as full and sleek as her own. It cut them to the core, for they were no more like him than the wemen were like her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The weman, gone mad, picked up the jagged rock she'd been hiding and hurled it at the coffin. Her lifemate, grieving for a man's body that could never be his own, threw himself in the way of the rock, protecting the lady. The rock took out one eye and opened his skull. He died that night. A few months later, the weman produced twin childra and died in the birthing.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">After that, a guard was stationed in the viewing room to protect the lady as she slept.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">And then, one night, the Historian ran through the streets like a man deranged and stood hopping about on the cold ground in his bare feet as he pounded the Elderman's door with his fist. The Elderman let him in, and a few minutes later, his youngest son was running to the huts of the other elders, and a council was called.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The Historian had been reading a book loaned to him by a brother historian and had come across a story about a lady much like our own, so beloved by those who knew her that when she died, they placed her in a glass coffin so that they could still look upon her beauty. And then a man came by and saw her and fell in love with her. He opened the coffin and bestowed a kiss upon her lips, and the lady woke from her long sleep and went to live with him.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A kiss!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The elders were stunned. A kiss does not bring the living back from the dead. It was nonsense. It was blasphemy. It was . . . possible?</span></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-46650356456702787002024-02-22T00:23:00.001-05:002024-02-22T00:23:37.180-05:00#Review - A Tempest of Tea by Hafsah Faizal #YA #Fantasy <b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQP0l-Dg01MXaaZ-ODCpXTHmBjWx1lR3udTsxyKG86WiYCqZ0BxEOkgicAA5aDPFDdiA1RiyY2T_19VJ49FRNjYQI0rBOyle1Gue2N8n9EXBjRrAAEroCuKaZlqF_ZyT1br1cgPJp-G-NcPu7_p5riVTHoh4szLB9ioKjvfHrCe1qcVZZPsFUGsIYx9mo/s1510/9780374389406_25503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQP0l-Dg01MXaaZ-ODCpXTHmBjWx1lR3udTsxyKG86WiYCqZ0BxEOkgicAA5aDPFDdiA1RiyY2T_19VJ49FRNjYQI0rBOyle1Gue2N8n9EXBjRrAAEroCuKaZlqF_ZyT1br1cgPJp-G-NcPu7_p5riVTHoh4szLB9ioKjvfHrCe1qcVZZPsFUGsIYx9mo/s320/9780374389406_25503.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Series:</span></b><b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span> Blood and Tea # 1</span><br />
<span>Format: Hardcover, 352 pages</span><br />
<span>Release Date: February 20, 2024</span><br />
<span>Publisher: </span><span style="background-color: white;">Farrar, Straus & Giroux</span><br />
<span>Source: Publisher</span><br /><span>Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy</span></span></b><div><b><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></b><div><b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">From Hafsah Faizal, </span><i style="background-color: white;">New York Times </i><span style="background-color: white;">bestselling author of </span><i style="background-color: white;">We Hunt the Flame</i><span style="background-color: white;">, comes the first book in a hotly anticipated fantasy duology about an orphan girl and her crew who get tangled in a heist with vampires, perfect for fans of Leigh Bardugo’s </span><i style="background-color: white;">Six of Crows</i><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></span></b><p style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">On the streets of White Roaring, Arthie Casimir is a criminal mastermind and collector of secrets. Her prestigious tearoom transforms into an illegal bloodhouse by dark, catering to the vampires feared by society. But when her establishment is threatened, Arthie is forced to strike an unlikely deal with an alluring adversary to save it—and she can’t do the job alone.<br /><br />Calling upon a band of misfits, Arthie formulates a plan to infiltrate the dark and glittering vampire society known as the Athereum. But not every member of her crew is on her side, and as the truth behind the heist unfolds, Arthie finds herself in the midst of a conspiracy that will threaten the world as she knows it. Dark, action-packed, and swoonworthy, this is Hafsah Faizal better than ever.</span></b></p><div>
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<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A Tempest of Tea</i>, by Hafsah Faizal, is the first installment in the author's <i>Blood and Tea</i> duology. If you liked the thrill ride of <i>Six of Crows</i>, you will want to read this book. <span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">On the streets of White Roaring, Arthie Casimir is a criminal mastermind and collector of secrets.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">She runs Spindrift, a tea room</span><span style="background-color: white;"> that doubles as a bloodhouse for vampires with her adopted brother Jin, who like Arthie, is an orphan. </span><span style="background-color: white;">It's not exactly legal, but Arthie holds enough of people's secrets that the authorities haven't been able to get to her yet.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Even when Spindrift, (once a museum known as the Curio boasting artifacts stolen from the colonies), is raided by the Horned Guard, they are always just a minute or two late from catching Arthie breaking the law. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">But when her establishment is threatened by the monarch called Ram, Arthie is forced to strike an unlikely deal with an alluring adversary to save it—and she can’t do the job alone. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Arthie, who is Ceylani, watched her people as they were slaughtered by Ettenia colonists. She was the only survivor. Arthie likes to stir up chaos to get her revenge on the people who wronged her. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Before she ran Spindrift, she was an orphan on the streets picking the pockets of those who could afford it. It is there that she discovered Jin after his home was burned to the ground leaving them both as orphans. </span><span style="background-color: white;">She is also the girl who planned a brilliant scheme where she pulled a pistol called Calibore from the stone. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Calibore is no ordinary gun.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> T</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">he gun can change into any weapon of her choosing and can kill anything—even a vampire. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Arthie's mission is to infiltrate the vampire underground compound called Athereum, run by Penn Arundel, steal the ledger, and guarantee that Spindrift doesn't face any more threats.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Arthie's crew includes Jin, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Arthie's most trusted partner in crime,</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Matteo Andoni, a vampire </span><span style="background-color: white;">and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">shameless flirt who has a delightfully obvious crush on Arthie</span><span style="background-color: white;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Felicity "Flick" Linden</span><span style="background-color: white;">, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">the adoptive child of a female government official who only cares about her public image and </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">very talented at forgery, which she has put to use numerous times.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">Then there is Laith. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Laith is a high guard captain, the complete opposite of Arthie's profession, and the unlikeliest member of their group.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">He is also mysterious which makes Arthie uneasy as much as it attracts her.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">What becomes clear during the heist, is that not everyone is on her side. As the heist progresses, Arthie </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">finds herself amid a conspiracy that will threaten the world as she knows it. Not only will Arthie find out about trusting people, but her own secret will be revealed, and the consequences will linger until the finale is released. It is especially dangerous that vampires have been taken and disappeared. There are so many threads that you have to weave and yet are left with a stunning cliffhanger ending. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">*Thoughts* Even though there are clear similarities between Arthie, Kez Bekker (Six of Crows) and Severin (The Gilded Wolves), she's </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">intelligent and sneaky, but also loyal and fiercely protective. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">I did not read the author's two previous novels, but I understand that if you pay attention to who Laith is and where he allegedly comes from </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">(</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Arawiya) you might find a connection. Arawiya is a country that is said to have been under a curse until recently. A country that has not fallen to the colonists of Ettenia. One could compare Ettenia to the United Kingdom and The East India Company in this book called </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">East Jeevant Company. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tempest-Tea-Hafsah-Faizal-ebook/dp/B09JMX14J7/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Audible-A-Tempest-of-Tea/dp/B09M8VBSVM/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Audible </a>| <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-tempest-of-tea-hafsah-faizal/1140376240;jsessionid=309F2D01020B3CED0A15148F322F23A4.prodny_store02-atgap08?ean=9780374389406" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-tempest-of-tea" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-10677118003269493122024-02-21T00:02:00.008-05:002024-02-21T09:17:57.581-05:00#Review - A Fate Inked in Blood by Danielle L. Jensen #Fantasy #Historical <b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcuD5TjBtKhE9uFIO1NUEJUhAtURWDJaZmjNUq-EGZCdLUSpJNa8R45KBmCUhH1S2FMBo0s0oxLjPUopkLZlaVQSoHLe_qkN-fSPJrYADMJ9bvESZRYIJFhqEkjza37GsoxoNQrIjKht4ts9nq4GivX931b_JSAhGP6NHf04bIrFCzm7Dk-RSOiZd9cg/s1510/9780593599839_1502b.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcuD5TjBtKhE9uFIO1NUEJUhAtURWDJaZmjNUq-EGZCdLUSpJNa8R45KBmCUhH1S2FMBo0s0oxLjPUopkLZlaVQSoHLe_qkN-fSPJrYADMJ9bvESZRYIJFhqEkjza37GsoxoNQrIjKht4ts9nq4GivX931b_JSAhGP6NHf04bIrFCzm7Dk-RSOiZd9cg/s320/9780593599839_1502b.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Saga of the Unfated # 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 432 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: February 27, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Del Rey</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Fantasy / Historical / Viking</span></b><div><b style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 12px;"><b><br /></b></b></div><div><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">A shield maiden blessed by the gods battles to unite a nation under a power-hungry king—while also fighting her growing desire for his fiery son—in the first book of a Norse-inspired fantasy romance duology from the bestselling author of The Bridge Kingdom series.<br /><br />The stunning first edition hardcover of <i>A Fate Inked in Blood</i> will feature foil page edges, a custom-stamped case, and a premium dust jacket!</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Bound in an unwanted marriage, Freya spends her days gutting fish, but dreams of becoming a warrior. And of putting an axe in her boorish husband’s back.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Freya's dreams abruptly become reality when her husband betrays her to the region's jarl, landing her in a fight to the death against his son, Bjorn. To survive, Freya is forced to reveal her deepest secret: She possesses a drop of a goddess's blood, which makes her a shield maiden with magic capable of repelling any attack. It was foretold such a magic would unite the fractured nation of Skaland beneath the one who controls the shield maiden’s fate.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Believing he's destined to rule Skaland as king, the fanatical jarl binds Freya with a blood oath and orders Bjorn to protect her from their enemies. Desperate to prove her strength, Freya must train to fight and learn to control her magic, all while facing perilous tests set by the gods. The greatest test of all, however, may be resisting her forbidden attraction to Bjorn. If Freya succumbs to her lust for the charming and fierce warrior, she risks not only her own destiny but the fate of all the people she swore to protect.</span></b><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 12px;" /><div><b><br /></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"They say being given the blood of a god is a gift. But it is a curse."</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>A Fate Inked in Blood</i>, by Danielle L. Jensen, is the first installment in the authors' <i>Saga of the Unfated</i> duology. This story takes place in an alternative Norse-inspired Fantasy world featuring Freya, a girl touched by Gods, as the main character. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bound in an unwanted marriage, Freya spends her days gutting fish, but dreams of becoming a warrior. And of putting an axe in her boorish husband’s back. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Freya's dreams abruptly become reality when her husband betrays her to the region's jarl, landing her in a fight to the death against his son, Bjorn. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">To survive, Freya is forced to reveal her deepest secret: She possesses a drop of a goddess's blood, which makes her a shield maiden with magic capable of repelling any attack. It was foretold such magic would unite the fractured nation of Skaland beneath the one who controls the shield maiden’s fate. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Believing he's destined to rule Skaland as king, the fanatical jarl binds Freya with a blood oath and orders Bjorn to protect her from their enemies. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Bjorn, who was taken to Nordeland when he was a boy, is also touched by a God which allows him to hold the blood axe of Tye. With war inevitable with King Harald of Nordeland, Freya quickly becomes embattled in a tug of war to see who controls her, or who can kill her before she can pick a side. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Desperate to prove her strength, Freya must train to fight and learn to control her magic, all while facing perilous tests set by the gods. The greatest test of all, however, may be resisting her forbidden attraction to Bjorn. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">If Freya succumbs to her lust for the charming and fierce warrior, she risks not only her own destiny but the fate of all the people she swore to protect. A</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #1e1915;">s the story unfolds, there is a noticeable sense of predictability that creeps in. It becomes apparent that the plot follows a familiar path, and astute readers may anticipate some of the twists and turns. When the betrayal occurs at the end, if you pay attention throughout the story, it isn't such a shocking thing. Luckily, this is only a 2 book series so I will be patiently waiting for the finale. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #1e1915; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #1e1915;">*Thoughts* Overall, this is a pretty entertaining book. </span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There's a good amount of traveling, prophecies, magic, gods, norse mythology and tension. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #1e1915;">But the sexual undertone, which leads to more and more sex, could have been dwindled down to under 20 pages. Freya isn't a bad character. She's been told she needs to hide who she is and then is shoved into a battle she has no control over. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">While Freyja is resourceful and loyal and will go to any lengths to protect those she cares about, Bjorn is more of an enigmatic rogue.</span></span><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: georgia;">This is one of the few books where the author or publisher hasn't shoved diversity for the sake of diversity. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;"><b style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Chapter 1</b><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My mother taught me many skills to ensure I’d make a good wife to my husband. How to cook and clean. How to weave and sew. Where to hunt and gather. She’d have been better off teaching me the restraint needed not to stab said husband when he proved himself a short-witted drunkard with an acid tongue . . .</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">For my temper was being sorely tested today.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“What are you doing?” Vragi demanded, his breath reeking of mead as he bent over my shoulder.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Exactly what it looks like.” I ran the tip of my knife down the fish’s belly, its innards spilling outward. “Cleaning the catch.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Huffing out an aggrieved breath, Vragi jerked the knife from my hand, nearly slicing open my palm. Snatching up another fish, he opened its belly and scooped out the innards into a bloody pile before stabbing the tip of my knife into the wooden block, his technique identical to my own. “You see?”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“I know how to gut a fish,” I said between my teeth, every part of me desiring to gut him. “I’ve gutted thousands of fish.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“I don’t like the way you do it.” His lip curled. “The way you do it is wrong. People complain.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">That much was true, but it wasn’t complaints about fish guts.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My dear husband was a child of the gods, having been granted a drop of Njord’s blood at his conception, which gave him powerful magic over the creatures of the sea. Except instead of using it to care for our people, he used his magic to deprive other fishermen of any catch even as he filled his own nets. Then he charged double what the fish were worth of the very people whose nets he kept empty.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Everyone knew it. But no one dared speak a word against him. He was Vragi the Savior, the man who’d delivered Selvegr from famine when the crops had failed ten years past, drawing in fish from the North Sea to fill bellies, ensuring no one went without.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A hero, everyone had called him. And maybe once that was so, but fame and greed had vanquished the generosity that had earned him the title, and now people spat at his name even as they honored him with an annual feast. That no one had put a knife in his back was mostly because he had the protection of the jarl.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">But not entirely.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“We all do best to remember we might need his magic again, Freya,” my mother told me when I griped. “You would do best to remember that he brings wealth to your home.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Wealth.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It was the reason my father had agreed—despite my vocal protests—to Vragi’s proposal of marriage. Yet instead of living to see his error, my father had died on my wedding night, leaving everyone to mutter about bad omens and ill-fated matches. If it had truly been a message from the gods, they need not have bothered: I’d known from the moment Vragi had stuck his foul tongue in my mouth in front of all the guests that this marriage would be a curse.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The past year had given me daily proof.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Except it was hard to cast bitter words about him into the ears of others, for Vragi was generous to my mother, paying for all her needs while my brother earned his place in the war band of our jarl.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">For my family, I will do this, I silently chanted, much as I had the night I’d been wed. For my family, I will endure him. Aloud, I said, “I will do better.” And because he didn’t look satisfied, I added, “I will do it your way, Vragi.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Show me.” The condescension caused my teeth to clench so hard they nearly cracked, but I obliged, swiftly gutting another fish.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Vragi snorted, then spat on the ground next to me. “My mother was right—I should’ve married an ugly woman whose worth was in her skill. Not a pretty one whose only skill is her looks. Looks do not gut fish. Looks do not cook food. Looks do not make babies.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As far as the last went, my looks never would.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I spent nearly all the coin he gave me purchasing lemon juice and sponge from the traders who came to us from the South Seas, and if Vragi had ever wondered why his cock smelled of citrus after we coupled, he’d never asked. Long may his ignorance last.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“A year, woman. A whole year of marriage and servicing, and yet no son.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I bent over the board, gutting another fish to hide the angry tears threatening to fall. I’d never subject a child to this man. Never. “I’ll make an offering.” Which was no lie—at the beginning of every cycle I made a sacrifice to the goddess I was named for, begging her to keep my womb empty. Thus far, she’d been merciful.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Either that, or I’d been lucky.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As if hearing my thoughts, Vragi caught hold of my braid, jerking me to my feet. “I don’t want offerings, Freya,” he snarled. “I want you to try harder. I want you to do things correctly. I want you to give me what I want.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My scalp stung, only the tightness of my braid preventing him from ripping out a handful of hair, and my temper snapped. “Perhaps it is you who is doing it incorrectly, husband. That’s certainly how it feels.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Silence thickened the air.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">A smart woman would regret such words, but I was clearly an idiot of the first order as all I felt was a flash of wicked triumph as the barb slowly struck home. Vragi’s face darkened beneath his thick beard, a vein in his temple pulsing like a purple worm. Then his knife pressed against my cheek, his breath rank as he whispered, “Maybe the key is to make you less pretty, Freya. Then you will have to learn other skills.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The steel was cold and cruel. It wiped away my triumph and replaced it with fear.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Yet . . . I couldn’t concede. Couldn’t allow myself to break or cry or beg, because that was what he relished: bringing me low. Instead I met his gaze and said, “Do it. Do it, Vragi, and then go to the village and see if they’ll still host your feast and call you a hero when they learn you cut your wife’s face to spite her beauty.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">His lip curled. “They need me.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“That doesn’t mean they need to honor you.” And a narcissist like him needed that honor.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I watched the wheels of his mind turn; no doubt he was musing how much he could hurt me without consequence. But I refused to look away despite the cold sweat that slicked my palms. The blade pressed harder against my cheek, stinging, and I sucked in a sharp breath to control my rising panic.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He heard it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Vragi grinned, my tiny show of weakness satisfying him. He let go of my hair, lowering his knife. “Get back to work, woman. When you’re finished, bring two fish to your mother. Perhaps she’ll remind you of your duties. It is her fault, and your father’s”—he spat—“that you don’t know them.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Do not speak ill of my father!” I grabbed my knife, but Vragi only sneered at it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“There is the proof,” he said. “He forgot you were a daughter and taught you like your brother. Now instead of a wife, I have a grown woman who plays at being a warrior like a small child, brandishing her stick and imagining every tree her foe.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Heat burned up my chest, turning my cheeks to infernos. Because he was not wrong.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Perhaps I’ve been complicit,” he said. “I’ve allowed you too much idle time, which the gods know is the ruination of good character.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The only idle time I was allowed was the hours I slept, but I said nothing.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Vragi turned away from me, going right to the water’s edge, the fjord glittering in the sunshine. Lifting his hand, he invoked Njord’s name.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">For a long moment, nothing happened, and I breathed a silent prayer that the god of the sea had finally recognized what a piece of shit his child was and stolen away his magic.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Wasted prayers, for a heartbeat later the water quivered. And the fish began jumping.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Only a few at first, but then dozens and dozens were hurling themselves out of the water and onto the beach until I could barely see the rocks through the teeming mass of fins and scales.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“This should keep you occupied.” Vragi smirked. “Give your mother my love.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My bloody blade quivered in barely checked rage as he turned and walked away.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I stared at the fish thrashing about on the beach, desperate to return to the water. Such a waste, for there were more here than we could sell before they went to rot. And it was not the first time he’d done such a thing.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I’d once watched him beach a whale, but instead of ending the animal’s life immediately, he’d allowed it to work its way back into the water only to use his magic to draw it out again. Over and over he’d done it, all the village watching, his eyes filled with fascination as he tortured the animal for no reason beyond the fact that he could.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It had only ended when my brother pushed through the crowd and embedded an axe into the whale’s brain, putting it out of its misery and allowing the rest of us to begin the process of butchering the carcass, no one celebrating what should have been a glorious day of feasting.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I refused to feel the same sort of regret again.</span></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-61086323840671851802024-02-19T00:00:00.001-05:002024-02-19T00:00:00.130-05:00#Review - Stolen Oath by Maya Daniels #Fantasy #Paranormal<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLefatljK0QqzGEn5f-1aLL2oP75WPEGyznQNNU55fzRLda83vGTdZZNjx7M9reKBMaEa09-80dRxIjV3ixxtZW1G1XwviubYNXFLmVtI-xVi3MqETPXFYqFm0W-Nwy0x8MuoUPza2xtLlZVhJDKndZXiecHsR0x3mj_no0rUs81CdrDYSNgmMzc944c/s500/150330565.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLefatljK0QqzGEn5f-1aLL2oP75WPEGyznQNNU55fzRLda83vGTdZZNjx7M9reKBMaEa09-80dRxIjV3ixxtZW1G1XwviubYNXFLmVtI-xVi3MqETPXFYqFm0W-Nwy0x8MuoUPza2xtLlZVhJDKndZXiecHsR0x3mj_no0rUs81CdrDYSNgmMzc944c/s320/150330565.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Honor Among Thieves # 2</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Kindle, 158 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: May 12, 2023</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: May Daniels</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Kindle Unlimited</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Urban Fantasy</span></b><div><b><br /></b><div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><b>Alaska never thought she’d find herself in the middle of a family drama, yet her life depends on her ability to resolve it quickly. Witches and shifters never mixed well, but the proud thief ended up deep to her eyeballs in fur.</b></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><b>Dimitri’s inherited legacy holds more secrets than either of them expected after the original fiasco with the spell book. His father may not remember anything about Alaska, thanks to the blood magic potion, but that won’t stop him from removing his son out of the way at any cost.</b></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><b>To make matters worse, wedding plans are in full swing that brings to light unwillingly given promises that appear set in stone.</b></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><b>Alaska’s determination has no bounds. If she could steal someone’s magic, there must be a way to steal a falsely taken oath. All she had to do is find the right spell.</b></span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; margin: -4px 0px 14px; padding: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><b>If only things were that easy.</b></span></p></div><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Maya Daniels' <i>Stolen Oath</i> is the second installment in the authors' <i>Honor Among Thieves</i> series. <span style="background-color: white;">Alaska McCullough works at the Crystal Palace by day along with her best friend Charmaine Mariatti who claims to be a sorceress. By night, she's known as the White Kalla thief who is all but a ghost. She was born a witch, but in this world, that is a dangerous proposition. You can be a vampire, or shifter, but not a witch. A group known as the Order of Magical Powers has all but eliminated witches.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Allie has created a whole lot of problems for herself by stealing a magic book full of ancestral spells that is not supposed to exist from Dimitri Bell, Alpha of the Southern California Werewolf pack, and member of the MPO at the behest of someone close to Bell. Right from the onset of the story, it appears that someone has put a hit out on Allie as well as Char which allows Allie to act like the powerful witch she supposedly has the capability of being. To make matters worse, Allie and Dimitri uncovered who hired her to steal the book, but that person is currently out of commission. So, who else has issues with Allie and Char? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It also seems that a witch coven from Louisiana, a coven that is not supposed to exist, is now in town, and nobody really has any clue what they are up to until later in the story. It also appears that someone is targeting high-value supernaturals and trying to eliminate them. People like Allie, Char, & Dimitri. While Allie, Char, and Dimitri work together to figure out why vampires and hyena shifters are working together, Dimitri's pending nuptials with Angela bring about a shocking cliffhanger ending thanks to Allie's choice, and her unusual meeting with the witches from Louisiana. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">*Thoughts* My previous review of this series stated that I wasn't going to dwell on editing errors any longer. I was wrong. My goodness, if you know the author, please her to hire someone to edit her work! There were words misspelled throughout the book that could have easily been caught by Grammarly which I recently started using to avoid embarrassing verbiage mistakes. One of the things I hope changes is Char's missing memories of Damian the Druid thanks to Char saving Allie. These two deserve each other, but right now, Char is having issues. I also hope the author doesn't wait 2 years to release the 3rd book since lots of things happened at the end of this book that needs to be explained fast. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-64861577026884295822024-02-16T00:11:00.003-05:002024-02-16T00:11:57.385-05:00#Review - Heartless Hunter by Kristen Ciccarelli #YA #Historical #Fantasy<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qUTkNKE47ARW3-zN-i2ZIA6gSELb75xUUmtdb8IsukPpv89N-rraFGzpZ6XwTkgg_eNaL69x45tGKoSCBeNMvk2-UKmzZuus91iQunNXvtXf5UhXiOMYyKOe-qwH0h2Nhv2uDPgg_v73W6BdvFzP8pa5Vg4VHSimGKIOkdNG3KvLa0FWkGyNg2c2a1I/s1546/9781250866905_09eae.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1546" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2qUTkNKE47ARW3-zN-i2ZIA6gSELb75xUUmtdb8IsukPpv89N-rraFGzpZ6XwTkgg_eNaL69x45tGKoSCBeNMvk2-UKmzZuus91iQunNXvtXf5UhXiOMYyKOe-qwH0h2Nhv2uDPgg_v73W6BdvFzP8pa5Vg4VHSimGKIOkdNG3KvLa0FWkGyNg2c2a1I/s320/9781250866905_09eae.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The Crimson Moth # 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 416 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: February 20, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Wednesday Books</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Young Adult / Historical / Fantasy</span></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">A dangerously romantic <i>Scarlet Pimpernel-</i>inspired fantasy with post-revolution witches from acclaimed author Kristen Ciccarelli.</b><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>On the night Rune’s life changed forever, blood ran in the streets. Now, in the aftermath of a devastating revolution, witches have been diminished from powerful rulers to outcasts ruthlessly hunted due to their waning magic, and Rune must hide what she is.<br /><br />Spending her days pretending to be nothing more than a vapid young socialite, Rune spends her nights as the Crimson Moth, a witch vigilante who rescues her kind from being purged. When a rescue goes wrong, she decides to throw the witch hunters off her scent and gain the intel she desperately needs by courting the handsome Gideon Sharpe - a notorious and unforgiving witch hunter loyal to the revolution - who she can't help but find herself falling for.<br /><br />Gideon loathes the decadence and superficiality Rune represents, but when he learns the Crimson Moth has been using Rune’s merchant ships to smuggle renegade witches out of the republic, he inserts himself into her social circles by pretending to court her right back. He soon realizes that beneath her beauty and shallow façade, is someone fiercely intelligent and tender who feels like his perfect match. Except, what if she’s the very villain he’s been hunting?<br /><br />Kristen Ciccarelli’s<i> Heartless Hunter</i> is the thrilling start to a romantic fantasy duology where the only thing more treacherous than being a witch...is falling in love.</b></p><div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Kristen Ciccarelli's <i>Heartless Hunter</i> is the first installment in the authors' <i>The Crimson Moth</i> duology. <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915;">Heartless Hunter is loosely based on Baroness Orczy's <i>The Scarlet Pimpernel</i>. The book alternates between Rune Winter, the witch known as The Crimson Moth, and Gideon Sharpe, the most dangerous witch hunter around. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Rune lives in a world where witches are hunted and purged.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">It has been 2 years since the streets ran red with the blood of witches. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">It has been that long since Rune made the fateful decision to listen to her grandmother and betray her to save her own life. </span></span><span style="color: #1e1915; font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">As the story opens, Rune is searching for the witch called Seraphine who her grandmother wanted her to find so she could learn about her magical abilities. Unfortunately, Rune discovers Seraphine's hiding place too late and learns that the Blood Guard has captured her. Rune spends her days pretending to </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">be a vapid young socialite. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">After all, she inherited all of her grandmother's wealth. By night, she spends her nights as the Crimson Moth, </span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">a vigilante witch who rescues other witches when they are caught by the Blood Guard.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> W</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">hen Seraphine's rescue goes wrong, she decides to throw the witch hunters off her scent and gain the intel she desperately needs by courting the handsome Gideon Sharpe - a notorious and unforgiving witch hunter loyal to the revolution - who she can't help but find herself falling for. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gideon loathes the decadence and superficiality Rune represents, but when he learns the Crimson Moth has been using Rune’s merchant ships to smuggle renegade witches out of the republic, he inserts himself into her social circles by pretending to court her right back. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">He soon realizes that beneath her beauty and shallow façade, is someone fiercely intelligent and tender who feels like his perfect match. Except, what if she’s the very villain he’s been hunting? </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">The fact that both Rune and Gideon are lying to the other, but are also suspicious of the other’s true intention means that there are a lot of lies, scheming, and pretending to be what they think the other wants them to be.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">To add even more intrigue, the author throws Gideon's brother Alex Sharpe into the mix. Alex has been helping Rune for the past several years. And, if he is found out, he will be purged just like the witches Gideon hunts. Except, there is yet another mystery that you better pay close attention to, otherwise you won't see the end coming. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">This story is a cat vs mouse game of intrigue with some romance kicked in to make the story more entertaining. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sadly though, we don’t see much of her doing actual Crimson Moth work. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It’s mostly about her planning, and trying to ensnare Gideon to gain intel on the witch she is trying to save. Giden is a character who has had a very traumatic past when it comes to witches. His experience spurred him to take part in the revolution which allegedly killed the Witch Queens, and created the Republic. </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The book also ends on a heartbreaking cliffhanger ending. It's a good thing this is only a duology so that we don't have to wait several years to see how the game between Rune and Gideon plays out. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">ONERUNE</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">MIRAGE: (n.) the lowest and most basic category of spell.</i><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Mirage Spells are simple illusions held for short periods that require little blood. The fresher the blood, the stronger the magic, and the easier casting will be.</i><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">—From</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;"> Rules of Magic </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">by Queen Callidora the Valiant</i><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">LIGHTNING SNAKED ACROSS THE sky as Rune Winters made her way through the wet forest, barely sheltered from the rain by the pine canopy overhead. Her lantern’s glow lit the path before her, its surface broken by twisted roots and pools of rainwater.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It was a terrible night for casting. The rain seeped through her cloak, the dampness loosening the spellmarks she’d drawn on her wrist in blood. She needed to redraw the symbols before the rain washed them away entirely, taking her magic with them.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The illusion disguising Rune had to hold until she knew for certain Seraphine wouldn’t kill her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As a former advisor to the Sister Queens, Seraphine Oakes was a powerful witch. And after two years of searching, Rune had finally tracked her down. Now that she had, what would she find at the top of this wooded headland—friend or foe?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Rune worried her lip with her teeth as she remembered her grandmother’s last words to her, two years ago.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Promise me you’ll find Seraphine Oakes, my darling. She’ll tell you everything I couldn’t.</i><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">After the Blood Guard arrested Nan and dragged her from the house, they smeared a bloody X across the front door, declaring to everyone that an enemy of the Republic had been found within and was on her way to be purged.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The memory of that day stabbed like a knife.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">An anxious hum buzzed in Rune’s blood as she continued onward. Like an overture, growing louder and faster. If Seraphine saw through the illusion cloaking Rune before hearing her out, she might expel Rune from her house—or worse, strike her dead.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Because wherever Rune Winters went, her carefully crafted reputation came with her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">She was an informer. A witch hater. A darling of the New Republic.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Rune was the girl who betrayed her grandmother.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It’s why she’d disguised herself as an old peddler tonight, leading a mule laden with goods. The smell of wet donkey hung in the air, and her load of pots and pans clattered with the beast’s every step—each detail summoned into being by the magic in Rune’s blood and held together by the symbols drawn on her wrist, binding the spell to her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It was a Mirage—the most basic of spell classifications—and yet it had taken all of Rune’s mental energy to cast. The resulting headache still roared in her temples.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The branches shook with rain. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the tiny cottage perched at the cliff’s edge where the forest ended. The windows glowed warmly with lamplight, and Rune could smell the woodsmoke pluming from the chimney.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">With her spellmarks fading fast, the illusion flickered around her. She needed the spell to hold for a little longer.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Setting down her lantern, Rune withdrew the glass vial hidden in her pocket and uncorked the lid. Dabbing the blood inside the vial onto her fingertip, she held her wrist to the lamplight and retraced the symbols, reinforcing them. One altered her appearance—graying her hair, wrinkling her skin, hunching her shoulders—while the other summoned the manifestation of the mule beside her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-55543475580735745622024-02-15T00:00:00.001-05:002024-02-15T00:00:00.238-05:00#Review - Night for Day by Roselle Lim #Fantasy #Contemporary<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRi-7MphBmgWl8ZtgichMjnFRDRrqWqRBS9YUO6BOO1UDeSUXKpjcLj5Jyj0cEIbYvUETuu6fxCODptYpiMcLzSO6tnK69VzCnLk0IPOafHtOrDITGWI1fohbsrRgaVg_Daqy94okhLWMhWkDvObsNsLbfm3yArj-93jHk6qLFuR06hdILXXdHqpuxu-Q/s1542/9780593335642_15d5f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1542" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRi-7MphBmgWl8ZtgichMjnFRDRrqWqRBS9YUO6BOO1UDeSUXKpjcLj5Jyj0cEIbYvUETuu6fxCODptYpiMcLzSO6tnK69VzCnLk0IPOafHtOrDITGWI1fohbsrRgaVg_Daqy94okhLWMhWkDvObsNsLbfm3yArj-93jHk6qLFuR06hdILXXdHqpuxu-Q/s320/9780593335642_15d5f.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Standalone</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Paperback, 352 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: February 20, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Ace</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Fantasy / Contemporary</span></b><div><b style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 12px;"><b><br /></b></b></div><div><b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Exes Ward Dunbar and Camille Buhay thought they would never see each other again. They had broken up to pursue their dream jobs on opposite sides of the country—her to New York City, and him to Los Angeles. But years later, they unexpectedly reconnect in London, where they are interviewing for similar jobs. The spark they feel when they meet again—the attraction comes back like muscle memory, and they are reminded of what they had lost. When Ward and Camille discover they both got the job working opposing shifts, they vow to give their relationship another try.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Ward starts the day shift and finds the immortal clientele unusual and dazzling. When he clocks out at the end of the day, he finds the door locked and himself trapped in the building. After a horrific first night shift contending with restless spirits and ghosts, Camille is also unable to escape. In their respective prisons, they discover that they’re able to talk to each other a few minutes before dawn. This fleeting encounter incites longing for each other, but their promise to be together feels impossible. Because they are caught in the middle of a war of the gods—and their choices will determine the outcome.</span><br /></b><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Night for Day</i> is the story of two<span style="background-color: white;"> people destined to be together, but to never see each other again, as they fight against the greatest odds in this powerful and moving fantasy novel by critically acclaimed author Roselle Lim. Main Characters: Camille Buhay and Ward Dunbar. The book itself takes place mainly in London, in two different unique stores, and over a little over two weeks. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Exes Ward and Camille thought they would never see each other again. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #1e1915; font-size: medium;">Ward and Camille are the perfect example of opposites attracting. Ward comes from a wealthy family and never had to fight for anything, born with a silver spoon, but he always thought that Camille was the one he would end up would. He's an optimist, a charmer, social, romantic, and easy-going, while Camille is a pessimist, a skeptic, an introvert, a hard worker, and someone who had to fight for everything she's earned. She also seems to have a deep seeded angst when it comes to white privilege.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Two years ago, the couple broke up to pursue their dream jobs on opposite sides of the country—her to New York City, and him to Los Angeles. But they unexpectedly reconnect in London, where they are interviewing for similar jobs. The spark they feel when they meet again—the attraction comes back like muscle memory, and they are reminded of what they had lost. When Ward and Camille discover they both got the job working opposite shifts, they vow to give their relationship another try.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Ward starts the day shift and finds the immortal clientele unusual and dazzling. His boss is the prickly Madam Selene who is more interested in her very exclusive clientele, than Ward's comforts. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Their jobs are unique. Camille helps ghosts cross over in exchange for buying their memories, while Ward sells jewelry and artifacts to the ancient Gods</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">When he clocks out at the end of the day, he finds the door locked and himself trapped in the building. </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">After a horrific first night shift contending with restless spirits and ghosts, Camille, who works for the charming Mr. Sampson, is also unable to escape. But it seems as though Camille gets the better bargain of the two since she has a place to actually rest. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">In their respective prisons, they discover that they’re able to talk to each other a few minutes before dawn thanks to a gift from Mr. King. This fleeting encounter incites longing for each other, but their promise to be together feels impossible. </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">Because </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">there's an epic war between Western (European and American) and Eastern (Asian, Pacific, and African) gods. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">The gods are using Camille and Ward to help them settle their own disputes, and if this game isn't played properly their lives could be at risk. T</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: georgia;">he couple has no idea that they are the chosen ones who hold the fate of humanity by determining the winner of the war </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">and their choices will determine the outcome. In order to win, a</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">ll they have to do is sell particular items and hope there are clues to escape their respective prisons. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">*Thoughts* This is a book where you have to have patience to finish. Patience is a must because most of the revelations take place slowly. Camille has a much easier time with Mr. Sampson than Ward has with Madam Selene. While Sampson is slowly losing his memories, it seems Selene is pushing Ward to his breaking point. One that you will finally get once it is revealed. When you get to the ending, you learn some very unusual twists. Twists that include two immortals called Time and Chaos. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The story is filled with ghosts, magic, antiques, and immortal bargains. </span></span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">1</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Camille</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Present day</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Mistakes were meant to be in the rearview mirror-not walking, breathing, and able to cup your cheek to stoke every single smoldering memory long buried for self-preservation.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He shouldn't whisper my name as if he never stopped doing so for the past two years.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Even now, my fingers itched to reacquaint myself with the beauty of his face, then to trace the slight cleft in his chin down his smooth throat, and ever farther down, to where our once shared intimacy implied permission and invitation.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Camille, I never thought I'd see you again, let alone in London." The way my name rolled off his tongue and slid through his lips always elicited the same response-it felt like a hot kiss at the nape of my neck.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ward Dunbar. The mistake I'd commit again and again even knowing that the result would always be heartbreak.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Job interview. If I get it, I'll be moving here." I adjusted the neckline of my buttoned dress shirt, expanding the view of bronzed skin below my collarbones. My traitorous body always reacted to him when he was in physical proximity. Easier to shut down my hormones through the sterility of a black glass screen.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He brushed an errant dark blond strand off his forehead. "I'm here for the same. Though I've passed the interview part."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The skies overhead darkened-clusters of gray clouds huddling together in conference. It had been sunny five minutes ago. Late spring weather in London changed on a whim with wicked fickleness, and we were sliding into the heat of summer. I packed an umbrella and a cardigan in my lavender vegan leather tote, but I didn't account for him. My purse didn't contain what I'd need to cope with the nuclear fallout of a failed relationship.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Avoidance therapy was the only method that worked. Putting thousands of miles between us and preventing myself from checking his social media accounts fueled a comfortable sense of forgetfulness-the kind that allowed me to function on a daily basis, but didn't prevent an occasional damaging slipup. It didn't hurt that he hadn't had any long-term relationships since then. Moving to Manhattan helped, and London should have cured me completely.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I was wrong.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Two days ago, I slipped and checked his Instagram. The selfie at an outdoor bookstall on the South Bank caused me to stop breathing for a few seconds. He was here and in the same city. I wasn't thinking when I sent him a direct message asking to meet at this bookshop. It was pure instinct-I turned off my brain and my heart took over, grabbing the wheel and changing the direction of my life.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I never thought you'd leave LA." I resisted the urge to straighten the bent corner of his collar. No tie. I'd been the one responsible for those. His long, elegant fingers had other talents.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I needed a change. This opportunity was as good a time as any." He tipped his head toward the bookshop. "It's going to rain. Can we duck in and chat?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I followed him into one of the most beautiful little shops in Westminster. These buildings reminded me of an eclectic bookshelf-the windows and architectural details were charming, decorated spines of antique leather. Weathered stone, traditional painted wooden signs mixed with flashy modern ones and clean-line aesthetics. The mix of old and new fitting together in seamless coexistence.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">To me, the past and present were constantly at war when I thought about Ward.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As if on cue, the curtain of rain began as he stepped into the shop. I caught a bit of it at the ends of my long hair and the back of my shirt. Again, I was reminded of what I'd be getting into if I decided to have another round in his bed-because that was where it always began.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He headed for the science fiction and fantasy section. He plucked the newest N. K. Jemisin novel from the shelf, tucked it under his arm, and continued to browse the titles, tracing his finger downward on the ones that perked his interest.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"So how does this affect your job in LA?" I took a step forward but maintained a safe distance. The scent of his subtle cologne along with the aroma of Irish cream coffee would undo my crumbling defenses. "Are you on sabbatical?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ward's cushy position at a very exclusive and trendy art gallery in LA was everything he ever wished for-flexible hours, the heavy array of movie stars and wealthy client meetings, and the perfect conduit to maximize his appeal. No one was impervious. He disarmed you with his good looks and gentle tone, then went in for the kill with the way he could make you feel. Empathy combined with charm was lethal.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I quit."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I almost fell against a nearby bookcase. "You did what?"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"It's . . . I needed a change." He reached for my elbow to help me regain my balance. The heat of his touch distracted me. "I accepted a job yesterday and I start tomorrow. Now knowing that you're here, I'd say it's a great move."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Ward didn't let go yet. The worst part was that I didn't want him to. Instead, his fingertips grazed the inside of my forearm, tracing lazy circles with his thumb. I placed my hand on his.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Do you ever think that-"</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I didn't let him finish.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I covered his mouth with mine, devouring his words-my hands pressed against his hard chest, fingertips clinging against the thin silk fabric yearning for the lean muscle lying underneath. He kissed me back as if the present never existed, as if the past two years were a hazy dream and that the truth was that we were never apart.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">It was a lie, but we both wanted to believe it. My mistake to repeat and, yes, it was his as well.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Everything rushed back. The flood of every single reason why we were so good together: the Sunday picnics and walks in Humboldt Park to visit the ducks, the easy late-night conversations curled up on the couch dissecting what we watched on movie night, merienda at my parents' house on the weekends, and those spontaneous escape room dates.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I never forgot how we met-he helped calm my nerves heading into my exams. I had one of my usual panic attacks before finals in college. It didn't matter how much I'd studied, I always panicked. He recognized the signs right away. He led me into a quiet, unused workroom and talked me through breathing exercises while holding my hand. He told me that his younger brother had them and he could understand.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Before this, I chalked him up as one of those pretty white boys who had no substance. This was the first time I came to realize that he was one of those origami magic balls with infinite folds. Every time I peeled back a piece of paper, I found another reason why I liked him, and in due time, it turned into love.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Even now, I still loved him.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The marathon between the bedsheets was always the easiest part of our relationship. The language of skin against skin silenced any objections. The complications began as soon as the scorching kisses ended.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">As I lay in bed with him, I didn't want to acknowledge the time; instead, I dragged my fingertips across the smooth muscles of his abdomen. When it came to this, I was the child who didn't want to leave a party because it was too much of a good time. Didn't want to deal with any consequences after the fun was over.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Through the slight part in the blackout curtains, the capsules in the London Eye hung static with the rising sun, marking the transition from dim blue to radiant pinks, violets, and eventually golds and oranges. If he'd been awake, he'd wax poetic about the contrasting palettes of sunrises and sunsets. His fascination with them fueled his need to highlight passages in his beloved books whenever they were mentioned.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"That internal alarm clock of yours is uncanny." Sleep still coated his voice. He drew lazy circles on my naked shoulder with his thumb. "Your interview isn't until closer to noon."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I still need to prepare."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The wrong parts of him stiffened.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">And there it was. Being with him didn't change me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Let's compromise. One more hour in bed and I can help quiz you after our shower."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The mention of the promised help melted the last of my resistance. The morning ritual of communal showers started off every day on the best note-precious time spent without words-and he gave the best massages.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He chuckled, noticing the dreamy smile on my lips.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">His left hand dipped under the sheets, and again, I'd forgotten every thought in my head except us, and how well we fit together.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My job interview was later that morning. My rationality returned as soon as we left the hotel room and parted ways. Ward hopped into a black cab headed to Carnaby Street to pick up a last-minute item before his shift.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Lethe's Curiosities was an antique shop in the shadow of Westminster Abbey and a convenient short walk from my location. I planned the entire trip to provide for any contingencies, and one of them involved transportation failures.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The job was lucrative and paid well over six figures without even factoring in the conversion rate. I'd be in charge of acquisitions and running the shop on my own after a probationary period. The quiet, posh neighborhood felt safe for the night shift, which probably accounted for the high pay grade. My first impression of the building was that it was upscale-implying a top-line security system and all the amenities.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I stood before the midnight-black facade featuring gold-painted, serif capital letters. The tall windows showed two vignettes on either side of the door. A trace of camphor sprinkled the air. The heavy occult aesthetic prickled the skin at the back of my neck. It was subtle and tasteful, in line with the type of establishment I'd researched. No skulls, creepy porcelain dolls, or spooky clown figures in sight so far.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I couldn't shake the odd feeling that something very old was here-far older than Londinium itself. The last time I had this feeling was when I held a Babylonian fertility idol in my gloved hands during my stint at the Field Museum in Chicago. It was the palpable sensation of being an insignificant speck in the river of time.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The left was an arrangement showcasing a Napoléon III Gothic writing desk paired with a matching high-backed chair with raven-black brocade upholstery. Various ornate, gilded mirrors hung around the desk, hovering in the air, probably anchored by invisible industrial fishing lines or wires. My reflection in each mirror was different-almost as if I were aging in each one, a decade here, three decades there, all eerie enough that I had to avert my eyes.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Might not be a true mirror but some sort of high-end plasma screen with a rapid aging filter from Instagram or Snapchat. Even when dealing with antiquity, technology intruded like an unwanted visitor.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The other window was draped with a black velvet background with a Gothic Victorian double-door curio cabinet as the centerpiece. The top followed a pointed design reminiscent of church steps and roofs. The paned glass duplicated the motif-the design of leaded glass mimicked the wrought iron fencing surrounding grounds and graveyards.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Again my reflection splashed against many gilded mirrors floating against the velvet background. This time, I was aging backward, seeing my face as a teenager, a tween, a six-year-old, a toddler, and a baby. The results were fairly accurate.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The company must have contracted a tech firm for the display.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I checked my watch. Ten minutes before and the right time to make my entrance. I tugged on the polished brass handles and stepped into the shop.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"Ah, Ms. Buhay. You're early." My interviewer and potential supervisor greeted me at the door. "Welcome."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Mr. Samson was a septuagenarian expat with a soothing voice well suited for narrating nature documentaries. He was handsome in his old age and made me wonder what he looked like in his prime. Perhaps I could ask him to stand in front of those mirrors outside.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">He pronounced my last name perfectly. Boo-hai. My Filipino last name often tripped up American tongues and created a mangled auditory mess. I could have gone as some of my relatives have, ignoring the mistake in order to conform. I was born and raised in Morton Grove, a suburb of Chicago, and the most American trait I could think of was to stubbornly correct people until they get it right, no matter how exhausting or tedious. My last name in Tagalog meant "life," and I refused to hear anything but its true pronunciation.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">The minimalism of the window display contrasted with the cluttered interior, embodying the Victorian hoarder aesthetic. Every shelf, cabinet, and leveled surface housed a priceless antique in perfect condition free of dust. Thankfully, the polished wooden-paneled floor was clear, and the set paths throughout were wide enough to alleviate any anxiety of breakage or accidents from an errant limb.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Instead of an expected musty smell, the shop had the sterility of a museum, yet there was a faint trace of sandalwood incense lingering in the air. The soft hum of the air-conditioning vents kept the temperature comfortable, unlike some of the stores I'd been to. Taking the tube wilted me. Give me months of frigid winter and I'd be fine, but sweltering summer heat without air-conditioning was a deal-breaker.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">Mr. Samson pulled out my printed résumé and tapped the sheet. "Your credentials are impressive. If it were up to me, I'd be ready to hire you, but I've been told to conduct the formal interview first." He gestured toward two Queen Anne chairs with golden brocade upholstery to the left of the cash register.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">We took our seats.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">I crossed my legs at the ankles and kept my hands stacked on my lap.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"This is by no means a rigorous inquiry. The owner of the shop insisted on only three questions." He withdrew his reading glasses along with a folded piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">My shoulders lowered. This was better than a multiday battery of pointless interviews with different department heads. One of the reasons I wanted this position was the appeal of dealing with fewer people, because the night shift meant minimal clients, and appraisals and acquisitions were the bulk of my responsibilities.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"How well do you adapt to change?" He squinted at the paper and then at me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">"I can manage it with ease. I tend to prepare for any scenario to be able to handle anything thrown at me."</span></div></div></center>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Night-Day-Roselle-Lim-ebook/dp/B0C5V7MZX3/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Audible-Night-for-Day/dp/B0C6YH6QXD/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Audible </a>| <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/night-for-day-roselle-lim/1143523508;jsessionid=B4B42E3491CB454C43D4E42A32882F08.prodny_store02-atgap17?ean=9780593335642" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/night-for-day-2" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-33702657948380537132024-02-13T00:00:00.001-05:002024-02-13T00:00:00.125-05:00#Review - Sun of Blood and Ruin by Mariely Lares #Fantasy #Historical<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicr7PKARFDcQ7uhyphenhyphenW_l3cwuE1NfksqjPpD9WKTI0T6Hu3W9AmxGeIb3qlAR5ljYhXbDJNvL1cH_ql5S3rqXcnqjPBbJYHPWy-aRTJQJG33NMokhe_7HG_PYC2RtDR0223DpzweBtEoxfKzhQoYEZrHCTqS0toeLwQD0ayC5g-9ckafzsTTTwxDU51U-do/s648/9780063254312_1dbdf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="427" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicr7PKARFDcQ7uhyphenhyphenW_l3cwuE1NfksqjPpD9WKTI0T6Hu3W9AmxGeIb3qlAR5ljYhXbDJNvL1cH_ql5S3rqXcnqjPBbJYHPWy-aRTJQJG33NMokhe_7HG_PYC2RtDR0223DpzweBtEoxfKzhQoYEZrHCTqS0toeLwQD0ayC5g-9ckafzsTTTwxDU51U-do/s320/9780063254312_1dbdf.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><b>Series:</b></span><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Sun and Blood and Ruin # 1</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 384 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: February 20, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Harper Voyager</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Fantasy / Historical</span></b><div><strong style="font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 12px;"><br /></strong></div><div><span style="font-family: "Open Sans";"><b>Rumor has it on the streets of sixteenth-century New Spain, there’s a new vigilante in town serving justice. This reimagining of Zorro—featuring a heroic warrior sorceress—weaves Mesoamerican mythology and Mexican history two decades after the Spanish conquest into a swashbuckling, historical debut fantasy with magic, intrigue, treachery, and romance.</b></span></div><div><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><em><b>What is this I hear about a masked vigilante who calls herself Pantera? They say she's the finest swordswoman in the New World, that she is a witch, that she will be the end of us all. A new legend begins…</b></em></p><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>Sun of Blood and Ruin</i> by Mariely Lares is a historical fantasy debut. The sequel is slated to release late in 2024. The story itself takes </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white;">inspiration from the myth of Zorro and the beloved novel by Isabel Allende. </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In sixteenth-century New Spain (Mexico), witchcraft was punishable by death, indigenous temples were destroyed, and tales of mythical creatures that once roamed the land became whispers in the night. Hidden behind a mask, Pantera uses her magic and legendary swordplay skills to fight the tyranny of Spanish rule. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">To all who know her, Leonora de Las Casas Tlazohtzin never leaves the palace and is promised to the heir of the Spanish throne, Prince Felipe to become Queen of Spain. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">The respectable, law-abiding Lady Leonora faints at the sight of blood and would rather be caught dead than meddle in court affairs. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">No one suspects that Leonora and Pantera are the same person. Until she meets a mysterious male with strange abilities who heals an injury she incurs while escaping capture. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">She even carries the Sword of Integrity and draws her strength from the sun. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Leonora has been forced to adopt Christianity by her hateful stepmother and to forget the gods of Nahua to live as a Spanish noblewoman and reject and hide her indigenous identity—at least in plain sight. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Leonora’s charade is tragically good, and with magic running through her veins, she is nearly invincible. Nearly. Despite </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">her mastery, she is destined to die young in battle, as predicted by a seer. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">When an ancient Nahua prophecy of the world’s destruction shows signs of coming to pass both Pantera and Leonora must fight to save it. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">Knowing she is doomed to a short life, she is tempted to take the former option.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;">But the legendary Pantera is destined for more than an early grave, and once she discovers the truth of her origins, not even death will stop her. Every step of the way, Pantera, who can shift into a panther, is hounded by the Spanish Captain Nabarres who wants her to be hanged for her actions. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1e1915;"><i style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">”I knew, when I decided to don the mask of Pantera, that this wasn’t going to be easy. To pretend to have an interest in this life, in these Christians and their god, in the dull chat of courtiers who don’t know the world outside their walls. The games they play. For position. For power. For influence.”</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Lares presents her readers with an alternative Mexico, one that holds much accuracy with the inclusion of various Spanish dialects and Nahuatl languages being spoken</span><span style="color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Certain characters can use their tonalli, their life force, for powers such as extended speed, agility, or blasting your opponent ten feet away from you! Leonora, can not only wield tonalli but she is also a nagual, a shapeshifter. </span></span></p><p style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fantasy retelling is a thriving genre, and with the popularity of Sarah J. Maas and Madeline Miller unwavering and newcomers like Olivie Blake breaking onto the scene, readers can’t get enough of romantic, inclusive retellings that include a ton of action and adventure. I think I would have liked this book more had the ending been as good as the first parts of the book. I do like that the author doesn't hold back when it comes the how the Spanish basically destroyed civilizations and stole their heritage and their wealth. I will likely read the sequel when it comes out in the Fall of 2024.</span></span></p></div></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sun-Blood-Ruin-Mariely-Lares-ebook/dp/B0BPSXRL1J/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Audible-Sun-Blood-Ruin-Novel/dp/B0BSSB26RP/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Audible</a> | <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sun-of-blood-and-ruin-mariely-lares/1142824246?ean=9780063254336" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/sun-of-blood-and-ruin-1" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKV2qIHd6tp-MenNlwiGg9hHiKywlGCzvbb03L7hkPF7slQf2JF7H_jgBJquqk4VS3pBvdF6sf1wCM5EWbQuzdyGHVxOi7__UGXLNssDbiqdE6hhmCC12_FEAKFAp2xAtyoUWbOirZ1M/s1600/sig.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKV2qIHd6tp-MenNlwiGg9hHiKywlGCzvbb03L7hkPF7slQf2JF7H_jgBJquqk4VS3pBvdF6sf1wCM5EWbQuzdyGHVxOi7__UGXLNssDbiqdE6hhmCC12_FEAKFAp2xAtyoUWbOirZ1M/s1600/sig.png" /></a></div>
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-71978040694154097772024-02-12T00:04:00.002-05:002024-02-12T00:04:45.347-05:00#Review - Only Hard Problems by Jennifer Estep #SyFy #Fantasy <span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDBvSUSOUksDJkXAYlwXEfFyFzfpWoF_xbjR7jt9PMU4ILFNl7jzJm-qfindAv226-_2YRirnizZrXri5zN-iBah2j4PoT8-B7l9Zi3UojO5rF_UZCBRvBjM24CEFQvbD6mzUfH2ax6qiZgeIlXp61AkAqYr5saaFbn8E45yaG920apzOVPXZk2bqf6A/s1500/81TBl6NmiBL._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="917" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDBvSUSOUksDJkXAYlwXEfFyFzfpWoF_xbjR7jt9PMU4ILFNl7jzJm-qfindAv226-_2YRirnizZrXri5zN-iBah2j4PoT8-B7l9Zi3UojO5rF_UZCBRvBjM24CEFQvbD6mzUfH2ax6qiZgeIlXp61AkAqYr5saaFbn8E45yaG920apzOVPXZk2bqf6A/w245-h400/81TBl6NmiBL._SL1500_.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><b>Series:</b></span><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Galactic Bonds # 3</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Kindle, 198 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: February 20, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Jennifer Estep</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Author</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Science Fiction / Space Opera</span></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><span class="a-text-bold a-text-italic" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif; font-style: italic !important;">PROBLEMS, PROBLEMS EVERYWHERE . </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #0f1111; font-family: "Amazon Ember", Arial, sans-serif;"><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />My name is Zane Zimmer. To most folks, I live a seemingly charmed life as a Regal lord and the heir apparent to the powerful, wealthy House Zimmer, and the gossipcasts breathlessly follow my every swaggering move across the Archipelago Galaxy. I’m also a powerful psion capable of telekinesis, telepathy, and telempathy, and my deadly skills and prowess with my stormsword have made me the golden boy of the Arrows, the Imperium’s elite fighting force.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />But even golden boys have bad days, and the truth is I have more hard problems than I can solve.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The Techwave is building weapons to use against the Arrows in hopes of toppling the Imperium and taking over the galaxy. But even more worrisome is the fact that my old rival Kyrion Caldaren has a powerful new ally in Vesper Quill. Together, the two of them just might destroy everything I’ve sworn to protect.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />I’m supposed to be relaxing with the other Regals during the Summer Solstice celebration, but when an enemy threatens the festivities, I’m forced to leap into action. As an Arrow, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family and the other Regals, even though my actions will cause only more problems—and just might end up being the death of me . . .</span></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Jennifer Estep's <i>Only Hard Problems </i>is the third installment in the author's <i>Galactic Bonds</i> series. This story takes place 2 weeks after the end of <i>Only Good Enemies</i>. Whereas the previous two installments featured Vesper Quill and Kyrion Caldaren, this book is all about Zane Zimmer. Zane is the heir apparent to the House of Zimmer, and the new leader of the Arrows now that Kyrion is on the run with Vesper. But can he instill the same fear and respect that Kyrion did or will it be his unraveling?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Zane is ordered by Lord Callus Holloway to bring the couple back by any means necessary so he can siphon their magical Truebond and keep them around as science experiments. The problem is that Zane isn't so sure how to go about doing that since 1. Kyrion told him a secret that has blown his mind and changed everything that he thought he knew 2. Vesper's Truebond with Kyrian may cause Zane's world to implode, and 3. Vesper is being hunted by Techware to force her to fix their new weapon technology. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In the meanwhile, Zane's grandmother expects Zane to court Lady Asterin Armas to gain more power and influence. Forget the part where his grandmother lied to him for his entire life, and that lie has now put Zane in a very uncomfortable position to go after someone he should have known his entire life. The issue is that Asterin may have other ulterior motives that don't align with what Zane or his grandmother intend. Astern is also friends with two women, Tivona Winslow and Leandra Ferrum, who are close to Vesper. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">If that weren't enough for Zane, Techware pulls a surprise attack during a Summer Solstice celebration which catches everyone off guard. Techware is a terrorist group that has been brazen in its attacks to steal technology and weapons to take down the Imperium. The Imperium seems unable to stop any of their attacks. This is a book that was meant to peel back the layers on the man who always seems to be the antagonist of our heroes. Zane, who will never be like Kyrion, now has to juggle a host of hard problems. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This book is not a standalone. The characters who appear in this book, except for minor roles for Vesper and Kyrion, like Astern, Tivona, and Leandera have appeared in the first two books of the series. Let's call this the bridge to the next book in the series. So many questions: Will Zane be able to do the job that he is being paid for? Will Vesper be able to stay away from Techware long enough to go after Holloway? Will Zane and Astern find some common ground and maybe their own Truebond? We shall see!</span></div>
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<br /></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-58421452865576903322024-02-09T00:24:00.003-05:002024-02-09T00:24:52.850-05:00#Review - The Boy Who Cried Bear by Kelley Armstrong #Mystery #Suspense<span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTw4W8lcI0-tz4dYZ8K4EHzwjMv0I2Qk2tX8umBdtj3HhejuKsV9F-1rK7QksgCCPVYhdrorHNePjs1SsRM06Ll0-hBVEydkLwkLWgrlq8fTpReqOiGQVFZ8HxQzT0m3xBEjP5XtLclYqfw1vhk2uGzV2EhLJ_R2ZG7a718JRH3XPvnd_6BfWkiHXfbgo/s1520/9781250865441_51040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1520" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTw4W8lcI0-tz4dYZ8K4EHzwjMv0I2Qk2tX8umBdtj3HhejuKsV9F-1rK7QksgCCPVYhdrorHNePjs1SsRM06Ll0-hBVEydkLwkLWgrlq8fTpReqOiGQVFZ8HxQzT0m3xBEjP5XtLclYqfw1vhk2uGzV2EhLJ_R2ZG7a718JRH3XPvnd_6BfWkiHXfbgo/s320/9781250865441_51040.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><b><span style="font-family: times;">Series: </span></b></span><b><span style="font-family: times;"><span><span style="background-color: white;">Haven's Rock </span><span class="pve_seriesNumber " style="background-color: white;">(#2)</span> </span><br />
<span>Format: </span><span style="background-color: white;">Hardcover, 352 pages</span><br />
<span>Release Date: </span><span style="background-color: white;">February 20, 2024</span><br />
<span>Publisher: </span><span style="background-color: white;">Minotaur Books</span><br />
<span>Source: Publisher</span><br /><span>Genre: Mystery & Suspense</span></span></b><div><b><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454;">I</span><span style="background-color: white;">n </span><i style="background-color: white;">The Boy Who Cried Bear</i><span style="background-color: white;">, </span><i style="background-color: white;">New York Times</i><span style="background-color: white;"> bestselling author Kelley Armstrong keeps readers on the edge of their seats while detective Casey Duncan tries to locate the threat before it’s too late. . .</span></span></b><p style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: times;">Haven’s Rock is a well-hidden town surrounded by forest. And it’s supposed to be, being that it’s a refuge for those who need to disappear. Detective Casey Duncan and her husband, Sheriff Eric Dalton already feel at home in their new town, which reminds them of where they first met in Rockton. And while they know how to navigate the woods and its various dangers, other residents don’t. Which is why people aren't allowed to wander off alone.<br /><br />When Max, the town’s youngest resident—taught to track animals by Eric—fears a bear is stalking a hiking party, alarms are raised. Even stranger, the ten-year-old swears the bear had human eyes. Casey and Eric know the dangers a bear can present, so they’re taking it seriously. But odd occurrences are happening all around them, and when a dead body turns up, they’re not sure what they’re up against.</span></b></p>
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<span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Kelley Armstrong's <i>The Boy Who Cried Bear</i> is the Second installment in the <i>Haven's Rock</i> series which is a spin-off of the author's <i>Rockton </i>series. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Haven’s Rock is a well-hidden town surrounded by forest deep in the Yukon. It’s supposed to be a refuge for those who need to disappear or are in witness protection. Detective Casey Duncan and her husband, Sheriff Eric Dalton already feel at home in their new town, which reminds them of where they first met in Rockton. They should, they've put a lot of effort and time into finding a permanent home.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Some former Rockton residents like Casey's sister April, Mathias, Kendra, Isabel, Kenny, Anders, and Phil have also come to Haven's along with Yolanda, who is the granddaughter of the woman who has helped Casey and Eric create this town and do background checks on anyone sent here. Casey and Eric </span><span style="background-color: white;">know how to navigate the woods and its various dangers, other residents who are just arriving don’t. Which is why people aren't allowed to wander off alone. Just like Rockton.</span> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Max is a 10-year-old boy who comes to Haven's Rock with his mother and brother after his father was murdered in cold blood, and his mother was shot after they apparently saw something they weren't supposed to see. Escaping to Haven's Rock is supposed to be a safety net to avoid those who were responsible for Max's family's troubles. Max has learned a lot from not only Casey but especially Dalton on how to survive. But when he claims to have seen a bear with human eyes, <span style="background-color: white;">Casey and Eric take the sighting seriously despite not knowing exactly what it was.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">When Max, who is <span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">smart, intuitive, empathetic, and responsible,</span> is later taken by an unknown person, Casey and Dalton fear that trouble has followed them from Rockton. Could the hostiles have found their way here? Or, is it the miners who are doing whatever they are doing and are trying to keep people away from what they are doing? When a body is found, Casey is right there to find it as though death follows her everywhere. As the accusations start to point to something more nefarious by residents, Casey learns something that might change her ability to do her job.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">This is where the author takes a jump back in time to when Casey was 19. The thing that happened to her when she was 19, drove her for 10 years to try to prove she's not another cold-blooded killer looking for revenge. She became a cop, later a detective, and several years ago, made the move to Rockton. She has done wonderful work since she was given permission to stay at Rockton, and she had hoped that Haven's Rock was her retirement retreat with Eric. I'm not going to speak on the issue because it kind of took a life of its own, ergo, spoiling the story.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Casey and Eric, with help from Emilie, Yolanda, and a few others, still draw a firm line on who can be admitted. Unlike Rockton which got out of hand, dangerous criminals aren’t permitted. </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Readers will gain a better understanding of the key characters and their backgrounds if they read the Rockton series first or start at the beginning of this series. But what about the miners who appear to be trying to encroach on their lands? Will they become a major issue?</span> I don't make it a habit of saying it's okay to just jump in without knowing why you should care about any of these characters. I love Eric more today, than I did before I read this story, and no, again, the reason I refuse to talk about it is because it's a cliffhanger. </span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">CHAPTER ONE</span></div><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">Casey</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Bigfoot,” Anders whispers in my ear. “I can’t believe we’re searching for Bigfoot. This is so cool.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">I glare at our deputy. Anders only grins back and waggles his brows.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“I’m joking,” he says, his voice still low enough for only me to hear. “I wouldn’t say that in front of anyone else. Poor kid’s been through hell. If I were him, I’d be too damn scared to go into the forest at all. Hell, sometimes I </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">am</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;"> too damn scared, and I’ve been living out here for six years.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">Looking at Will Anders, it’d be hard to believe anything could frighten him. He’s over six feet tall and built like a quarterback. An army tattoo on his biceps speaks to an early career in the military police. But, yes, despite his years in Rockton, he’s not entirely comfortable in the forest, as evidenced by the big .45 at his hip. Dalton and I carry smaller guns and accept that we aren’t likely to stop a grizzly. Anders hedges his bets in any way he can.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">An hour ago, ten-year-old Max saw something on a hike. It seems to have been a grizzly. Max described a tall brown-furred creature, which is also what Gunnar saw. But Max swears when the beast looks at him, it has human eyes. So, yes, that naturally leads to jokes about Bigfoot. Jokes that I know Anders would never make in front of other residents. Jokes that we need to ensure other residents don’t start making themselves, in case Max overhears. He’d already admitted he’d been reluctant to report hearing something after a similar incident turned up nothing.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">Max is a smart kid. He’s also a kid suffering from PTSD. Being smart </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">and</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;"> traumatized means he’s aware that he might be jumpy, and he doesn’t want to be the boy who cried bear. But worrying about that led to a situation where a group of hikers had been stalked by a grizzly, and the only one who noticed had second-guessed himself until it was almost too late.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Fuck.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">I follow the curse to the guy standing off to my left. Sheriff Eric Dalton. My partner in … well, everything. Husband, colleague, best friend, and co-founder of Haven’s Rock, our tiny sanctuary town in the Yukon.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">The curse makes me smile. He’s been trying to cut back on profanity, particularly his affinity for every variation of that particular word. I’m mostly just amused by his efforts.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">Dalton strides over with brown hairs pinched between his thumb and forefinger.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Moose, right?” I say, half joking, half hoping.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">He shakes his head. That curse told me what I needed to know. It’s grizzly fur.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Storm was right then,” I say, patting our Newfoundland. She’s our tracking dog, or that was the excuse Dalton used for buying me my dream-breed puppy. We </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">have</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;"> trained her in tracking, though, and her reaction earlier told me we weren’t dealing with a moose. She smelled bear.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Any prints?” Anders asks.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Ground’s too dry. Found a couple of scuff marks, but all I can tell from them is that they’re big and they aren’t hoofprints. Got a few broken branches. Bit of trampled undergrowth. And this”—he lifts the fur—“four feet off the ground.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Shit.” Anders casts an anxious glance around. “That’s a problem, right? A grizzly stalking a group of six. It should know better.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“We’re lucky Max noticed it,” I say.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Yeah, it’s good he noticed, but I’m not sure they were in real danger. Bear was looking for an opportunity. Would it have attacked if Gunnar and Max had fallen behind for longer? Or was it just getting closer for a better look?” Dalton shrugs. “Hard to say. The fact it fled is a good sign.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“It’s still a concern,” I say.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“Hell, yeah. The question is how to play it. In Rockton, I’d have leaned in hard. Possible man-eating grizzly on the loose. No one takes a single step outside town until we’ve dealt with it. Scare the shit out of people.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;">“But we have children in town now, children who’ve already been traumatized.”</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px; text-align: start;" /><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "Open Sans"; font-size: 18px;">“Yep, and I don’t know shit about dealing with that. We’re going to need to consult with the experts.”</span>erupt</span></div>
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<br /></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-69150277975281972112024-02-08T00:02:00.002-05:002024-02-08T00:02:39.654-05:00#Review - Lone Wolf by Gregg Andrew Hurwitz #Thriller #Suspense<span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx1qsq_79GDV0vDiTAgv74qxTiUFRHvdmvardMXy3mpl1z20T4JRxKTDXHWKj-8fEw5wjuT14l5KvOECDg3NxP2otESAlpiZsJJAylvl1h5aUAWyQ9hhDbslEerpnJfgX1gnB3Byxhsk5vZD_8DrhaozNHHKquQerfJ2xpi4dcMnjEwkOo8lf-UAZQe1E/s1520/9781250871732_2c0b9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1520" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx1qsq_79GDV0vDiTAgv74qxTiUFRHvdmvardMXy3mpl1z20T4JRxKTDXHWKj-8fEw5wjuT14l5KvOECDg3NxP2otESAlpiZsJJAylvl1h5aUAWyQ9hhDbslEerpnJfgX1gnB3Byxhsk5vZD_8DrhaozNHHKquQerfJ2xpi4dcMnjEwkOo8lf-UAZQe1E/s320/9781250871732_2c0b9.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Series:</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Orphan X </span><span class="pve_seriesNumber " style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">(#9)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Hardcover, 400 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">February 13, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif;">Minotaur Books</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">Thrillers / Suspense</span></span><div><span style="font-family: Open Sans; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">When the smallest possible mission pits Orphan X against his most dangerous foe, everything Evan Smoak thinks he knows is in question in this latest in the</span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"> New York Times </i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";">bestselling series</span></span><p style="background-color: white; font-family: "Open Sans";"><span style="font-size: medium;">Once a black book government assassin known as Orphan X, Evan Smoak left the program, went deep underground, and reinvented himself as someone who will go anywhere, and risk everything to help the truly desperate who have nowhere else to turn. Since then, Evan has fought international crime syndicates and drug cartels, faced down the most powerful men in the world and even brought down a President. Struggling with an unexpected personal crisis, Evan goes back to the very basics of his mission - and this time, the truly desperate is a little girl who wants him to find her missing dog.<br /><br />Not his usual mission, and not one Evan embraces with enthusiasm, but this unlikely, tiny job quickly explodes into his biggest mission yet. one that finds him battered between twisted AI technocrat billionaires, a mysterious female assassin who seems a mirror of himself, and personal stakes so gut-wrenching he can scarcely make sense of them<i>.</i><br /><br />Evan's mission pushes him to his limit - he must find and take down the assassin known only as the Wolf, before she succeeds in completing her mission and killing the people who can identify her - a teenaged daughter of her last target, and Evan himself. Matched skill for skill, instinct for instinct, Evan must outwit an opponent who will literally stop at nothing if he is to survive.</span></p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">"What if there's no one to fix anything. Except you?"</span><br /></i></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Gregg Hurwitz's <i>Lone Wolf</i> is the Ninth installment in the authors' <i>Orphan X</i> series. The story begins with Evan Smoak aka Orphan X aka The Nowhere Man searching Texas for his so-called biological father thanks to information that was passed to him by Joey Morales. A father who was once a Rodeo Cowboy. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Evan finally meets him and Evan’s reaction to his bio dad is going on a bender that has Joey and Tommy Slojack (Evan’s weapons supplier) worried about him. Especially since Evan never leaves his phone behind.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">From there, the story twists to a female assassin who is nicknamed The Wolf. She appears to be killing some important people for reasons only she knows, and she might be the one person who can push Evan to the limits of his abilities. Evan has made it his mission to help the people who need it the most. And, the person who apparently needs help just happens to be the daughter of Evan's 1/2 brother Adrian who spent time in the same orphanage. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sophia, whom he has never met, claims that her dog Loco ran away, and since Evan helps people, well, why can't he help her find her dog? <span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">Joey is a computer whiz who can hack into any computer or CCTV camera anywhere, and with Joey's help, Evan discovers where he might find Loco. </span><span style="background-color: white;">In the process of locating Loco, Evan comes across a murder scene and an assassin that Evan ends up referring to as the Wolf. This woman appears to be just as good as an assassin as Evan. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white;">Thanks to his quick action, and thinking, Evan saves </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">Jayla Hill, the daughter of Dr. Benjamin Hill who apparently was a big deal in the tech sector when it comes to Artificial Intelligence. </span><span style="font-size: medium;">Evan quickly learns that </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Karissa (aka The Wolf)</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> may be as dangerous as he is, and definitely in the same category as Cindy McClure. Unfortunately, he soon becomes the </span><span style="font-size: medium;">target of a colossal manhunt by the LAPD who thinks he is the Wolf. This is by far the most action-packed part of the entire story, but Evan's fight with the Wolf is just getting started. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">If you have read any book in this series, you know that Evan lives by Jack's Ten Commandments. One of those is, "How you do anything, is how you do everything," and "Do not let anything become personal." For Evan, Sophia is personal because her father is struggling to survive. For Evan, Joey is personal because she is struggling to fit in at college and wants to rush to a sorority and doesn't know what she really wants to do with her life. Joey and Evan are totally different, yet their banter is rather enlightening. Joey is also a total slob, and I am not afraid to say so which pushes Evan's OCD to the limits.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Meanwhile, Jayla Hill learns that her larynx was crushed by the Wolf, and she can no longer sing. Singing and dancing is her entire life. Evan makes it his mission to make sure that she is protected and that he discovers who hired the Wolf to take out her father, and others who seemingly have also been eliminated. The only way to get to the bottom of the mystery is to ask for help from a certain billionaire who owes Evan, and Melinda Truong who has helped Evan throughout this series. Including finding the identity of the Wolf, and her supplier. Full stop.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">*Thoughts* The thing that keeps me coming back time and time again to read this series is the author never bores us with what is happening around Evan. From learning about how really dangerous AI can truly be, to finding out that his friend may or may not be who he thought he was, to the chaos of Castle Heights, and the fight to see who is going to be head of the HOA. Joey's life is getting twisted and interesting all at the same time, and I can't wait to see what happens next. The part of the story surrounding AI really got under my skin. I really am worried for the history of mankind when AI has basically no restraint as to what it is capable of. I don't think the people behind AI understand what damage they are likely causing when machines are doing everything including delivering our groceries, and medicine, to taking our orders at local restaurants. </span></div></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Lone-Wolf-Orphan-X-Novel-ebook/dp/B0C1X7TWZF/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Audible-Lone-Wolf-Orphan-Book/dp/B0C3P7LBJ7/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Audible </a>| <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lone-wolf-gregg-hurwitz/1143330012?ean=9781250871718" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/lone-wolf-89" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-24010364574181361662024-02-07T00:00:00.001-05:002024-02-07T00:00:00.247-05:00#Review - Gray Dawn by Hailey Edwards #Paranormal #Fantasy<p><b style="font-family: inherit;"></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mR7aVhz3OuwG0VuIPXm2jlbMns4DdiKOjtrOEByezx6sDCpyXz81SV4POP7-2A44PYtmgaZS3GpUXO0obTAeS0Y4m_2LW0XphXwX5292NLb7PWDVraT9JfTBq7IIbOLNoSSmc4bS-62pBk2hAUWqUQMIL_j-nEnG6b8dJu_NTr8ELb88uIXemxbypEw/s445/41Eoa7yWpEL._SY445_SX342_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="279" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mR7aVhz3OuwG0VuIPXm2jlbMns4DdiKOjtrOEByezx6sDCpyXz81SV4POP7-2A44PYtmgaZS3GpUXO0obTAeS0Y4m_2LW0XphXwX5292NLb7PWDVraT9JfTBq7IIbOLNoSSmc4bS-62pBk2hAUWqUQMIL_j-nEnG6b8dJu_NTr8ELb88uIXemxbypEw/s320/41Eoa7yWpEL._SY445_SX342_.jpg" width="201" /></a></b></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Series:</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Black Hat Bureau # 10</span><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Kindle, 264 pages</span><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: </span><span class="a-list-item"><span>January 28, 2024</span></span><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: </span><span class="a-list-item"><span>Black Dog Books, LLC.</span></span><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Kindle Unlimited</span><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Urban Fantasy</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>In this tenth and final installment of The Black Hat Bureau
series, Rue races the clock to find her little moth girl before it’s too
late. As much as she wants to believe that Clay will protect Colby, he
isn’t himself when he’s under the director’s thrall. And the director
would toss a </span><span class="a-text-italic">loinnir</span><span> back like a shot of pure magic if he got his hands on her.<br /><br />As
if Rue doesn’t already have enough heaped on her plate, Luca is
spreading her poison west in a twisted game of take-out roulette. Now
Rue must decide if saving one life is worth sacrificing the dozens of
innocents Luca will kill if Rue doesn’t make stopping her the top
priority.<br /><br />As the director, Rue ought to put her agents’ lives and
the Bureau’s purpose above her own, but Colby is her child and—right or
wrong—Rue would burn down the world to save her.</span><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aZWTyZ97czW4CnqmWfvGHV_4bcmDYaRpLgpqCXUK0BGHvuSjutyncrvnXXiqKeMMSdMh7gbBJk489XfW2FFD_IvFhI67w8PTJVtnNTFyEHt58CXRx-QtgAEqoGrtufRJ2IjoorUNi9w/s1600/4+stars.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aZWTyZ97czW4CnqmWfvGHV_4bcmDYaRpLgpqCXUK0BGHvuSjutyncrvnXXiqKeMMSdMh7gbBJk489XfW2FFD_IvFhI67w8PTJVtnNTFyEHt58CXRx-QtgAEqoGrtufRJ2IjoorUNi9w/s1600/4+stars.png" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Hailey Edwards' <i>Gray Dawn</i> is the Tenth and final installment in the authors <i>Black Hat Bureau</i>. If you've read this series from the beginning, you are in for a ride. Short summary: Rue Hollis is the de facto Director of the Black Hat Bureau. She is bound to a half Fae/half Demon former Prince in Asa/Blay. Her best friend is a golem named Clay. She is connected to a little moth girl who was once fae named Colby who has helped Rue transition from a Black Witch to a Gray Witch. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Her grandmother, Calixta, is now Queen of Hael, and her cousin Aedan is her hostage. Her father, Hiram Nasady, has been itching for revenge on his father who killed Rue's mother. For the past several books, Rue has been chasing her tail trying to find and stop a powerful former Fae Guardian named Luca who either wants to kill Rue's grandfather, or make it so that humans are aware that paranormals live along side of them. At the end of the previous book, Rue lost both Clay and Colby to betrayal. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Now, she has only 21 hours to find her grandfather and hand him over to Calixta or Aedan will never be freed. To make matters worse, the Maudit Grimore aka the Hulk, is taking Rue's magic from her to the point where she could end up without any magic to fight what's to come her way. The positives are that Rue has made peace with her former friend and employee, Arden whose eyes have been opened to the world she didn't know existed. It's also nice to see that Rue actually has real friends in Derry & Marita who have been acting as sort of bodyguards with all the trouble Rue has seen lately. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">There are certain chapters where Clay and Colby are featured to ensure a bit of depth and let's the reader know what's going on outside of Rue's hunt for Luca and those she's collected in her efforts to destroy the Black Hat Bureau. I am also happy to see Clay get a bit of his own happiness which I won't spoil. As this is the finale of the series, most if not all storylines are tied up nicely, including a wonderful reunion between Arden and Aedan, and Colby finally meeting Rue's parents. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">At the end of the final chapter, the author gives you a hint as to what she is working on next. I might actually try her new series to see what her new characters are like, and if they are any better than Rue. </span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-87039967405813296232024-02-06T00:29:00.002-05:002024-02-06T00:29:45.534-05:00#Review - A Flame in the North by Lilith Saintcrow #Fantasy #Mythology<p><b style="font-family: inherit;"></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2UvT_h4kQWVWkm9w-3rLutmm1MF9TyziZDbI-b0ZT8aN9VPUbiyCMnQ6qkm-51egnqR-l6iQf1SpvKYaFG-f3-TOlxE1znQ93PsFtTtR-6sukPeTWMd6vB2elBekuo_305BIFM9h5w89cjj5OfbWVuQnOmMokxImQ0EKR85GNpApRNdVOcOq074d11s/s1542/9780316440332_80e57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1542" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ2UvT_h4kQWVWkm9w-3rLutmm1MF9TyziZDbI-b0ZT8aN9VPUbiyCMnQ6qkm-51egnqR-l6iQf1SpvKYaFG-f3-TOlxE1znQ93PsFtTtR-6sukPeTWMd6vB2elBekuo_305BIFM9h5w89cjj5OfbWVuQnOmMokxImQ0EKR85GNpApRNdVOcOq074d11s/s320/9780316440332_80e57.jpg" width="208" /></a></b></div><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Series:</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Black Land's Bane
<span class="pve_seriesNumber ">
(#1)
</span><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: </span><span class="pve_format ">Paperback, 448 pages</span><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: </span><span title="This title may not be sold to consumers before the stated date.">February 13, 2024</span><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Orbit</span><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: </span><span>Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology</span><span> / Fantasy</span></b></span><p></p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">From <i>New York Times</i> bestselling author Lilith Saintcrow comes a thrilling Norse-inspired epic fantasy about ancient myth and magical destiny.<br /> <br />
The Black Land is a myth: Centuries have passed since that Great Enemy
was slain. Yet old fears linger, and on the longest night of the year,
people in the South still light ritual bonfires to banish the dark.<br /> <br />
In her village, this duty falls to Solveig, a girl favored by the gods
with powerful fire magic. But when her brother kills a Northern lord’s
son during the ritual, it is Sol who faces punishment, by being
weregild—part hostage, part guest—in the North for a year and a day.<br /> <br />
As she journeys to her captivity, Sol starts to realize that the Black
Land is no myth. The forests teem with foul beasts. Her travel
companions are not what they seem, and their plans for her magic are
shrouded in secrecy.<br /> <br /> With only her loyal shield-maiden and her
own wits to rely upon, Sol must learn to master her powers and wrest
control of her fate. For the Black Land’s army stirs, ready to cover the
world in darkness—unless Sol can find the courage to stop it.</span></b><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span> </span></b></span></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscBu6JLa1CKK1b4sQqRgL4X9Dmvm-bEhe2q2rJGKOYhEZL4IVtMNB71h07WypqUiurf4TRQ3VrNikc7jdjUUfap0nC_ScM8fkr0veLGvyNVdRcIGdksCEIuT81I_bfMIkJ3ge2OenOo4/s1600/35stars.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscBu6JLa1CKK1b4sQqRgL4X9Dmvm-bEhe2q2rJGKOYhEZL4IVtMNB71h07WypqUiurf4TRQ3VrNikc7jdjUUfap0nC_ScM8fkr0veLGvyNVdRcIGdksCEIuT81I_bfMIkJ3ge2OenOo4/s1600/35stars.png" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Lilith Saintcrow's <i>A Flame in the North</i> is the first in the authors <i>Black Land's Bane</i> trilogy with the second book releasing in 2025, and the finale in 2026. </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Norse-inspired worlds are evergreen in fantasy, with a recent resurgence in popularity as seen by the success of <i>Shadow of the Gods </i>and films like <i>The Northman. </i>The quest-like structure of the book and the emphasis on old legends and myths will also appeal to fans of epics like <i>Lord of the Rings. </i></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Female-centered stories are a staple in the genre!<i> A Flame in the North</i>
features two smart, capable women--a witch and her shield maiden--who
must rely on each other and their own power as they face an unexpected
and dangerous destiny. </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Solveig’s duty to call the flame during the night is her village’s most
important duty to stave off the dark. However, after her brother Bjorn kills an emissary from the Northern lands, she ends up being offered as
weregild to atone for her brother’s foul deed. She and her shield maiden Arneior
must venture north. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">As she journeys to her captivity, Sol starts to realize that the Black
Land is no myth. The forests are filled with foul beasts. Her travel
companions are not what they seem, and their plans for her magic are
shrouded in secrecy. The journey north is slow and painful, which reminded me of the Lord of the Rings saga. Every where they went, the Enemy seems to be stalking them, ready to pounce when they least expect it. Sol's companions from the North include a man who could be an Elder, and several others that shift into wolves. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">While you are reading this book, note that Solveig is telling you what happened in the past as a recollection of events. She even hints that her journey is one that likely won't see her returning to her home any time soon, or at all. The author also gives you hints along the way at the beginning of each chapter of things to come. </span><span class="Formatted"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">The story is filled with Norse mythology references throughout the story like Odin, Freja, Thor, Loki, and Hel. </span></span><span class="Formatted"><span style="font-size: large;">Solveig and Arneior are bound together for life, and Arn's story is even more interesting in that she's similar to a Valkyrie. </span></span><span class="Formatted"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span></p><p><span class="Formatted"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Much like Tolkien’s writing, this book is rather
heavy handed in some cases when it comes to describing things in great
detail or spoken dialog which dragged down my rating. The book also ends on a cliffhanger ending, and I will have to think about whether or not to continue. We still don't know what Solveig's real purpose is for being chosen over her brother Bjorn. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1867160950111094028.post-9876640002720853642024-02-05T00:00:00.001-05:002024-02-05T00:00:00.350-05:00#Review - The Book of Doors by Gareth Brown #Contemporary #Fantasy<b style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4fLMhZgRekcp1iwstilby6AV_qgVHT1Cfq69zNPMGZ4IhtOzQa8zv7cqr82fn02w7qakAVwQ9tXxSA80hUgo2mZVUamJOwDuDYs8I1tSSvdRRKovN-HsuqHOn1ccage_hrUkwKS0HLV10VpQ98NQtC0fywcLp9VJYqjr1coYH49KrXK7noIg554NaD0/s648/9780063323988_c3302.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="648" data-original-width="427" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4fLMhZgRekcp1iwstilby6AV_qgVHT1Cfq69zNPMGZ4IhtOzQa8zv7cqr82fn02w7qakAVwQ9tXxSA80hUgo2mZVUamJOwDuDYs8I1tSSvdRRKovN-HsuqHOn1ccage_hrUkwKS0HLV10VpQ98NQtC0fywcLp9VJYqjr1coYH49KrXK7noIg554NaD0/s320/9780063323988_c3302.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>Series:</b><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Standalone?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Format: Hardcover, 416 pages</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Release Date: February 13, 2024</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: William Morrow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Source: Publisher</span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Genre: Contemporary / Fantasy</span></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Raleway, sans-serif; font-weight: 800;">A debut novel full of magic, adventure, and romance, <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Book of Doors</em> opens up a thrilling world of contemporary fantasy for readers of <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Midnight Library</em>, <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Invisible Life of Addie Larue</em>, <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Night Circus</em>, and any modern story that mixes the wonder of the unknown with just a tinge of darkness.</span><b><br /></b><div><b><br /></b>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>The Book of Doors</i> is author Gareth Brown's debut novel. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cassie Andrews works in a New York City bookshop called Kellner Books shelving books, making coffee for customers, and living an unassuming, ordinary life. Until the day one of her favorite customers—a lonely yet charming old man, John Webber, dies right in front of her. Cassie is devastated. She always loved his stories, and now she has nothing to remember him by. Nothing but the last book he was reading. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">But this is no ordinary book. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It is the Book of Doors. Hold it in your hand, and any door is every door. Inscribed with enigmatic words and mysterious drawings, The Book of Doors allows the user to go anywhere on the planet and even to the past which Cassie will discover later in the story. After taking a magical midnight tour of Manhattan, with her roommate Izzy, she’s approached by a gaunt stranger in a rumpled black suit with a Scottish brogue who calls himself Drummond Fox. He’s a librarian who keeps watch over a unique set of rare volumes. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Drummond has spent the past 10 years as a wanderer after his best friends were murdered by a woman who seems eager to find Drummond's Fox Library where he keeps his own collection of special books. Drummond has been searching for the Book of Doors for even longer than that. Drummond can disappear into the shadows which allows him to avoid the woman who is picking off people one by one and stealing the books they once possessed like the Book of Pain, Book of Memories, Book of Joy, and Book of Luck. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The tome now in Cassie’s possession is not the only book with great power, but it <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">is</em> the one most coveted by those who collect them. In this world, there are not enough books to go around for those eager to own them. Book Hunters, collectors, terrorists, warlords, and governments want these books. Each book grants whoever possesses them the ability to do extraordinary things. Now Cassie is being hunted by those few who know of the Special Books like Dr. Hugo Barbary and a New Orleans bookseller named Lottie Moore who knows she can get millions by auctioning the book to powerful people.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">With her roommate Izzy, and the mysterious and haunted Drummond, it will be up to them to protect the Book of Doors—and the other books in his secret library’s care—from those who will do evil like Dr. Hugo Barbary. Because only Drummond knows where the unique library is and only Cassie’s book can get them there. But there are those willing to kill to obtain those secrets. And a dark force—in the form of a shadowy, sadistic woman—is at the very top of that list.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Similar books <i>The Midnight Library</i> and <i>Shadow of the Wind</i>. While Cassie is the main character, Drummond Fox, Dr. Hugo Barbary, Izzy, Hjaelmer, Azaki, and the Woman all play important, in what transpires throughout parts of the story itself. Cassie finds herself traveling around the world to places like Venice, Prague, and Paris, while also getting stuck in the past where she ends up being sent by the diabolical Hugo.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Meanwhile, Izzy, after telling Cassie, who discovers things about her she never imagined, to stop messing with the Book, ends up right in the middle when a major point happens in the story during an auction for powerful and dangerous Books. This is a new twist on time travel, and I hope that the author ends up writing a sequel to this story now that he has created a pretty curious team to hunt down the rest of the Books that are out there and not yet found.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><div><br /></div></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Book-Doors-Novel-Gareth-Brown-ebook/dp/B0C592691B/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Amazon </a>| <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Audible-Book-Doors-Novel/dp/B0C5K4P7RX/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=" target="_blank">Audible </a>| <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-book-of-doors-gareth-brown/1143485753?ean=9780063324008" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-book-of-doors-1" target="_blank">Kobo</a></span></span><br />
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<br /></div></div>Shelley Romanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13940356110721649786noreply@blogger.com0