Monday, October 31, 2016

Witch’s Cursed Cabin Coon Hollow Coven Tales Book Two Marsha A. Moore

Witch’s Cursed Cabin
Coon Hollow Coven Tales
Book Two
Marsha A. Moore

Genre: Paranormal romance

Date of Publication: 4-27-16

Number of pages: 380
Word Count: 111,000

Cover Artist: Marsha A. Moore

Book Description:

Eager to be on her own away from home, twenty-year-old Aggie Anders accepts a relative’s invitation to live in Coon Hollow Coven. Although she’s a witch from a different coven, what locals say about the Hollow confuses her. How can witchcraft there live and breathe through souls of the dead?

Aggie’s new residence in this strange southern Indiana world is a deserted homestead cabin. The property’s carriage house serves as the coven’s haunted Halloween fundraiser. It’s a great opportunity for her to make new friends, especially with the coven’s sexy new High Priest Logan.

But living in the homestead also brings Aggie enemies. Outsiders aren’t welcome. A cantankerous, old neighbor tries to frighten her off by warning her that the homestead is cursed. Local witches who practice black magic attempt to use their evil to drive Aggie away and rid their coven of her unusual powers as a sun witch.
Determined to stay and fit in, Aggie discovers not only that the cabin is cursed, but she alone is destined to break the curse before moonrise on Samhain. If she fails, neither the living nor the dead will be safe.

Amazon    Goodreads

A note to readers: the books in the Coon Hollow Coven Tales series are written to be read in any order. The series is about one community, and its residents may pass in and out of various books, but each book has its own unique and special story to be told.

About the Coon Hollow Coven Tales Series

The series is about a coven of witches in a fictitious southern Indiana community, south of Bloomington, the neck of the woods where I spent my favorite childhood years surrounded by the love of a big family. The books are rich with a warm Hoosier down-home feel. There are interesting interactions between coven members and locals from the nearby small town of Bentbone. If magic wasn’t enough of a difference between the two groups, the coven folk adhere to the 1930s lifestyle that existed when the coven formed.

Book One

Excerpt from Chapter One: The Homestead

A shove of my shoulder pried the rusty hinges on the heavy log cabin door loose. I flung my blond braid to my back and peered inside. Beings and critters, alive and furry as well as undead and translucent, flew, crawled, or slithered across dark recesses of the hallway, sitting room, and stairwell.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is haunted.” I shuddered and looked over my shoulder at Cerise. She looked perky as always with her dark bobbed hair and lively brown eyes beneath horn-rimmed eyeglasses. “Were those things relations or varmints?” I took a cautious step over the threshold to escape the blustery weather and unbuttoned my corduroy jacket.
“Oh, both, Aggie. Ghosts of witch kin and their talking animal familiars,” she said and moved past me to lift sheets off the sitting room furniture.

I raised a brow, curious about what talking familiars were but was too afraid to ask. She didn’t seem to think they were bad, and I needed a place to stay.

Cerise dropped the sheets in a pile and wiped her dusty hands on her skirt. “Those sorts of ghosts are in all the homes here in Coon Hollow Coven. Maybe some animal spirits, too, from the surrounding woods. This property has at least fifty acres of forest. The ghosts are harmless, part of the family. At least no neighbors have complained, that I’ve heard.”

Eyeing corners of the parlor and the length of the hall, I wondered if I could ever get used to living with ghosts of people who’d lived here before. In New Wish, Indiana, where I’d spent my entire twenty years, we only had an occasional ghost. Usually lost souls who, for some reason, hadn’t found their peace before death took them. Most times, those folks had been tormented by darkness and experimented with black magic while they’d lived. Or so Mom told me, but I always thought that was just her way of keeping me in line.

I pushed those thoughts out of my head. I wanted a place of my own more than anything else, and not in the tiny town of New Wish where everyone knew me…or thought they did. They all said I was the spitting image of my Aunt Faye, with the same light blond straight hair, deep blue eyes, dark brows, and quiet personality. Everyone thought I’d grow up to be like her with a houseful of kids, seven or more. Fact was, they didn’t know me. I wasn’t sure I even knew myself. There was so much I wanted to learn and do that wouldn’t happen if I stayed at my parents’ home.

Cerise struggled to open the stuck window. “Aggie, can you help me here? Some fresh air might tempt a few spirits outside. This place has been vacant since my mother passed in 2009. We might find just about anything in here after five years.”

Are you brave enough to visit Coon Hollow Coven’s haunted carriage house?
Guest Blog by Marsha A. Moore

Coon Hollow is the setting for Witch’s Cursed Cabin, the second of my series, Coon Hollow Coven Tales, and there are a lot of strange happenings going on down in the Hollow as Samhain approaches.
The Hollow is a fictitious small valley in southern Indiana, south of Bloomington. Somewhere in Brown County near Nashville and Bean Blossom, if you’re from around those parts. It’s Hoosier hill-country at its finest.
The coven was founded on strict rules of adherence to lifestyle and customs that existed at the time of the coven’s conception, in the mid-1930s. The rationale: to keep the transmission of witchcraft from one generation to the next as pure as possible. Members dress in styles of that period and drive long sleek Packards, Studebakers, and Nashes.
Several times during the year, the coven puts on magical events open to the public as charity fundraisers for their schools and eldercare. Witch’s Cursed Cabin opens with the coven preparing for their annual Halloween haunted carriage house.
Here’s an excerpt of the night when the attraction is open only to coven members. Aggie Anders has just moved to the coven and is joining Cerise’s family at the event.

Dusk was changing to night, the gloaming time as I called it, with the sky ribboned in bands of blue-grays and inky purples. As we ascended the small hill that separated the two cabins, I pulled my hood over my head.
On the other side, a group of black forms mingled outside, perhaps fifty, but the dim light made counting difficult. I glanced down at my jeans, happy the blue color wasn’t too noticeable. A chilling scream that seemed to come from the cabin’s roof made me gawk, wide-eyed.
A hush spread over the crowd, and hoods turned upward toward the tall gable above the front door. Another scream pierced the air, this one more like the chilling, long wail of a banshee, which I knew signaled approaching death. And another shriek, as two dark shapes emerged from behind the chimney. One began the dreadful cry once again, while the other leered at those on the ground.
Little Bud tugged on his dad’s arm and whimpered.
“What is this I see?” A deep male voice growled down at us. “Intruders! You’ve broken the peaceful rest of the carriage house spirits.” He gave a guttural laugh, then shinnied down a trellis at one end of the small porch. From there, he rubbed his hands together while shuffling side to side as he scanned the crowd. His ragged cape hung in shreds around his hunched shape, and his death-white face reflected what little light the twilight offered. “Since you’ve awakened the spirits, why don’t you come in and pay them a friendly visit? I’m sure they’ll be glad to welcome you.” With a menacing laugh, he turned and opened the door. “We have guests of the best kind—willing.”
A chorus of howls and yelps responded from inside, and the banshee on the roof gave a higher pitched cry.
A small girl, no more than four years old, begged for her father to carry her.
The ragged spirit pointed to a sign posted high on the porch support post. “Heed this sign well before you go inside.” It warned pregnant women and people with heart conditions to not enter. With the wave of his arm, he spun on his heel, and the crowd moved toward the entrance.
“Looks like this year’s show will be good. Every year they try to top the last,” Cerise said and pulled me behind her, while Toby herded their boys.
Inside, ghouls lurched near, guiding us up the front staircase. Real enchanted spiders dropped onto our faces, bringing plenty of squeals and some momentary lost footing on steps. While clinging to the railings to keep my balance, oozy slime gushed between my fingers. Faced with the safe scares, screams that escaped my lips immediately turned to giggles.
Live rats ran the length of the upper hall, scampering across our feet. I was glad for my stiff-toed boots, but many of the ladies wearing dress pumps jumped a couple feet. One woman landed against me, and we both fell against the wall where arms extending from paintings held us captive until we pleaded loud enough for release.
The wall hazards kept people close to the middle, regardless of the rats. At the doorway to the first bedroom, the floorboards gave way. Five or more in the line ahead dropped down a black hole, their screams reverberating after them. Bats flew up the open shoot and corralled us into the bedroom and the outstretched arms of a red-eyed goblin. His touch sent a sudden disorienting delirium through me, and I fumbled behind Cerise through a connecting hall that led into the next bedroom.

What happens to Aggie? You’ll only know if you’re brave enough to enter the coven’s haunted carriage house!

Flash Fiction by Marsha A Moore
Hello! I’m Marsha A. Moore and it’s great to be here and share some Samhain fun! I’d like to share with you one of my very popular mini-stories from my collection of fantasy flash fiction Tea Leaf Tales.
Tea Leaf Tales: The Necessary Practice Halloween Growl
 “Oh, come on, Grindor,” I pleaded for the third time.

“Not until Halloween,” he replied with a terse snap, his face stoic, his body frozen.
“Just one pre-Halloween scare.” I climbed beside him and peeked over the fence.

“There’s a teenage boy walking this way toward your gate who’d make a great practice target.”

“Nope,” he said, trying unsuccessfully to knock me off balance with his left wing.

“It’ll feel good to do just one little growl.”

A whiz of loud pops sailed inches above my head, and I jumped behind my griffin guardian who spread his protective wings wide.

The teen burst through the open gate, gun in hand, and Grindor let out a horrific roar, so loud that my teeth rattled.

From behind, I winked at the boy with the bb gun, my five-dollar bill showing in his jeans pocket.
Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her.
Visit Marsha’s website to read more archived episodes of the Mercantile of Tea Leaf Tales and watch her blog for new episodes.

About the Author:

Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales.

The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing, as well as other pursuits of watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. Her practice helps weave the mystical into her writing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors where she’s always on the lookout for portals to other worlds. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical!

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Saturday, October 29, 2016

Happy Book Birthday~The Tides of Bara by Jeffe Kennedy!!

A Narrow Escape
With her secrets uncovered and her power-mad brother bent on her execution, Princess Oria has no sanctuary left. Her bid to make herself and her new barbarian husband rulers of walled Bára has failed. She and Lonen have no choice but to flee through the leagues of brutal desert between her home and his—certain death for a sorceress, and only a bit slower than the blade.
A Race Against Time
At the mercy of a husband barely more than a stranger, Oria must war with her fears and her desires. Wild desert magic buffets her; her husband’s touch allures and burns. Lonen is pushed to the brink, sure he’s doomed his proud bride and all too aware of the restless, ruthless pursuit that follows…
A Danger Beyond Death…
Can Oria trust a savage warrior, now that her strength has vanished? Can Lonen choose her against the future of his people? Alone together in the wastes, Lonen and Oria must forge a bond based on more than lust and power, or neither will survive the test…


Oria held the barrier against her raging brother.

At least, she did the best she could with her magic draining by the moment, its potency attenuating with distance and diminishing with the lack of opportunity to replenish her sgath—or to even take a full breath. Of course, her upside-down position, bouncing over Lonen’s shoulder as he ran headlong through the palace, did nothing to make any of it easier.

We may be in luck,” Chuffta, her Familiar, reported. “Yar’s magic is running low also. He’s sent for more priestesses to feed him sgath, as Gallia can’t.” He paused to mentally cough at that. Oria’s Familiar had also telepathically received Gallia’s urgent message for them to run. As Yar’s wife—particularly a newlywed in a temple-blessed marriage—only Gallia should be feeding Yar sgath to fight the magical barrier Oria had erected to save herself from execution, and Lonen from retribution. But Gallia had only recently arrived in Bára and, unused to the city’s native magic, so different from her home at Lousá, she had not reached her full power.

But Gallia was stronger than she’d claimed. As a sister in magic, Oria could judge quite precisely how much Gallia had been capable of channeling. Oria’s new sister had exaggerated her weakness—in a move shockingly disloyal to her new husband and against all expectation—to allow Oria to escape. If all went well, Yar would never discover the deception. Between his unstable temper and Gallia’s status in Bára, that could turn out badly for her sister sorceress. Hopefully, she’d take Oria’s advice and appeal to her and Yar’s mother, the former Queen Rhianna, for assistance.

I can’t imagine Priest Vico will allow other priestesses to feed sgath to Yar. It’s against temple law if his ideal wife is alive and well,” she replied to Chuffta.

Yes, but it depends on what Vico considers to be ‘well.’”

She framed a reply—speaking mentally took concentration—then grunted in pain as Lonen ducked around a corner, the sudden shift in direction making his shoulder dig into her belly. It looked so much more romantic in the illustrations. In reality, being carried off over a barbarian’s shoulder left much to be desired.

Sorry,” Lonen shot the word out between panting breaths. “Unavoidable.”

She didn’t reply. Couldn’t. It would be handy if she and Lonen could speak mind-to-mind the way she could with Chuffta—and unexpectedly with Gallia—particularly under circumstances like this. He might not like it, though. At the moment, all of his considerable personal energy was focused away from her, no doubt on fighting them free of Bára. At least that saved her having to screen out his emotions along with everyone else’s.

You are correct,” Chuffta reported from his vantage, flying well above Yar’s group. Her Familiar seemed to be enjoying his spy activities. “They are arguing about it. Yar is most put out. He’s losing focus and less able to fight your barrier. Vico is gently suggesting he check his hwil, which has not gone over well.” No, Yar would not do well with the suggestion that he might be showing any loss of the crucial equanimity that allowed the priests and priestesses of Bára to handle their dangerously powerful magic. Loss of hwil could be grounds for the temple taking back the mask that was their badge of office. With no mask, Yar could not be king. Could she somehow use that to her advantage—push Yar into losing hwil entirely?

No, Oria.” Chuffta’s mind-voice was both sorrowful and deadly earnest. “Without your mask, you cannot be queen either. And now that they know you can use grien, your life would be forfeit, regardless. It’s not worth the risk.”

It might be, though. If only to save Bára and Dru both from the devastation that would be Yar’s rule.

I won’t let you sacrifice yourself. Neither will Lonen,”Chuffta added.

I’m already regretting that I encouraged you two to become friends,” she grumbled.

Lonen's War

Lonen's War
Sorcerous Moons – Book 1

By Jeffe Kennedy

An Unquiet Heart
Alone in her tower, Princess Oria has spent too long studying her people’s barbarian enemies, the Destrye—and neglected the search for calm that will control her magic and release her to society. Her restlessness makes meditation hopeless and her fragility renders human companionship unbearable. Oria is near giving up. Then the Destrye attack, and her people’s lives depend on her handling of their prince…
A Fight Without Hope
When the cornered Destrye decided to strike back, Lonen never thought he’d live through the battle, let alone demand justice as a conqueror. And yet he must keep up his guard against the sorceress who speaks for the city. Oria’s people are devious, her claims of ignorance absurd. The frank honesty her eyes promise could be just one more layer of deception.
A Savage Bargain
Fighting for time and trust, Oria and Lonen have one final sacrifice to choose… before an even greater threat consumes them all.

Oria's Gambit:

Oria's Gambit
Sorcerous Moons – Book 2

By Jeffe Kennedy

A Play For Power
Princess Oria has one chance to keep her word and stop her brother’s reign of terror: She must become queen. All she has to do is marry first. And marry Lonen, the barbarian king who defeated her city bare weeks ago, who can never join her in a marriage of minds, who can never even touch her—no matter how badly she wants him to.

A Fragile Bond
To rule is to suffer, but Lonen never thought his marriage would become a torment. Still, he’s a resourceful man. He can play the brute conqueror for Oria’s faceless officials and bide his time with his wife. And as he coaxes secrets from Oria, he may yet change their fate…

An Impossible Demand
With deception layering on deception, Lonen and Oria must claim the throne and brazen out the doubters. Failure means death— for them and their people

But success might mean an alliance powerful beyond imagining...

About Jeffe Kennedy


Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning author whose works include novels, non-fiction, poetry, and short fiction. She has been a Ucross Foundation Fellow, received the Wyoming Arts Council Fellowship for Poetry, and was awarded a Frank Nelson Doubleday Memorial Award. 

Her most recent works include a number of fiction series: the fantasy romance novels of A Covenant of Thorns; the contemporary BDSM novellas of the Facets of Passion; an erotic contemporary serial novel, Master of the Opera; and the erotic romance trilogy, Falling Under, which includes Going UnderUnder His Touch and Under Contract


Her award-winning fantasy romance trilogy The Twelve Kingdoms hit the shelves starting in May 2014. Book 1, The Mark of the Tala, received a starred Library Journal review and was nominated for the RT Book of the Year while the sequel, The Tears of the Rose received a Top Pick Gold and was nominated for the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Fantasy Romance of 2014. The third book, The Talon of the Hawk, won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Fantasy Romance of 2015. Two more books followed in this world, beginning the spin-off series The Uncharted Realms, with The Pages of the Mind in May 2016 and The Edge of the Blade in December 2016. 


She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with two Maine coon cats, plentiful free-range lizards and a very handsome Doctor of Oriental Medicine.


Jeffe can be found online at her website:, every Sunday at the popular SFF Seven blog, on Facebook, on Goodreads and pretty much constantly on Twitter @jeffekennedy. She is represented by Connor Goldsmith of Fuse Literary.   




Friday, October 28, 2016


Laura Diamond

Genre: Young Adult scifi/dystopian

Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press

Date of Publication:  October 3, 2016

Number of pages: 320 approx
Word Count:  80,000

Cover Artist: Curiosity Quills

Book Description:

Since their Arrival less than 30 years ago, immortal Vie rule the planet like the super-predators they are. Enslaved humans are their servants…their entertainment…and their food. Anemies—humans with various types of anemia—are simply exterminated. Their nutritionally deficient blood is useless to the Vie.

Or so it’s thought…

Alex, an Elite Vie, is a bit of a Renaissance Alien. Part scientist, part Raid Specialist, part drug addict, he knows Anemie blood is valuable. Rather than blindly carrying out his boss’s kill order, he convinces some colleagues to spare a few Anemies, not only for study, but also to reserve a secret stock.

The more Anemie blood Alex drinks, the more he slips into delusion, and the more his double life threatens to crumble. But quitting Anemie blood is not an option. Every Anemie has their own personal flavor. Each gives a unique high.

When Alex takes a hit of Justin’s blood, his hallucinations bleed into reality…

Anemie Justin knows his little sister, Sammie, and he are living past their expiration dates. It becomes a guarantee when they’re bitten by a Vie named Alex during a raid. (The bite is fatal, thanks to a toxin carried in Vie saliva.) Alex adds insult to injury by promising Justin a second chance—an antidote in exchange for agreeing to be a lab rat.

And a mule…of his own blood.
When Justin says no, Alex takes off with Sammie.

All Justin has to do is find them, beat Alex, and cure himself and Sammie. All he has is a stake and serious lack of self-preservation.
No problem.

Alex wants Justin’s blood.
Justin wants his sister back.


New City, Year 75 A.L. (After Landing), Month 5, Day 17, late afternoon

I hated afternoons the most. Soon after came darkness—the time when a raiding squad could snatch you out of bed and drain all the blood from your body. It was amazing that any Anemies survived with the extermination campaign ridding the world of us red blood cell-deficient freaks.
I gently squeezed my sister’s hand to make sure she kept up. Dirt caked under her fingernails like it caked under mine. The cuff of her torn sleeve had stains like mine. Her pant cuffs were rolled up six times… also like mine. A younger version of me—mouthiness and all—in girl form. Unlike me, Sammie tended to dawdle, and since we held onto the last rung of the society ladder by the tips of our fingers, giving in to distraction could get us hurt—or killed.
My gaze jumped to the pale, indifferent sky then jittered to the partially constructed biodome edge as I walked. Large, clear panels filled the metal framework in a beehive of hexagons. Eventually, the damn thing would cover the entire city, including the river surrounding the island and part of the ocean capping the south side. The project had been progressing since before I was born.
Once the construction workers completed the biodome, Vie wouldn’t have to fear the destructive UV rays of our sun and could wander freely during the day. We’d have no safe period whatsoever. Vie could get us any time.
As soon as that thought entered my mind, I snapped my attention to the cracked sidewalk. More Anemies than usual filled the streets today, and I needed to be on high alert. At noon, we’d compete for the rations served by tranced human slaves. Most Vie wanted Anemies extinct, but the New City Association for Anemie Rights—NCAAR—fought for us. And by fighting for us, I meant they gave us nearly rotten leftovers, lab-made food, and water pellets. Vie members of the NCAAR—who somehow remained anonymous in spite of everyone knowing what the organization did—knew we Anemies kept on the move and we didn’t carry much with us, so they designed food and water pellets to fit in our pockets. The pellets also lasted a week or more, depending on how strictly you rationed them.
I snorted. Vie had no idea what it was like to look up, down, left, right, ahead, behind, sideways all the time and all at once. They couldn’t comprehend fearing the vulnerability of sleep (yes, I’ve fallen asleep with my eyes open; Sammie screeched, thinking I’d died). The sensation of constant hunger never tortured them. As advanced beings, they’d evolved past such things.
“What’s so funny, Justin?” Sammie’s little voice barely carried over the growing crowd. She tugged my arm, the force of it little more than the peck of a baby pigeon’s beak.
“Nothing, just something stuck in my throat.” I craned my neck, searching for a safe place for Sammie to wait.
She’d be trampled if I dragged her along with me into the mess of emaciated, dirty bodies.
About half a block away stood a three-story row house with wide, concrete stairs. The bricks had crumbled in sections, and large cracks fissured along the mortar. Vie construction efforts would move north at some point to smash this and other buildings down and replace them with gleaming skyscrapers. For now, the northern section of New City slowly yielded to ruin.
Soon after their Arrival, Vie had destroyed the outer boroughs, torching houses, buildings—whatever humans had constructed. They called it part of their Cleansing. Forests had grown up in those once-urban areas. I longed to return there. To be free of terror. To be free of Vie. Then I reminded myself it would never be true. They’d moved in and taken over, reshaping the world into their vision of perfection.
Sammie and I didn’t fit in their world. But we had to live in it.

The Multimedia Angle—The Use of Journals, Videos, and Book Quotes In Books by Laura Diamond

Part of what made IMMORTAL ALIENS: DAWN OF THE VIE a blast to write was the multimedia aspect I developed for the story. The book takes place in a dystopian future where immortal alien vampires called Vie have taken over the planet. They’re slowly restructuring what was once New York City, dubbing it New City. They’re building a UV blocking biodome, because, despite their immortality gifted by a DNA-altering vaccine called Vitalus Sustennus, Earth’s sun does irreparable damage to them.

They’ve also enslaved humans, using them not only as a food source, but as test subjects, errand runners, and even concubines.

A certain population of humans—those with various forms of anemia—are useless to Vie because their blood does not provide the same nutritional value as those with normal blood. As a result, Anemies are being hunted and exterminated.

A majority of the book is from the perspective of a teen Anemie, Justin, who finds out his blood does something that no one else’s so far has done—it ages Vie! He carries the potential of a lethal, biological weapon that humans can use against Vie to win back the planet.

In order to fully paint the picture of this sci-fi/dystopian landscape, I’ve included excerpts of The Book of Vie, a book that contains prophetical information about the Bringer of Death, the harbinger of Vie downfall.

Excerpt from The Book of Vie:

With their glorious Arrival, immortal Vie inherited the earth to rule with absolute power. Enslaved mortals, tormented by their bloodthirsty masters, abandoned hope and bore the yoke of submission without protest. The lowest of the low, the outcasts among outcasts, begged for mercy, but the immortals denied them. Then one day a mortal was born among them with the power to break the curse, free all mortals, and bring the gift of death.
—The Book of Vie, Author Anonymous

I’ve also included journal excerpts of Justin’s nemesis, Alex (Alejandro Reyes), an Elite Vie scientist who leads extermination raids to weed out the lingering Anemie population, who performs experiments on humans and Anemies alike, and who uses Anemie blood as a drug (because of its lack of healthy red blood cells, it makes any Vie who drinks it high, similar to any illicit drug), while also trying to atone for his sins by leading a group whose mission is to protect Anemies. Yep, the quintessential “bad guy” is trying to do some good.

Excerpt of Alejandro Reyes Journal:

Journal of Alejandro Reyes
Date: Year 75, Month 5, Day 18

I found him.
Then I lost him.
Had we not been interrupted, I could have snuck him away, using his sister as a carrot. He seemed so motivated to assist her, even at his own peril.
Perhaps I can still use her to get to him. He will no doubt be searching for her, as I will be searching for him. At some point, we’ll find each other. We have to.
Everything I built depends on it.

And, considering the technological advances the aliens brought, I’ve included video transcripts of their version of reality TV, hosted by gregarious and charming Vincent Marks.

Excerpt of Vidscreen Transcript:

Year 75, Month 5, Day 21, 12:00 PM
* * * * * * * * * *
Good afternoon, fellow New City citizens. Vincent Marks here. Welcome to Action News 7 Twelfth Hour Broadcast. Today, we bring you breaking news of three Anemies who trespassed into the Commercial Laundry Service earlier this morning…

As a reader, I find excerpts of journals, transcripts, emails, newspaper clippings, even sketches or drawings lend a tangible piece not otherwise included in the regular chapter format. It allows a glimpse into the world the protagonist and antagonist is living in, outside of the viewpoint of the main character. It’s also a lot of fun, both to write and to read, and fun is such an integral component of entertainment, something I strive for in all of my stories. If you choose to buy and read IMMORTAL ALIENS: DAWN OF THE VIE, I hope you enjoy what I’ve created!

If you’d like to chat more with me about this or any other bookish topic, don’t hesitate to connect with me on my blog , Facebook , and Twitter.

About the Author:

Laura Diamond is a board certified psychiatrist currently specializing in emergency psychiatry. She is also an author of all things young adult—both contemporary and paranormal. An avid fan of sci-fi, fantasy, and anything magical, she thrives on quirk, her lucid dreams, and coffee. When she’s not working or writing, she can be found sniffing books and drinking a latte at the bookstore or at home pondering renovations on her 225 year old fixer upper, all while obeying her feline overlords, of course.








Tour giveaway

3 ebook copies of Dawn of the Vie

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Black And Blue Quentin Black Mystery By JC Andrijeski!!

Black And Blue
Quentin Black Mystery
Book Five
JC Andrijeski

Genre: Paranormal Mystery / Romance/ UF

Publisher: White Sun Press

Date of Publication: 7/27/16

ISBN: 9781370573745

Number of pages: 336
Word Count: 101,005

Cover Artist: Jennifer Munswami
at J.M. Rising Horse Creations

Book Description:

“He’d be fresh meat here. And he didn’t have his sight...”

Black takes a new consulting gig with the LAPD, helping them find a contract killer who left a dead body behind the Los Angeles Theater. Despite Miri’s lingering fears after what happened to him during the last murder case he worked, he assures her it’s routine, that he won’t be doing fieldwork, that nothing could possibly go wrong.

Then, during his first night on the job at the Port of Los Angeles, all hell breaks loose and all bets are off.

Black wakes up in a nightmare he couldn’t have foreseen, with no way out and no idea how he got there. Robbed of his psychic sight, he can’t even call to Miriam for help, or use his abilities to figure out where he is, who took him, or what they want from him.

On the outside, Miri is frantic, working with the police and Black’s team to find him. She has even less information than Black… until a confession from her Uncle Charles brings her face to face with a much older enemy, the same enemy that may have killed her entire family.

BLACK AND BLUE is book five in the paranormal mystery romance starring brilliant but dangerous psychic detective, Quentin Black, and his partner, forensic psychologist Miri Fox.

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Excerpt: Prologue
ALARMS EXPLODED OVERHEAD, bells clanging. The sounds slammed into his skull like a rock wielded by a psychopath. Grimacing, he raised a hand to his eyes, though it wasn’t bright. Blood pressed against the bone of his skull, harder with each throb, like a beating heart.
Even past the pain, he was groggy. He felt nauseous––that specific kind of sick feeling he associated with a head injury. But he might have been drugged.
He couldn’t clear his head enough to decide.
Either way, the specifics likely weren’t important. He got the gist. Someone clocked him good. He’d been out cold, at least a few hours.
He tried to retrace his mental footsteps.
The port. That asshole, Mozar, dragged him out to the port with his SWAT guys and Hawking and a few other detectives. It was supposed to be a simple job, advisory only. He was there as a goddamned consultant, which was humorous in and of itself.
Then it all went wrong. Seriously crazy shit went down.
Hawking... it all started with Hawking.
He fought to think, but everything kept fuzzing in and out. He got details, fragments, but it wasn’t enough to piece together. He knew that might be the head injury too. He also knew––unfortunately, from previous experience––that he might have gone into ungrat, the seer stasis, if they’d hit him hard enough. If so, his memories should start filtering back if he didn’t get himself too banged up again in the next twenty-four hours or so.
Unfortunately, he suspected he was in danger of banging himself up again right now.
The knowledge came without words, without additional information.
It didn’t come from reading anyone with his “psychic” ability, either––a term his wife, Miriam, still insisted on using, no matter how much he bitched at her at the inadequacy and fuzziness of the lame, New-Agey (and human) meanings of the word “psychic.”
This was pure instinct. That same instinct told him, unequivocally, that he had only a few minutes to get his head on straight or he was in serious fucking trouble.
Opening his eyes reluctantly, he looked around at where he was. That sense of danger started vibrating his skin, making it hard to focus at first. A different clanking sound came from a lot closer, ratcheting up that feeling of concern. He was definitely in danger.
He reached out with his sight, trying to pinpoint the source...
...And pain ripped through his spine.
It was so intense, so completely unexpected, he let out a broken gasp.
Then he lay back on the mattress, panting.
Understanding filtered into his mind, then disbelief.
He sat up in a near panic that time––but had to stop, panting and hanging his head when nausea overwhelmed him a second time. He lay on a thin mattress pad over what looked like concrete. He recognized the institutional gray, even before his eyes shifted to the bars and wire mesh that made up one wall of the cell.
His hand went to his throat, a reflex he hadn’t had in years, one he’d broken in himself deliberately. When he first got to this version of Earth, he used to reach reflexively for his throat every time he woke up. He would feel around the full circumference of his neck, making sure, reassuring himself that he really had left that behind, that he wasn’t there anymore, in that world where his people lived like animals.
As his fingers closed over the cold metal now...
His mind fuzzed out.
Then he was breathing too much, panting, half-groaning as his hands followed the thing around his neck, using both hands now, feeling around to where it hooked into the base of his skull. He winced at the pain where the prongs sank into the back of his neck.
It was the same.
Exactly. Fucking. The Same.
He reached out with his sight––carefully, that time––and the collar shocked him again. It was a lot less intense that time, but it still gritted his teeth. And it hurt like hell.
He let out a furious growl, then tried again.
That time, the collar shocked him harder––hard enough to blur his vision.
He sat on the edge of the cement bench, panting, so filled with rage he couldn’t think straight for what felt like several minutes.
Disbelief flooded his mind a second time; denial blotted out everything else. He knew he had to focus on the danger he could still feel coming, but he didn’t give a shit. Rage and denial and disbelief erased the pain he felt in his body, the wounds he hadn’t yet catalogued but knew were there. He forgot his pounding head, reaching out with his light a third time, trying to see, to use his seer’s sight.
The brushed metal collar shocked him for a full minute that time. That pain in his head exploded, getting so bad he couldn’t make a sound at first.
He barely noticed.
He tried to use his sight again.
The shock that time nearly blacked him out.
“No.” He spoke aloud without knowing he meant to, his voice a low, deep mantra after that first whisper. “No, no, no, no... fuck no, this isn’t happening... this isn’t fucking happening...”
He yanked on the collar, pure instinct again, no reason.
The pain that rippled up through the back of his skull that time did knock him out.
He came to seconds later, groaning.
Pulling himself off the mattress a second time, he lurched to his feet, slamming his head into a shelving unit above him, which forced him to sink back to the bed, letting out another low cry of pain. He gripped the thin mattress below and the shelf above, breathing through the blinding throbs at the base of his skull, fighting to calm down, to clear his mind. His shoulder hurt too, bad enough to reach his awareness beyond the deeper pain coming from his head.
Once he could see again, he heard another loud clanking and looked up. He watched in disbelief as the heavy metal door set in the far wall slid open in front of him.
Then, the rest of it finally fell utterly into place.
He was in fucking prison.
He looked around, taking in the scratched, metal-plate mirror, the metal sink and toilet combination, the table and shelf bolted to the opposite wall. A plastic television with a clear-plastic body stood on that shelf. Otherwise, the room was empty, stripped of life.
Someone knocked him out, put a sight-restraint collar on him, and stuck him in a fucking prison cell.
Looking down, he saw he wore royal blue formless pants, a white tank top. He had a bandage on his shoulder and one around his arm.
He touched the collar again, tentatively that time.
His fingers followed it to the back of his neck, where the prongs of metal burrowed into his skin, wrapping coldly around his spine. He touched the whole thing with both hands, still feeling that as the biggest point of unreality.
It was definitely a sight-restraint collar.
Was he back in that goddamned shit-hole where he was born? Did he fall through another goddamned door? He struggled against the idea, the rising panic that came with it.
Then another realization hit him. Miri.
Gods. Miri.
If he wasn’t on that Earth anymore...
But his mind couldn’t finish the thought.
For a few minutes he could only sit there, breathing too hard, fighting to think. He looked at his body, at his clothes. As he did, the panic that briefly paralyzed his mind began slowly to recede. This was fucking-A real, all right.
But he was still on the right Earth.
None of this was right for his home world. None of it. He was wearing prison fatigues, but they were human. If he was back in that other world, they wouldn’t have left his hands and feet free. No way. Not at his sight rank.
He’d be wearing organic or semi-organic binders, not just the collar. They’d have him chained to the wall. And no way in hell would they open the door with him un-cuffed inside. The door was all wrong, anyway. Back home, that door would be pure organic metal, possibly with a sliding view hole. Or organic glass.
The cell would be dark.
He would also probably be drugged, or hooked up to wires. He definitely would have been beat up more, not just groggy from a head injury.
And yeah, the clothes were all wrong.
Black’s rational mind slowly began to take over as he looked around the small cell. This was definitely what he thought of as his Earth. Back home, they didn’t house seers like this, even during Black’s time. Now they probably had even more sadistic tech toys to control people like him. They’d definitely have surveillance in the room.
Taking another deep breath, he flipped over his arm, looking at his old race-cat tattoo. He found himself relaxing even more when he saw the skin unbroken.
If they’d picked him up in the old world, they would have re-chipped him immediately. He’d had the old one removed as soon as he possibly could, about ten years after he first reached this world. Running his fingers over the smooth skin, he forced himself to take another breath.
So he was still on the right Earth. The Earth where his life was.
The Earth where Miri was.
But how the fuck would anyone know to collar him here? And if they knew that much, why would they put him in with a general population at all?
Well, unless they were trying to disappear him.
Or kill him.
At the thought, he rose shakily to his feet––more cautiously that time. He gripped the cement shelf as he got up, using it for balance. Turning his head slowly, mostly because of the pain, he looked over both sides of the room, reassuring himself it was empty. He knew he wouldn’t be alone in here for long, though.
His eyes returned to the open door.
He could already hear the sounds.
Prisoners leaving their cages, joking, laughing, talking loudly, starting to walk the catwalks. Heading in his direction.
New guy. He’d be the new guy.
He again fought to pull his head together, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time. He couldn’t be found in here like this, half-blind with pain, clutching the collar and whining like a wounded dog. He’d been in prisons before. That had been in a different world, a different time and place, but some things wouldn’t have changed.
Some things never changed.
He’d be fresh meat here, just like he had been back then. And he didn’t have his sight.
Welcome to the jungle, motherfucker.
Welcome home.

Bangkok Halloween
Guest Blog by JC Andrijeski

I’m an Amreican living in Bangkok, which means every year around this time, I experience Bangkok Halloween. Holidays are always kind of a trip when you live abroad, anyway. They were weird when I lived in India and while they might be somewhat less weird here, they still have a distinctly different flavor than they do in the States.
I’m lucky living here though, in terms of American holidays –– Bangkokians love a good party. They’re also wide open to celebrating any event deemed interesting by the locals, whether Thai or not. It doesn’t hurt that there are a ton of Americans living here.
I learned this my first Halloween living here, when I decided to venture out and see if I could find some fellow ghouls and goblins for some (mostly) harmless Halloween fun. Even though there wasn’t the full range of kids trick-or-treating on the streets or decorations in all the stores... there were a TON of Halloween bashes. There was even a Halloween street fair for kids and families, along with haunted houses, a big horror film event, numerous costume parties and other themed events at bars and restaurants for the more “adult” take of Halloween.
Thailand has a big market for paranormal stuff in general, so I guess it shouldn’t be surprising. They have a yearly Comicon in Bangkok, and of course all the supernatural and romantic and action movies, as well as most of the television shows. My first Thai teacher was a HUGE Supernatural fan, (meaning the television show) and we’d often get totally sidetracked in lessons to talk about that, the Vampire Diaries and all else sexy and supernatural.
 Maybe that’s why I don’t feel too out of place here, despite the culture gaps. Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss Halloween in the States. It’s probably “the” holiday for a lot of my friends... and I really miss the kid side of things, and all the decorations and craziness.
Also, in a tropical climate, you just don’t get the colors from the leaves changing or the carved pumpkins or fireplaces... or the fall skies. The weather alone is a pretty stark reminder of being in a distant land.
Still, I have to say, I really love where I live. It works well for me as a writer too, so for now at least, I might just have to plan more visits to colder climes during the spooky time of the year...
Until then, Happy Halloween everyone!

About the Author:

JC Andrijeski is a USA TODAY bestselling author who writes paranormal mysteries and apocalyptic fiction, often with a sexy, romantic and metaphysical bent. JC has a background in journalism, history and politics, and loves martial arts, yoga, meditation, hiking, swimming, horseback riding, painting… and of course reading and writing. She grew up in the Bay Area of California, but travels extensively and has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and Asia, and from coast to coast in the continental United States. She currently lives and writes full-time in Bangkok, Thailand.

To learn more about JC and her writing, please visit


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Tour giveaway

2 full ebook sets of the first four Quentin Black Books

1 signed copy of Black In White (Quentin Black Mystery #1)

$25 Amazon Gift Card

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Pocket Full of Tinder by Jill Archer!!!

Pocket Full of Tinder by Jill Archer

Feature: Halja’s Demons and Beasts

of the fun things about writing a dark fantasy series is that I get to create
different creatures, beasts, and demons for each book. Many of the characters
in my novels are true monsters. But others are harbingers, mentors, tricksters,
and lovers.

honor of Halloween, our darkest holiday, here’s a sampling of demons and beasts


my first book, I stuck with the familiar – literally. One of my favorite bit
characters from that book is Serafina, a demon familiar. Noon should have been
more careful… Pandora’s box isn’t the only thing that shouldn’t have been

A familiar?
My hand shook slightly as I held the ball up by its chain to peer at it more
There was a demon in there. No matter how small, the thought should
have been mildly terrifying. But instead I felt wonderfully intoxicated and
numb around the edges, like I’d drank too much wine at a party. I looked for
the button but couldn’t find it. I twisted and turned the ball, holding it up
to the afternoon light streaming through my dormitory window, and finally found
the catch. I pushed it gently with my thumb and the ball sprang open.

the intoxicated, numb feeling went supernova. Serafina’s signature made me feel
like my body had been liquefied and then turned inside out to congeal in the
cold. I suddenly craved warmth and this demon was the only source that could
I stared at
her, hardly able to reconcile her with a lifetime of imagined fears. Haljan
myths and legends spoke of brutish beasts hell-bent on fury and destruction.
Haljan paintings, bas reliefs, and statuaries also often depicted demons as
cruel fiends and vicious monsters. But Serafina didn’t look dangerous. She
looked ungainly.

She belched
and stretched, glaring at me through two black eyes the size of beads. She was
naked but it was no pretty sight. Her body, though diminutive, was bloated as
though she’d died in the Lethe and been left too long. Her skin was a grayish,
sickly looking green, and she rubbed her distended belly with one clawed hand
as she grinned malevolently at me.


the second book, I introduced two mythological characters, who underscored one
of the book’s main themes – knowledge. Like many folktales, their story is
playful… with a hint of deadly…

They say
Curiositas killed Cattus.

But no one
really knows.

was a fairly youngish demon living in the twelfth century, only a few decades
old, when he met the gorgeously supple and fiercely feline demoness Cattus. When
he asked her what she most wanted to do on their dates, Cattus kept telling
Curiositas, “You don’t want to know.” But Curiositas, being Curiositas, kept at
Cattus day and night, although mostly by night, because Cattus was nocturnal.
Curiositas, on the other hand, was a day creature, all flecked with gold and
shining brilliance. His preferred haunt was the Lethe and the two met at the
docks every day at dusk.

Cattus would
stare into the great murky depths of the Lethe, searching for any sign of
Curiositas. Sometimes her ears would twitch. Sometimes her tail. Sometimes her
eyes would grow big as saucers and her haunches would wriggle in anticipation.
Curiositas never fully breached the surface of the water. He liked to tease
Cattus, as she teased him. He gave her glimpses only of himself: a tiny bit of
fin, a stream of bubbles, a patch of orange gold twisting just beneath the
surface, sparkling, shimmering, just out of reach.

There’s a
romantic version of the story the Hyrkes like to tell. Some nonsense about the
two demons being doomed lovers. But that’s not the version I was told, nor is
it the version I believe. Unlike the Hyrkes, I don’t have any romantic notions
about demons. They’re much worse than Maegesters.
Much. And that’s
why I know—although I wish I didn’t—what Cattus most wanted to do with
Curiositas. And that’s why I believe the version that puts an end to Cattus’

Ivy, my Hyrke
roommate, never gets my version of the story.

“Ends Cattus’
hunger?” she always asks, frowning and exasperated. “What does that mean? Did
Cattus finally catch Curiositas? Or did Curiositas really kill her?”

And, every
time, I always wink and tell her:

“You don’t
want to know.”


In the third book, I added barghests to the beastly
mix of creatures featured in the series.

The barghests looked as horrible as their food. Only
in the vaguest sense did they resemble dogs. They had four legs, a tail, claws,
and jaws full of sharp canine teeth. But barghests are to dogs the way drakons
are to bats. First off, they were huge. Everything about them was bigger and
meaner. On four legs their faces were even with mine. Upon seeing them it became
easy to imagine a demon like Lilith riding one. They had barrel chests and
wolfish grins. Their teeth were as large as horns and their paws four times the
size of Rafe’s booted foot. And their fur . . . well, let’s just
say seeing it on the living creature didn’t improve its appearance. It reminded
me of long, thick, tangled rat fur. I shuddered and tried to reconcile myself
to the fact that, so long as I didn’t get eaten by one in the pen today, two of
them would be under my care by midday.
“So which of you is first?” Linnaea said, motioning to
the pen.

“Do we lasso them? Saddle them?” Rafe asked. Hands in
his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels surveying them. “Cast a
spell over them?”

Linnaea snorted. “I wouldn’t cast a spell over them at
first. In time, as they get used to you, you might be able to cast something
simple over them, but don’t start that way. In the beginning, all you’re going
to do is let them get used to you. They’ll try to push you around. See what
you’re made of. They’re as curious about you as you are about them.
Don’t show any

Like dogs and demons, I thought.

“I’ll go first,” I said, walking over to the gate.
“What about waning magic? What’s their response to that?”

Linnaea smiled, but it wasn’t reassuring. “That
depends on the user.” She walked over to the gate and held it open for me.

“You’re not coming in?” I asked, trying to ignore the
growls coming from the beasts behind her.

“Nah, it’s better if you go in alone,” she said,
winking at me.

Better for who? Her or me?


The upcoming fourth book takes
place in Rockthorn Gorge, a bustling mountain town where so many demons live,
it’s often called a “demonic anthill.” Noon is sent there to make nice with the
demons who follow the law… and to find the one who isn’t.

Shortly after
sunrise, we reached the rim of the gorge. Even though I stood on solid ground
and there was no immediate danger of falling into it, my stomach dropped as if
I had. The gorge was enormous – a near-vertical drop into a dark chasm hundreds
of feet below us. At the bottom, the Acheron River was dry. I knew from the
materials in my dossier that the river had been diverted during construction.
The plans and specs called for the viaduct to be converted into a dam. Gazing
at the wreckage below, however, I knew the project had once again been set
back. Huge stone blocks and other pieces of debris were strewn about the dry
riverbed as if they were toy building blocks that had been kicked over by a
child with a temper. But it hadn’t been a child. It had been a bomber – one
who’d killed almost a hundred people, possibly more.

One who’d
possibly killed Ari.

All through the
night, I’d managed to ignore my growing panic. Ari was strong and powerful…
robust and nearly invincible…

Wasn’t he?

But standing at
the edge of Halja’s northern-most ravine, staring down at what looked like an
army of ants rather than a rescue party made up of demons and men, I could no
longer ignore my feelings. I was afraid. Not of falling into the gorge, but of
what I might find at the bottom.

Pocket Full of Tinder
Noon Onyx
Book 4
Jill Archer

Genre: Fantasy

Publisher: Black Willow

Word Count: ~ 85,000

Cover Artist:  Rebecca Frank

Book Description:

Noon Onyx is back! In this long-awaited fourth installment, Jill Archer returns readers to the dangerous world of Halja, where demons, angels, and humans coexist in an uneasy state of détente.

Maegester-in-Training Noon Onyx feels like she’s done it all – mastered fiery magic, become an adept fighter, learned the law, killed countless demons, and survived having her heart broken by both love and an arrow, but now she’ll face her greatest challenge yet…

Far to the north lies an outpost famous for its unrest – Rockthorn Gorge. The town’s patron has specifically requested Noon’s help. Her assignment? Help the neophyte demon lord build his fiefdom and keep what’s his. The problem? Lord Aristos – Noon’s new employer – is her erstwhile lover, Ari Carmine, the aforementioned heartbreaker. And the number one thing he wants is her.

When Rockthorn Gorge’s viaduct is destroyed by Displodo, an enigmatic bomber, killing a dozen settlers and wounding scores more, Noon sets off early to aid in the search and rescue. Ari is listed among the missing and the suspects are legion. But Noon’s search is just the beginning. Her journey forces Noon to confront not only those she loves, but also enemies hell-bent on destroying them.

Some things can’t be mended, they can only be mourned…

Noon Onyx #4

The claw-and-ball had been chewed clean off. It lay on a patch of sunny parquet floor, just to the right of an antique, aubergine wool rug now covered with the splintered remnants of an eleventh century pedestal table and one very large, ghastly looking, somewhat repentant barghest.
Nova’s head rested on her front paws as her gaze shifted warily from me to Miss Bister, Megiddo’s dormater, or house mother.
“Megiddo’s lobby is not a kennel, Miss Onyx. That”—she motioned dismissively toward Nova—“beast can no longer be housed here.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Miss Bister continued speaking, her tone rising only infinitesimally, her back as stiff as Luck’s lance must have been, and her expression just as hard. She pointed toward the previously priceless, three-footed piece of furniture that was now a worthless, two-footed pile of kindling.
“No amount of money – or magic – can fix that, Nouiomo. It’s beyond repair. I warned you. I made an exception to my ‘no pets’ rule because you never cause trouble. You never forget your key; you promptly pick up your deliveries; you change your own light bulbs; you double bag your trash. You leave nothing behind in the bathroom; you don’t monopolize the washing machines; you are exceedingly polite to the lift operator; you don’t sing in the shower.”
I suppressed a sigh. After a year and a half of painstaking efforts, harrowing experiences, and endless hours of education, my worth had just been measured by the fact that I could change a light bulb. I’d mastered fiery magic, become an adept fighter, learned the law, killed countless demons (one regrettably, the others much less so), freed myriad immortals from an accursed, tortured bondage, and survived having my heart nearly destroyed by both love and an arrow, yet none of that meant bupkis next to the fact that I double bagged my trash. And yet…
I couldn’t really argue with Miss Bister either. Everything she’d said was true. And who was I to tell her what she should deem important? I respected that she valued domestic order and antiques. I did too, if not nearly as much as I valued the thing that now threatened our continued access to such. I glared at Nova, who swept one paw over her eyes as if she could hide from me and the evidence of what she’d done.
Barghests are giant hellhounds. They’re bigger than bears, fiercer than rabid raccoons, and uglier than naked mole rats. Their teeth are the size of railroad spikes, their claws as sharp as a sickle, their breath as foul as sewage gas. But they are also affectionate, brave, and loyal. What barghests lack in magic, they make up for in devotion. And even though I was plenty mad at Nova for chewing up Miss Bister’s table, I also knew it wasn’t Nova’s fault.
It was mine – for thinking the lobby of a demon law school dormitory would be a good place to keep her.
“Miss Bister, please,” I said. “I’m truly sorry. I know I can’t replace that exact table. But if you would just allow me to—”
“No,” Miss Bister said simply. “Either the beast goes… Or you do.”
I stared at the small, frail, magicless woman in front of me, trying desperately to think of some way to fix this problem. Wasn’t there something I could do, or say, or offer her that would make amends and convince her not to kick us out?
But all I could think of was how useless some of the things our society valued most were. As Miss Bister had pointed out, neither magic nor money would help. If I was going to repair the table, I’d need to find another way. Which would take time. And that meant I’d need to find somewhere else for us to sleep tonight. Because if the beast was going… I was too.
“Yes, Miss Bister,” I said. “I understand.”
She narrowed her eyes, slightly suspicious of my now gracious defeat since I’d just spent the last half-hour trying to persuade her to accept various forms of reparation. But then she nodded, handed me a couple of paper bin bags, and left.
I slid one bag inside the other and stooped down to pick up the slobbery remains of Nova’s mangled chew toy. When I finished, she came over to me and nudged my arm with her head. She let out a woofy whine.
Was she sorry? She darn well better be!
I gave her a scratch behind the ears.
“Now that you’ve sharpened your teeth on my former dormater’s furniture, are you ready to eat some real food for breakfast?”

My Review 

So I know I said this last time but.... This one is the best so far! Each book gets better and better. Noon Onyx is back and we return to the dangerous world of Halja, where demons, angels, and humans coexist in an uneasy state of détente. I am still getting over some past happenings from the last book, but here we go again with awesomeness. So in the first two books, we learn that things are not the same anymore, I mean Armageddon did happen. Maegester-in-Training Noon Onyx is back in action and you'd think she'd have seen it all, but nope. So, by request, Noon heads to a northern post of Rockthorn Gorge. She's supposed to help  the neophyte demon lord build his fiefdom and keep what’s his. The problem? Lord Aristos – Noon’s new employer – is her former lover, and Ari Carmine, the heart breaker. And the number one thing he wants is her. And some things just get crazier from here lol!! 

Noon  is a seriously strong girl and awesome heroine to read about. When Rockthorn Gorge’s town has some destruction by Displodo, an enigmatic bomber, killing a dozen settlers and wounding scores more, Noon sets off early to aid in the search and rescue. Ari is listed among the missing and the suspects are legion. But Noon’s search is just the beginning. Her journey forces Noon to confront not only those she loves, but also enemies hell-bent on destroying them.

This is such a great world to be in. The creation of things are so fantastic. I wanna see all those cool things, and I totally wish my brain worked where I could really see TarTarus in my head. And those Berghests, I wish I had one! :) and that was all from the last few books. This book has even more. And her new journey has made Noon more bad ass!! Overall, how can you not want to be a part of this one! I cannot wait for the next step. Jill Archer is a must have, need to read, can't wait for more author!! 5 MAGNIFICENT BERGHEST PAWS!!! I still want one!! 

the Author:

Jill Archer writes dark,
genre-bending fantasy from rural Maryland. Her novels include Dark Light of
Day, Fiery Edge of Steel, White Heart of Justice, and Pocket Full of Tinder.
She loves cats, coffee, books, movies, day tripping, and outdoor adventuring.