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Friday, 24 March 2017

Did you love Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children? #99cent #sale going on now! #RPBP @LucyBison

Now's The Time To Start Reading With  A New Author! 
This series is the next in line with some of the greats! 
BOTH BOOKS AVAILABLE FOR 99 CENTS US/UK
A Fun For All Ages New Series Of Modern Day Magic & Adventure. 


Did you love Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children? How about the stories written by J.K. Rowling & Rick Riordan?
Then You Will Love This!


"This Author Has A Truly Inventive Imagination!"

The Changeling and the Cupboard
​The Complications of Being Lucy Book 1

NEVER GO INTO THE PARK.

Lucy was never afraid of the dark. She never questioned her family. She never thought that the world of logic and science could be a lie. But on her ninth birthday everything changed when a strange boy came into her life from the very lands she was forbidden from ever entering and she finds herself immersed in a conspiracy that was created before she was born. Her reality is shattered by the existence of magic and things of legend. The bonds of family are tested by a lifetime of deception and the truth of who she actually is, becomes the least of Lucy’s torments. For someone has unleashed a nightmare, and Lucy, her family, and her new friends, are soon on the run from a creature that even darkness fears.
The Changeling and the Borrowed Family 
The Complications of Being Lucy Book 2

A nightmare is just a dream in the light of day.

Lucy was used to everyone hiding things from her. Now she is the one forced to hide. The Changelings have been discovered and to save herself, Lucy must slip into the life of a creature who shares her nightmares. With her family scattered in search for answers and her only friend powerless to help, all alone Lucy must guard her heart from the world she always longed for and from the people that want her dead. But how can you fight the agony of your dreams and the secrets buried in your own blood.


Who Is Author Gus Kenney?

Meet Gus Kenney

Gus lives in western New York with his amazing wife and five four legged children. He decided he wanted to be a writer when he realized that he could never be a spy as good as Timothy Dalton's Bond and that Hired Sword was not part of any growth industry. When he is not semi-busy writing, he spends his time pretending he knows what he is doing at a nine-to-five job and the rest of it complaining that it is taking way too long for them to start showing new episodes of his favorite cartoons. If you're bored, or just a creeper, you can check out the insanity that doesn't make it into his books on his social media outlets.

Facebook
The Complications Of Being Lucy
Twitter
Tumblr
Instagram
Linkedin
​Goodread's
Amazon
Website

As It Is Blog (Stop over and sneak a peek at Book 3!)

Find out what Gus says when asked the difficult question, "What is your favorite part of the story?" Click Here!

Interested in speaking with the author?
​Email him: guskenney@yahoo.com

Gus was asked a slew of questions during an in depth interview with Rukia. Here is just one Q & A from that interview. 
Q: Any tips on how to get through the dreaded writer’s block?

A: Honestly, write something else. Anything at all. You can't get truly blocked unless you stop completely. Sure the story you have been focusing on for months suddenly stalls. No need to fear. Just prime the pump of creativity with some other ideas. Do the paint chip trick (look it up on Pinterest). Look online for story prompts(also Pinterest). Take your characters and put them in strange and unusual scenarios that would never come up in the world you created for them. Write something off the wall like a race of people that aren't carbon based but cocoa based (I call them Fudgelians). If all else fails do some dishes. That always works for me. Don't believe me? Come to my house and wash them. You'll see. 
Get to know the author!

Great News! Gus Kenney has something he wants to share with you!
A Rafflecopter Giveaway
 & 
Name The Character competition!



 Name The Character

Author Gus Kenney is offering a chance to name one of the characters for Traitor's Neice, Book 3 in 

The Complications Of Being Lucy Series!
The Rules:
Get book 1(The Changeling And The Cupboard), snap a pic of you with the book like the one above(if it's an eBook open it on your ereader device), tag us (Gus Kenney / Margaret Daly) and post your picture! That's it! The winner will be announced on Facebook on The Complications Of Being Lucy Page!
Now's the time to get your copies of these books, each priced at 99c/99p.
Then enter the competition to name the character in Book 3!


Don't miss this opportunity to not only read the next hit series, but to be a part in the story yourself!
Thank you for joining us today! We hope you coming away from this with a better sense of this new hit series by Gus Kenney...

If you have any questions you can normally find Gus on FB, or you can send him an email. 
Have A Great Day! 
Please remember to leave a book review, just a few simple words is all!

Saturday, 4 February 2017

"A sensual romance about a love that transcends time..." @JuEphraime #NewRelease #romance #RPBP #Giveaway

I Will Follow: To Eternity And Beyond 
is a heady and sensual romance about a love that transcends time and place.
written by Ju Ephraime





Catherine is living a dream life, rescued from an orphanage and married to her best friend. Life couldn’t get any better, and she is the envy of everyone in the little town where she lives. But it turns into a nightmare the day she is given the news that will change her life forever… Her fairy tale life becomes a living hell on earth. 


For two years she exists, barely acknowledging one day from the next. Suddenly, without any warning, a stranger walks into her life, and everything is about to change. Is Catherine ready for the change, or is she still only living to die?

Titus is only visiting the home of his brother-in-law’s distant cousin. He isn’t looking for a relationship; neither is he searching for love. Yet, they both find him, with no advanced warning. Titus is not one to succumb without a fight, and boy does he fight, but it seems the harder he fights, the more the force pushing him into Catherine’s waiting arms fights back.

You can find this book at your favorite online store, just follow this link: books2read.com/I-will-Follow

"Ju Ephraime's historical romance, I Will Follow: To Eternity And Beyond, is a heady and sensual romance about a love that transcends time and place. Catherine and Cameron are marvelous characters. She's the guiding star that he's inescapably drawn to, and he's the knight in shining armor who snatches her from the clutches of an unscrupulous nun who means her nothing but harm. This novel is set in the pre-WWI years, and the author does a beautiful job of setting the scene, especially in the care she takes with the descriptions of the landed gentility and the growing in roads the automobile makes into the British countryside. While there are a number of scenes involving love-making and sensuality, they are well-written and appropriate for an adult audience. The paranormal aspect of this novel is also enticing and adds a touch of mystery to the plot. I Will Follow: To Eternity And Beyond is most highly recommended."Jack Magnus - Readers' Favorite 


Enjoy A Sample from Chapter 21
     Catherine continued on her way to her greenhouse, grateful she’d not run into Titus. She liked to think of him as Titus, not Lord Braithwaite, which somehow seemed too formal. He made her feel things. Things she hadn’t felt in years, and she resented him for it. She wanted him gone from Chatterwoods and her life back to being the way it was before the dinner party.

     She spent a very satisfying morning taking care of her plants and working on a new scent she was trying to create. It was almost there, but something was missing. She had to go through the oils she had in her small apothecary to see if there was anything there she could use to enhance the scent.

     Exhausted from the events of the previous night and everything that had taken place, including Titus entering her room, Catherine left the greenhouse and proceeded to go to her room. A long soak in her tub was what she needed. Catherine found it both a pleasure and a torture to soak in the tub. It reminded her so much of Cameron. He used to love to bathe her or use the bath water after her. She missed all these things about him. Everything about life excited him, and he had infected her with that excitement. It was like a contagion. Now that he was gone, she missed that excitement. 


     It was almost time for supper, so she got dressed, left her room, and was making her way to Suzan’s room to check up on her when she came face to face with Lord Braithwaite, walking out of Cameron’s room. Two things hit her at the same time. She could have sworn she saw Cameron walking out of his room. Rubbing her eyes, she looked again, but it was only Titus Braithwaite. He didn’t look like Cameron, except in their well-developed musculature, so how could she have mistaken the two? But all this aside, why was Lord Braithwaite still at Chatterwoods?
Ju Ephraime writes steamy high heat romances, packed with emotions and strong alpha characters and always a wonderful, happy ever after. She has won several awards for her writing, and had even seconded in Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest, with her White Magic Woman. When not writing romance novels, Ju could be found writing children’s books, which includes her, Too-Clever series, a collection of ten children stories. Ju writes her children's stories under, Dr. Julia E. Antoine. These days she stays busy helping in the community and donating her services to a not-for-profit organization, which she helped establish. Presently, she resides in CT where she has lived with her family for the past thirty years. She still misses her time on the sunny Caribbean islands, but takes pleasure in using them as backdrops to some of her stories.

See what else author Ju Ephraime has to offer; follow her on social media & go to her website by clicking the links below! You can also see her on Goodreads!
Facebook
Twitter
Website (Where you can sign up for e-mail updates and other goodies.)
What others are saying about Ju's books:

"...steamy, provocative and fresh..." ~Midwest Book review

"a new level of heat!" ~Readers’ Favorite


Enter The Giveaways





Follow The Tour!

January 31 - February 6, 2017
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Friday, 2 December 2016

Release Day Blitz! The Case of The Dead Dowager by @JudithLucci! #RPBP #ASMSG #Thriller


Retired homicide detective Michaela McPherson and the aging Countess Dorothy Borghase team up again—this time to match wits with two serial killers stalking children, women and the elderly.
When Dottie Borghase's friend Camilla Rothrock collapses at a lunch gathering of old friends, the countess's only concern is to dial 911 for help. But Camilla's subsequent death has authorities buzzing about international safety and retaliation, because her son is decorated U.S. Army General Stuart Rothrock.

As other restaurant patrons in Richmond meet similar fates, Michaela and Dottie join forces with the Richmond Police and the FBI to track down the pair of heinous murderers. But in order to catch the killers, they will put their own lives and the lives of others in in serious jeopardy.What Price Must a City Pay to Keep its Citizen's Safe?

Book link: http://bit.ly/GetCaseofDowager


How about an excerpt:
Dottie turned off the main highway and headed south to Blackstone Virginia. Madame Toulescent lived just outside of Blackstone and that's where she conducted her psychic readings. She wished away the butterflies that cramped her stomach. She had a sense that what she was going to hear wasn’t good. She wished she didn't believe in the value of psychics or the unknown but she did, and that was that. She’d seen psychic readings and prophecies come true time after time during her life. Mic wasn’t a believer at all but had grudgingly admitted psychics had helped them in a case about ten years ago.

The speedometer on her car registered over sixty miles an hour on a forty-five mile limit stretch of highway. I'd better slow down. The last thing I need is a Virginia state trooper on my tail. She braked and her car skidded but she handled it skillfully. The Cadillac was a big, monster car but she really liked it. Since Dottie had lived in the US, she had always preferred German-made cars and previously owned multiple Mercedes Benz. Of course, when Count Borghase had been alive, they’d always driven Italian cars, mainly Ferraris. But now she was pretty much American and she loved her Caddy. There was something about the Cadillac that was so plush and so American that she bought a new one every couple of years.

She saw an old gray mule in the pasture out of the corner of her eye and saw the fence that was lying on the side. Dottie didn’t know what she’d do if they ever repaired that fence. She’d been looking at that fence on the ground for years and it was her landmark just before she turned onto Madame’s private road. She knew her turn was just up ahead. She slowed for a farmer carrying a load of hay in an old truck. He was hogging the entire road. Now where in the hell am I supposed to go? She steered her big car to the side of the road as far as she could without falling into the ditch. She cursed and held her breath as the farmer passed her. She swore the farmer missed her by less than an inch. The old codger hadn't even looked her way. She shook her head and cursed again softly. She threw her white Caddy into first gear and roared out of the ditch spewing gravel, dirt, and mud all over the road. She saw three rabbits running for their life and hoped she hadn’t interrupted their nest. Dottie drove a little further and made her left turn. She turned right on the first road and started the difficult trip along the horrible, rutted road to Madame Toulescent’s tiny home. The road was almost a mile long. Dottie's tall, thin frame bounced all over her plush leather seat and her hair fell out of her neatly arranged bun. I'm going to have to take a pain pill. All this jumping around is killing my hips. Secretly Dottie new she needed to have her hips replaced but there was no way she was willing to do that, at least not while she could walk. I wouldn't be able to help Michaela. And then, what would she do?

Madame Toulescent waved at Dottie from her front porch filled with flowers and beautiful hanging baskets of petunias and begonias. Her small white cottage was immaculate. Madame Toulescent watched her painstakingly steer her huge Cadillac down her battered road. Dottie brought the iron beast to a stop, looked in her rearview mirror and re-pinned a piece of white hair that had worked its way out of her perfect updo. Even though the Madame lived in a house that was little better than a house trailer, Dottie had been trained from birth to always look perfect when visiting. This task had become monumental at age 82. She reached for her purse and checked to make sure her Glock was nestled in its special pocket. She checked her lipstick in the mirror, pinched her lips together, cursed the fine lines around her mouth and got out of the car.

"Hello Madame Toulescent. Thank you for seeing me today on short notice." Dorothy smiled her gracious smile at the psychic, showing her beautiful white veneers, once available for a large price from the famous, dentist-to-the-stars Dr. Michael Smirkowitz.

"You are so welcome, Countess Borghase." Madame Toulescent looked around the empty fields and through the trees and gestured with her arm. "As you can see, there is no waiting line. Please come in. I've made us some tea." She paused for a moment and said, "Watch the steps. They're in need of repair," she cautioned.

In need of repair, my butt, they need to be rebuilt Dottie climbed the rickety steps dodging rusty nails and wood splinters. She grasped the loose railing and posts that held up the old front porch. The last thing she wanted to do was fall and break something. She followed Madame Toulescent into her small but neat and cozy home. There was a wonderful scent in the air and Dottie’s mouth watered.

"Please have a seat in the easy chair," the Madame offered. "I'll bring us some tea and sweet bread."

Dottie nodded and smiled her thanks as she carefully studied Madame Toulescent. She wasn't sure of her nationality. She thought she was Eastern European but she seemed very much like the French and her house had several amazing pieces of French country furniture. In years past, she had asked the Madame about her former life, but the psychic seemed unwilling to share her past. Her voice had a strange accent Dottie couldn't identify which frustrated her. Dottie had traveled the world and she knew the languages and dialects of most ethnic populations. But she couldn't figure out Madame Toulescent’s origins. That puzzled her.

Madame handed Dottie a cup of herb tea. The aroma alerted her senses and she immediately felt more awake and inspired. The tea had given her energy and awareness. She took a sip. It was delicious.

"Oh my, Madame Toulescent. Whatever is in this tea? I feel a million times better just from smelling it. You’ve got to tell me where you got it because I know Cookie would love it too," Dottie gushed as she sipped her tea.

Madame Toulescent smiled and said. "I made the tea. It's a blend of ginger, mint, lemon verbena and a few other things I grow in my herb garden. I'll send some home with you. It's sweetened with honey I collected from my bees yesterday." She smiled briefly, and her lips stretched over teeth that could benefit from a cosmetic dentist. "That's probably what you love so much."

Dottie nodded and studied the Madame. The years hadn't treated her so well. Dottie didn't know her age but her face was a mass of wrinkles that blended one into the other. Dottie guessed each wrinkle had its own story. Her skin appeared soft but deeply creased. Her jet black hair was streaked with gray and hung freely past her shoulders. She wore a simple blue shift with a silver belt and wore tennis shoes and socks. She smelled of lemon and freesia.

Dottie, as usual, smelled of Chanel #5. "It's so lovely out here, Madame. Do you ever come to town?"

Madame Toulescent shook her head. "Very rarely. My neighbor collects my groceries for me when I need them and as you know, I have a huge vegetable garden and I can and freeze most everything I need. I like it here and I like to stay with my animals - my dogs, cats, cow, mules and horses. It's quiet here and my love is nature."

Dottie nodded. She couldn't imagine staying in these four walls every single day. She supposed she didn't have the patience and gentleness of spirit that the Madame had. But that was okay. Dottie was very happy in her own way.

The two women shared a comfortable silence and continued to sip their tea until the Madame asked, "How can I help you today, Countess?" She smiled at her and said, "I can tell you have some significant things on your mind and that you are troubled."

Dottie put her teacup down and said, "Yes, I do. Have you been watching the news?" Dottie saw the woman pale under her sun-darkened skin.

Madame Toulescent nodded. "You’re here about the poisonings, aren't you?"

Dottie held Madame’s dark eyes with her own and said, "Yes, I am. Camilla Rothrock was one of my dearest friends and I need to know who poisoned her."

Madame shifted her gaze to the floor and said, "Countess Borghase, this is a very bad business that is happening. I've had some visions and they are upsetting. It reminds me of the evil work of Hitler in Germany."

This time it was Dottie who paled, her heart beating so hard she could hardly breathe. "Oh my God, Madame. We both remember his devastation in Europe and the millions of people he murdered."

Madame Toulescent rubbed her hands together, her face grim. "Indeed we do. A sad and sorry time. Let's move into the back where I work and see what we can see."

Dottie stood and followed Madame to the room in the far back of her modest home. It was a glass room with beautiful views into the forest. She left her teacup on the coffee table. Her heart thumped dangerously in her chest and she was short of breath. She was so terrified she almost lost her balance. She gripped her purse and cell phone in her hand. She was scared and just the idea of having the Glock made her feel safer. Could the evil be so strong it permeated her soul?

“Countess, why are you so upset? What can I do to help you?” Madame Toulescent looked at Dottie with concern.

Dottie stared at her but her eyes said it all.

“Let me get you something to calm you down so we can have a good reading. Please stay in the chair and I’ll be right back,” Madame Toulescent said as she left Dottie and walked to her kitchen.

Want To Read More? Read Chapter 35 here!

Friday, 7 October 2016

“There’s enough here to kill everybody..." The Case of the Dead #Dowager @JudithLucci #RPBP #IARTG


The Michaela McPherson Mysery Series
by Best Selling Author 

Get this new series for just 99 cents!
Dr. Dude is on sale for 99c/99p, but today is the last day before it goes back to normal price!
Dowager is available for the special preorder price of 99c/99p!
The Case of the Dead Dowager: 
A Michaela McPherson Mystery Book II 
(Michaela McPherson Crime Thrillers 2)
Rukia Publishing Featured Book Of The Week


The Case of Dr Dude: 
A Michaela McPherson Mystery 
(Michaela McPherson Mysteries Book 1)

Get this new series starter for just 99 cents!
Today is the last day!!!!!!
About The Books
A young woman disappears after a job interview at a 
well-known dentist’s office in Richmond, Virginia and retired homicide detective Michaela McPherson, along with her close friend, the aging Countess Dorothy Borghase, and Richmond police join forces to solve the crime. This case pits them against evil and greed armed with tentacles that span continents and generations.

http://bit.ly/ViewDrDude


What Price Must a City Pay to Keep its Citizen's Safe?
A lunch gathering of old friends at Richmond’s historic Hotel Jefferson finds Countess Dottie Borghase dialing 911 to report the sudden collapse of her dear friend, Camilla. The subsequent death of Camilla Rothrock, the mother of decorated U.S. Army General Stuart Rothrock, has authorities buzzing with concerns about international safety and retaliation.

When other restaurants have patrons succumb to similar illnesses and death, the Richmond Police, local FBI and their Washington profilers assist Michaela and Dottie in the chase of two nefarious and heinous mass murderers without souls or conscious.




The Case of the Dead Dowager 
A Michela McPherson Mystery 



Chapter 1 
“Perfecto, this stuff looks flawless,” Boris said in his thickly accented voice as he held a test tube to the light. The Russian smiled broadly, his thin lips stretched across his decayed teeth and skeletal face. The light from the window outlined his permanently crushed, but healed anterior skull that gave him the look of the monster he truly was. He agitated the test tube between his fingers and re-examined its contents. It was a masterpiece. “There’s enough here to kill everybody in Yankee Stadium and all the cops in Richmond,” he predicted from his tall, though stooped height of six feet, five inches. He reached for a small glass container and transferred a portion of the five gallons to a laboratory beaker. He held the larger quantity up to the window and examined the liquid. “And look, there’s no residue in the bottom and the fluid is perfectly clear.” He turned around to his partner and gushed, “Perfecto, my tovarich, perfecto!”

Snake laughed and clapped his partner on the back. “Way to go, tall guy. Good deal. You know we gotta maximize our efforts. Neither one of us wants to work hard or take extra chances, especially now since they’re lookin’ for me anyway.” Snake moved closer to the glass carboy and smiled as he saw the colorless, odorless and tasteless five gallon drum of liquid. “Man, that looks good. Does it have a smell?”

Boris bent his shiny, bald head forward and sniffed deeply. “No, not that I can tell. I can’t smell anything, but I haven’t got a good nose anyway. “You give it a sniff and see what you think,” he said as he gestured towards the liquid.

Snake moved next to the large glass container and noticed additional small beakers and test tubes of fluid sitting to the side. Each container was labeled and numbered. “You must’ve been a hell of a chemist back in the day,” he remarked as he finger-combed his greasy black hair off his face. Sometimes he wore it in a ponytail but he hadn’t pulled it back today. He bent over and sniffed the carboy. “Nah. Nothing.” He shook his head and said, “I can’t smell nuthin’ either. Good job, my man,” he said enthusiastically, a slow smile spreading across his swarthy, pockmarked face. “You’re a real scientist.”

Boris lit a cigarette, coughed and said, “Man, you have no idea of the stuff I can do. You ain’t seen nothing. I got more killing recipes than Carter’s got little liver pills.” He smiled ominously and showed his rotten teeth. Snake felt a tinge run up his spine. This guy even looked like the monster his reputation claimed he was. He decided to watch himself carefully around Boris and never give him the upper hand.

Snake nodded, “Yeah. Well, I got plenty of chances to see your talents this week!” Once again he checked out his partner and sized him up. He was a dangerous, unpredictable, scary dude.

“Yeah, but I’m never tellin’ you much,” Boris assured him. “There’ll most likely be one day I’ll wanna kill you,” he admitted, the broad grin again slicing through his pale, skeletal face. This guy’s serious. He is crazy.

Snake ignored him and brushed invisible lint off the front of his blue scrubs. “Shut-up man. No need for talk like that.” He knew Boris was a madman, totally wacko. His handlers had told him to be careful. But the money had been too good to pass up and besides, he could take good care of himself. His reputation spoke for him. He had no idea who his bosses were and little was known about the Russian scientist. Rumor suggested he’d long been a mortal enemy of the United States and other stories suggested he was an assassin. Snake didn’t want to push the point. He picked up the container of fluid and placed it in front of him, his face a mask of evil.

“You know what, Boris, old man, I’m thinking we can wipe out an army… or at least a police force with this stuff. Whatdaya think?” He gave him a half smile.

Boris stared at him, his cold grey eyes, bony face and crushed skull glistened in the low light from the barred windows. His eyes roamed the room to the large aquarium that housed all kinds of prickly fish and marine life. The huge tank glowed eerily in the fading light. Boris stared at his fish fondly and gave Snake a strange look and said in a quiet voice, “Of course we can. I already said that. What do you think the plan is?”

Chapter 2 

“Dottie, where did you get that marvelous Italian leather bag? I’d die for one like that,” Camilla Rothrock gushed in her drawn out Alabama accent. “I’ve just gotta have one.”

Dottie held up her newest leather pocketbook so all of her best friends could ooh and ah over it. “I had it made especially for me in Italy,” she bragged. The bag was beautiful, soft and buttery between her fingers. “I really love it. Look, it has a special gun pocket stitched in so I can carry my very own Glock,” she said proudly as she pulled her gun holster out of her purse and swiftly returned it before anyone noticed.

Margaret Massie glared from her from across the round table. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Dottie! Give it a rest! Whatever do you need to carry a gun around for? We’re a bunch of old ladies. No one is gonna mess with us,” she admonished as she rolled her eyes and batted her false eyelashes at her best friend of many years. “We’re hardly ever left on our own.” She glowered as her friend.

“Margaret Massie, how can you possibly be so short-sighted?” The Countess Dorothy Borghase exclaimed, disgust evident on her aging, but still lovely face. She flipped her head and a long piece of silver-white hair escaped from her elegant chignon. “After all you’ve been through?” She stared at her friend in disbelief and continued, “That’s precisely the reason we need to pack some heat. Because we are old and weak and can’t run as fast. We’re sitting ducks for most of the bad guys out there.”

Margaret squinted her eyes and frowned at her. “Pack some heat? Really. You sound like you’re in a …” Margaret paused for a moment and looked at her friends, “what do they call it, a gang. What is it? Gangsta talk, or however you say it?” she added sarcastically. As the wife of one of the wealthiest men in Virginia and a blueblood from birth, Margaret didn’t know much about gangs or crime. “But still, Dottie… really, a handmade purse… from Italy, nonetheless, especially designed for your gun? Puhleeze. That’s ridiculous, a bit over the top, wouldn’t you agree, Kathryn?” Margaret asked as she glanced over at Kathryn Lee who was watching her friends an amused look on her face.

Kathryn Lee of Wyndley Farm in Hanover County laughed, her blue eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiled over her water goblet at her friends of many years. Kathryn was the wife of law and order politician Congressman Adam Patrick Lee of Virginia and she clearly had an opinion. She was one of the best target shooters around and could shoot better than most men. She opened her mouth to respond when Dottie interrupted her.

Dottie rearranged one of the intricate wire combs holding her classic up do in place. Her silver hair gleamed under the brass and crystal chandelier in Lamaire Restaurant at Richmond’s historical Hotel Jefferson. “I didn’t design it just for my gun,” she said defensively. “I designed it for my cell phone, my makeup, for the color of the leather, the intricate stitching, the design, and beyond that, the label,” she replied in a snarky voice. Dottie paused for a moment and added, “Besides Vitrio Lanbrucci has been designing fine leather for the Borghase family for over a hundred years.”

Margaret rolled her eyes and turned to Kathryn. “So, Kathryn, what do you think? I know you’d tried to answer my question a few minutes ago,” she said pointedly as she turned to stare at Dottie, “but the Countess forgot her manners. Don’t you think Dottie’s gun purse is a little over the top?” Really,” she opined, a smirk on her face.

Kathryn opened her mouth to answer when Dottie interrupted again, her vivid blue eyes wide with concern. She stared at Camilla who looked strange, frightened, actually. Her pupils were wide and she seemed unable to speak.

“Camilla, whatever is the matter with you? Your face is flushed and your eyes are enormous. Are you ill?” Dottie asked as she rose from her seat.

Kathryn was alarmed as well since Camilla was unable to respond. Her eyes stared wildly at them and she opened her mouth but no words came out. Suddenly, she fell forward, and her head lolled on the table.

“Kathryn, call 911 on your phone. She must’ve had a stroke of something,” Dottie commanded as her heart raced with fear. It could be my head lying on the table and not Camilla’s. Life seemed very precious to Dottie at that second. I sure don’t wanna die in Lamaire restaurant in the Hotel Jefferson. What a spectacle that would be! Of course, she knew Camilla’s didn’t either and as she stood by her friend, tears popped into her eyes. I’ll have to call General Rothrock and tell him something dreadful has happened to his mother.

Kathryn flagged a waiter and moved closer to Camilla’s chair and checked her pulse. She could barely feel it as it was weak and irregular. Kathryn looked into Camilla’s eyes and her pupils that were huge and dark, liquids pools of fluid that saw nothing. Her face was flushed and red.

A moment later, a young waitress carrying a huge serving tray staggered forward and then fell to the floor, spilling food, water and wine all over the oriental carpet. She lay prone and unresponsive.

“Make that two ambulances,” Dottie motioned to the maitre’d who was on his way over.
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Thursday, 22 September 2016

Reblogging Don Massenzio's 20 Questions with Rukia Publishing author John Searancke #RPBP



Don Massenzio's Blog
Don Massenzio is the author of Frankly Speaking - A Frank Rozzani Detective novel and the follow-up, Let Me Be Frank. He has also written several short stories.

Today we sit down with Author John Searancke. He is going to tell us a bit about his work, his life, and his inspiration.

Please enjoy this edition of 20 Questions:





Q1) When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

When I retired from my business in 2009, my wife and I, with our dog Freddie, moved from England to live in The Canary Islands, an archipelago in the Atlantic Ocean, off Africa. At that point I decided to put pen to paper, figuratively speaking. I felt that I had a book waiting to get out of me.

Q2) How long does it typically take you to write a book?

I spent about 9 months actually writing each of my books, and then went through a fairly gruelling exercise with a superb professional editor, who made me polish my work. That in itself, with the to and fro, took some 3 months extra, but it was well worth it.

To read the remaining 18 Q&A click here

Friday, 2 September 2016

Feed your paranormal cravings! Midnight at the Salem Cafe by Elizabeth A. Reeves @SelkieHorse-A Wicked Halloween Boxed Set @ErzabetBishop #Paranormal #Romance #giveaway



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Five favorites:

Favorite Magical Creature/being: Dragons. It's always going to be dragons.
Favorite Book: Passage by Connie Willis (this changes almost daily).
Favorite Holiday: Thanksgiving. It's all about family and food for me, what could be better?
Favorite Sport: Pretty much anything Equestrian. For watching, nothing can be quite as exciting as Eventing. As far as participating... I'm not quite that brave. I do enjoy riding, though.
Favorite Fairy Tale: Beauty and the Beast. I love that it has historical origins in truth. And it's just a lovely idea, all around.






Witness to her own mother's murder, Lena Scott long ago gave up any hope that she would be able to lead a normal, healthy life. She also thought that she'd left Salem, and that night, behind. She was never going to look back. But, looking back may be the key to more than just that mysterious Halloween night. And her home, her life, and even her work at the Salem Cafe are more intertwined than she ever imagined.

And the past is full of more secrets than Lena could ever have imagined. Everything she believed about herself, everything she knew about herself… all of that comes into question on yet another dark, Salem Halloween night.




As often happened, when the world felt a little festive, Lena felt more alone than usual. She was an outsider to the laughter and teasing that marked off the hours among the rest of the staff. Oh, she smiled, and she even spoke a few times, but it was always with a sense that she didn’t belong.
She never had quite fit.
Her required break was punctuated by a mug of the best hot chocolate in the world—the menu even said so—and a thin slice of apple pie.
It was a risky move. Apple pie always made her think about Gran. Lena closed her eyes against the warmth of cinnamon, cooled by the gentle kiss of vanilla from the ice cream Luisa made in the big machine in the back. There was nothing fancy about it—no frills at all.
But it was perfect.
Lena put her fork down after one bite. A second one, she thought, could never be as good as that first taste.
It was starting to get late. Fewer customers came through the door, despite the well-lit sign saying that they’d be open all night for Halloween.
“It’s starting to really come down out there,” a man told her, as she handed him and his wife their menus.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t even realize that it was snowing.”
“If it was raining, I’d say it was raining cats and dogs,” the woman said with a laugh. “I don’t know what you say for that kind of snow.”
“Falling like goose down,” Lena heard her own voice say. The words startled her. She couldn’t remember having heard them before, and yet, she had a feeling that they were just right.
“Charming,” the woman said, widening her eyes. “What a lovely image.”
Obviously the woman had never met geese, Lena thought wryly. In her limited experience, they were rarely lovely.
She did take the time, though, to stand at the door and watch the snow fall. It really was coming down, in great, fluffy flakes.
Lena laughed softly. It really did look like feathers falling out of the sky.
“Look at that,” Martin said, turned in his seat to watch the snow come down. “That’s a real treat for Halloween—or is Old Mother Nature playing some tricks on us all?” He laughed. “Weather like this always gets the ghosts thumping around, doesn’t it, Luisa?” He turned his head towards where she stood, silent for once.
“You hush,” she said.
“Don’t pretend that you’ve never seen him,” Martin teased. “You and I both know that you did. You can’t deny it.”
“Saw who?” Lena asked, despite the frisson of goosebumps crawling spider-like up her back.
Martin blinked at her in surprise. “I keep forgetting that you didn’t grow up around these parts.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Luisa huffed. “Lena doesn’t want to listen to your ghost stories.”
“We do.” The woman and her husband looked to Martin with eager expression. “It’s the perfect weather for a ghost story. Is it a local ghost?”
“He lives about half a block down, that way,” Martin waved his hand absently. “But, you can see him walking down the street, sometimes at night. Especially when it has been snowing. You know he’s a ghost because he’s dressed in stockings and breeches—and a three-cornered hat—you know, the kind men wore in the early eighteenth century.”
“So, a ghost unrelated to the witch trials?” The woman sounded almost disappointed.
Martin laughed. “Everything around here ends up pointing to the witch trials, one way or another. Some people say that this man had an ancestor that had been cursed by one of the witches. Others say that he was descended from a witch. One this is very sure, though—he was terribly unlucky in love.”
The woman made a sighing sound. Lena made a face to herself. She’d never understood what was romantic about tragedy. Despite herself, she wanted to listen to this story. Ignoring, of course, the fact that Martin had waved his hand in the direction of her own, historical monument of a house.
“This used to be the outskirts of town,” Martin said, warming to his story. His face was lit up with excitement that, for once, he had an audience that wanted to hear what he had to say. “Our ghost was a prosperous man in these parts, and known to be a quiet gentleman. He kept to himself, so of course there were gossips who said that he was surly and thought too well of himself. That he was too proud to marry a local girl.”
How could Martin possibly know such a thing? Lena wondered, but she gave in to the magic of the story-telling.
“The stories agree that he was a handsome man. You thought he was handsome, when you saw him, didn’t you, Luisa?”
The chef made a huffing sound, but made no move to go back to the kitchen.
“So, he was handsome and wealthy, and could have married any girl in these parts just for the asking, but he never seemed interested in any of them. Not until a girl showed up at his door, shivering with the cold on a night just like this.” Martin knew he had his listeners hooked now. He spoke softly, forcing them to lean closer and hold their breaths to be able to hear. “No one knew anything about her. Not who her people were, not where she had come from. It was love at first sight, they say. He built up his house as a kind of shrine to her, and to their love. They married and gossip said that they were expecting their first child. But, it wasn’t to last.”
Lena heard the woman at the table sigh again, this time regretfully. “What happened?”
“The girl disappeared,” Martin said. “The records don’t say how or why—they didn’t in those days, you know. But, the legend that my grandfather learned from his grandfather, and passed down to me, was that she ran away from him. No one ever saw her again.”
Gasps of sympathetic horror filled the room.
“He didn’t live long after she vanished,” Martin continued, ignoring the shocked faces surrounding his casual mention of murder. “It might have been an accident, but again it might have not. He was killed in a fall off of that big, proud stallion of his, while he was out searching for his lost love. That’s why he still walks to this day. They say that he’s looking for her still… unable to rest until he finds her again.”
Lena rubbed her icy fingers together. The chill had nothing to do with the snow outside and everything to do with the ghost story Martin was reciting.
“What was her name?” The woman asked, her hands clasped together. “What was his name?”
“His name was Edward Pryce,” Martin said. “As for the girl… the only name we have for her is ‘Mellie’.”



Elizabeth A Reeves is a socially-phobic introvert with a rich fantasy life. While physically she may be a mother to five boys (and a wife to one more), mentally she is roaming universes and planes of existence known only to her.


She tries to capture some of these for other book-lovers like her to enjoy.
Find her on Facebook



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