Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Rainy Kaye

About a month ago, I had the honor of participating in the Summoned Blog Tour for Rainy Kaye. Well, the book was so good, I'm going to showcase it again! In case you haven't picked it up yet (Why not?) Summoned is a part of Pandora!

Blurb:

Twenty-three year old Dimitri has to do what he is told—literally. Controlled by a paranormal bond, he is forced to use his wits to fulfill unlimited deadly wishes made by multimillionaire Karl Walker.

Dimitri has no idea how his family line became trapped in the genie bond. He just knows resisting has never ended well. When he meets Syd—assertive, sexy, intelligent Syd—he becomes determined to make her his own. Except Karl has ensured Dimitri can’t tell anyone about the bond, and Syd isn’t the type to tolerate secrets.

Then Karl starts sending him away on back-to-back wishes. Unable to balance love and lies, Dimitri sets out to uncover Karl’s ultimate plan and put it to an end. But doing so forces him to confront the one wish he never saw coming—the wish that will destroy him.

A dark twist on genie folklore, SUMMONED follows a reluctant criminal as he unravels the mystery of the paranormal bond controlling him.

My Review: 
First of all. I am glad to see books out featuring Arabic lore. There is a wealth of great material for stories there that is untapped. This story focuses on djinn, or genies as most people know them. However, if you think this is going to be anything like I Dream of Jeannie or Disney's Aladdin, you will be very mistaken.

This book is filled with violence, sex, and a mystery that keeps you reading until the end. At first I was really questioning why Dimitri had no power, but I'm really satisfied with the answer at the end. Dimitri himself was just awesome. He attitude and quips had me laughing aloud throughout the entire book. And at the end I had some real Damn? Really? Moments.I loved how everything snapped together. I look forward to reading more of Ms. Kaye's work.

Excerpt:

I dislike having to murder someone. Kidnapping is worse. At least when I setup a kill, I know what’s coming. No connections, no honesty, no surprises. Everything I say and do are just steps to luring in my victim. Once the victim falls right into the trap, the next move is swift: crushed windpipe, fatal concussion, or a good ol’ fashioned headshot.

Kidnapping, on the other hand, is a little trickier. First, the victim has an opportunity to respond. I don’t like this. Sometimes they cry. Sometimes they manage to alert the authorities. And sometimes they escape, usually by inflicting bodily harm on me.

Dead people don’t retaliate. Kidnapped ones, well, they’re a little more . . . lively.

The second major difference between killing and kidnapping is my conscience. I get in and out with a kill. We have no chance to bond.

Abductees require a little more one-on-one. As much as I try to keep the switch turned off, I can’t help but listen to their pleas and demands. And I usually realize I’m a jerk.

That’s exactly where I find myself one late afternoon in June. I prefer doing this at night, but moreover, I would prefer not doing this at all.

Instead, I have a belligerent nine year old girl sitting in the passenger seat of my Honda Accord, shackles on her wrists and ankles and a small stuffed bunny on her lap. She’s eying me in a way that makes me self-conscious. Like I’m the bad guy.

Probably because I am the bad guy.

About Rainy:
Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at RainyoftheDark and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona.

A Few Words from Rainy about her stories:

I write dark, gritty paranormal/Urban Fantasy novels--for grown ups. This means there will be sex, violence, and bad things happening. No one is sweeping anyone off their feet but, if they're lucky, they just might come to their senses at the end.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Susan Stec

Blurb:
Toni's grandmother is a psychopath.
Her sister is a ghost.
Her boyfriend is possessed.
And she has no idea who she is.

Summer vacation is ruined when Toni's twin sister, Sara, dies. Instead of walking into the light, Sara stomps directly away from it, totally pissed she didn't die in her skinny jeans. That's when Sara finds out their grandmother has a gift for talking to dead people, and two spritely spirits and a nasty soothsayer named Bartholomew are all working their angle with Toni's future caught in between.

Dear old Granny's determined not to be the last necromancer in the family, but with the death of her promiscuous granddaughter, her only option is Toni, who must remain a virgin until her eighteenth birthday without any ghostly interference from Sara.

Sara's not having any of it; especially since the guy Granny's conspiring with is the same guy that assisted in Sara's demise. Toni needs help! But protecting her sister is complicating all the ghostly fun on the other side!

Can death stop a twin? Maybe not, but Granny knows Dead Girls Never Shut Up.


***(PG rating) Contains mild adult content and profanity

Excerpt:

Several things happened at once.

Behind Toni, Sara lost her fight with the steak knife—it sliced through her throat—and blood squirted from her jugular all over the stout guy, and then she promptly fell face first into her salad. Paul let out an anguished cry, grabbed his throat, jumped out of his chair, and staggered back several steps, choking.

The room sounded like one big gasp.

Toni pounded on Paul's back.

Sara's date jumped up, knocked over his chair, and fumbled back a few feet, wiping blood from his face and chest. He lost his footing in the mess on the floor, passed through Ruth, and landed in an ass-cracking fall at her feet.

At the same time, the knife hit the floor and slid a bloody trail a few feet before it tripped a waitress. She sent a tray laden with food and drinks flying. Two patrons in the path of the tray yelped, slid into each other, and began to do what looked like an inebriated tango as they tried to stay afoot.

Toni put her hands around Paul's torso and began to administer the Heimlich maneuver. "Will everyone calm down? You're not helping! Someone call an ambulance. He can't breathe!" Toni shouted, face against Paul's back as she made a two handed fist and squeezed his torso.

Ruth steadied herself, stepped into the stout guy's stomach, and then leaned under the table as the whole bar fell into uncontrollable chaos around her. Several patrons ran through her buttocks on the way to the front door and her rear-end looked like a fluttering sail in the wind. She asked, "Will y'be needin' some help, Martin?"

Martin growled at her and wiggled out of the floor. He floated up from under the table about the time a fragmented puff of smoke started to rise from Sara.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid we'll 'ave some explainin' t'do, Godrest'ersoul," Ruth whined, stepping through the table to stand next to the smoke forming into a cloud of mottled pink and white, looking an awful lot like Sara.

"What the hell? Where am I?" Sara's ghostly image croaked. "Is that me in my salad?" 

"Yes, dear, I'm afraid so," Ruth answered.

"Sara, help me, dammit!" Toni shouted from across the room as she tried to maneuver Paul around so she could see her sister.

"Help you?" Sara spat, floating over her dead body. "I'm the one with her face in her salad. You idiot! Let go of the stud-muffin and get your ass over here!"

"I'm afraid she can't 'ear ya, dear."

Toni caught sight of her sister and screamed, "Ohmigod! Sara! That's my sister!"

Paul grabbed Toni's shoulder, gagged, and choked out, "I'm so sorry."

"Great! Just great!" Martin spat. "Bartholomew did it again. Let's hope incredibly noisy and obnoxiously vain over here can at least give us some information about Old-Navy-Boy over there." His finger pointed from Sara to Paul.

Martin whipped to one side as Toni ran past, Paul following like a well behaved marionette.

"Is that blood on my neck?" Sara shrieked, swiping her hand through the cadaver's throat.

"We 'ave a bit o'bad news, dear," Ruth said, patting the tips of her fingers through Sara's shoulder.

"You've friggin' got to be kidding me. I'm dead? Dead as in… freakin' dead? This has got to be a nightmare!" Sara lunged for her flaccid body and fell right through it.

"Oh my, now we 'ave t'get 'er out o'the cellar, we do. Come along, Martin," Ruth said, taking a nosedive into the floor.

Martin tapped his foot in and out of the floor, watching the chaos as lookey-loos congregated around the table.

Several teens, cell phones filming, were carrying on frantic conversations as Ruth burst through the floor with a screaming Sara in tow. Sara erratically hovered over the table and glared at her sister. Toni stood beside Sara's body, with her hands over her mouth, face horror stricken, head moving back and forth.

"Give me a good shake," Sara said. "Just shake me, Toni! I know if you shake me I'll come back to life."

Toni wrapped her hands around her stomach and rocked as tears streamed down her cheeks. She gagged, retched, and then vomited all over the table in front of her sister's body.

Sara's fists streaked through Toni's torso several times as she shrieked, "Uck! Eck! She pukes? She F'n upchucks? That's just nasty! Now I not only have Bleu cheese salad dressing all over my face and a gaping hole in my neck, but puke in my hair!" She tried to grab a handful of Toni's red curls but only made them flutter like leaves in a soft breeze.

Working up some attitude, Sara slapped her hands into her hips and shook her butt; fists embed in her pelvic bone. "Just kick me—slap me—do something to get my friggin' heart beating again! I need a damn shower!"

Paul tried to hand Toni a napkin and guide her away from the table.

Sara shoved her nose halfway into Paul's face. "Oh-no-you-don't!" She turned on her sister. "Stop your blubbering! Grab the napkin! Wipe that shit off my face; I've about had it with you!" Sara kicked her smoky foot through Toni and ended up floating horizontally in front of her.

"Don't you think we should say something to her?" Martin asked.

"Godbless'er, I think we should let 'er carry on a bit, love," Ruth said from the ceiling above the table. "Won't be long, it won't. They should be draggin' 'er carcass out o' 'ere soon enough."

About Susan:

I've always been weird, even as a child. Might've been influenced by all those fairies and trolls living in and around the streams behind Grandma's house. Today it probably has something to do with five crazy vamp-women, a fanged tyke, fairy, troll, werewolf, demon, and several sexy immortals living in my head.

In reality I live with my husband and my three King Charles Spaniels on 50 acres of woods, fields, and streams in upper Michigan; hunt deer with my Ruger or crossbow, paint watercolors, sculpture stained glass, and chase butterflies with my dogs.

One's real life is so often the life that one does not lead~~Oscar Wilde

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Rachel Walter

Blurb:
It’s going to take a fight, I know that. But it’s more than just a fight for my life. It’s a fight for my soul and my soul mate.’
Jazzy Williams is not your average coffee-loving teen. She's battling depression, an overprotective big brother, and a depressed mother, all while trying to make friends at her new school. In the first week, she meets a gorgeous green-eyed hottie who turns out to be more than just some high school crush -- he's more than human. And she unknowingly enrages a dangerous breed of demon who wants her soul and life as payment. With the help of supernatural friends and protectors, Jazzy thinks she's safe until what remains of her family is put in danger. Does Jazzy have what it takes to save her family, life, soul, and soul mate, or will all be lost?
*Warning* Mature Content. This contains some profanity, mild sexual situations, innuendos, and violence. Recommended for ages 16 and up, depending on maturity level.

Excerpt:

I watch him as he drives. Seeing the veins in his arm pop out as he turns the wheel and the muscles ripple when he shifts a gear, I wonder what those arms would feel like wrapped around… Stop it!

Every damn time I’m around him, I think like a pervert! I inwardly growl and press my head back onto the headrest. I’ll just look out the window then.

Trees are in no way erotic, or sensual, or perverted.

Focusing on the trees is easy, but I can still smell him. His amazing smelling cologne mixed with his clean, spicy scent assaults my nose and begs me to lean in close. This car ride is taking forever.

The longer it takes, the more nervous I get. I shift in my seat, cross and uncross my legs, and bite my lip as I stare at endless trees.

‘The way she bites her lip makes me want to pull the car over and…’

I gasp, and choke on my breath or saliva.

What was that?!

Who was that?

“Jaz, are you okay? Do I need to pull the car over?”

I stare at him with saucer-like eyes. Oh, my God, “pull the car over.” It was him, he was in my head.

His voice, in my freaking head!

“Stop the car! Stop the car, now!”

He glances in my direction looking concerned. “We’re about five minutes to the lake. Can’t you…”

“Stop. The. Car. Seth.” I demand between rasping breaths.

He pulls over alongside the road. There’s a fallen tree next to the car on my side, but there’s enough room for me to open the door. I wrench that sucker open and stumble out.

I need a minute to myself. Or twenty.

I walk towards the back of the car, step over the log and sit on it so I’m facing the trees, and away from him.

Good Lord, I just heard his voice in my head.

Was that really his thought? Can I hear thoughts now? Wouldn’t that be mind reading?

Wow, maybe I am crazy.

Mind readers don’t exist.

Henry will have to admit me to the hospital, and I’ll share a room with Mom. Maybe I’ll have my own room, and the walls will be padded. I’ll get a straightjacket, and they’ll have to give some really strong medicine to knock me out.

Was I really biting my lip at the time?

Should I ask him if he thought that?

Oh, my God! No, I cannot ask him that!

He’ll think I’m a loon for sure! Maybe I should test it first. I’ll bite my lip and see if that voice pops in my head again.

I lean on my knees and put my head in my hands.

This is ridiculous! Just get back in the car you’re being a jagoff!

I resist the urge to pull my hair out, and with a sigh, I stand. When I step back over the log, I look up to see Seth leaning against his back bumper, watching me.

“Is everything okay?” he asks me slowly, like if he talks too fast I might run away. He has his arms crossed over his chest.

His muscular arms, over that perfect... Stop it already!

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Umm…well…” I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and look at him. Gathering whatever courage I can conjure up, I bite my lip on purpose.

He shifts a tiny bit and licks his lips.

It really was him in my head! I wasn’t hearing things! I was hearing him!

He takes a step towards me, and I take one back. But I forget about the log and end up landing on my ass with my legs draped over the log. I burst out laughing, and Seth laughs, too.

He reaches out his hand to help me up. With him laughing this hard, it’s easy to knock him off balance and pull him down to me. So I do.

It feels nice having him like this, the pressure of his body on mine. I have one hand on his chest, the other grips his bicep.

Suddenly, we aren’t laughing anymore. We’re just staring into each other’s eyes. He leans down towards me, and I bite my lip again. He groans and closes his eyes as he gets closer to my mouth.

“I heard you, Seth,” I whisper against his lips.

About Rachel:

Rachel is a wife and mother from Central Pennsylvania. Her favorite season is fall, for hockey, changing leaves, pumpkin everything, and bonfires often. She's also a coffeenista with an insomnia problem. When Rachel isn't playing with the people inside her head, making her family believe she belongs in the loony bin, she enjoys spending time with her family, friends, species confused cat (he believes he's part dog, love him), and finding new books and music.
Regarding writing, her first love is Young Adult Paranormal, but she's venturing outside of her comfort zone and opening up to writing more genres. Be on the look out!
Rachel looks forward to hearing from and interacting with her fans and readers.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Apryl Baker

Introducing bestselling author Apryl Baker!

Blurb:
Snap...crackle...pop. The sounds of bones breaking and shifting and of muscles tearing haunt Alexandria Reed.

For the last five years, Alex has been locked up at Compton Academy, a "school" for the emotionally challenged. She calls it the politically correct way of saying they’re all nuts and Alex has no doubts she’s insane. She comes home to Jacob's Fork to face the demons she left behind her after deceiving the doctors into believing she’s well. Soon after her arrival home though, news of her estranged mother's death brings her uncle back into her life and she and her brother, Jason, learn a terrifying secret about their family.

After questioning her sanity for the last ten years, she discovers the night terrors she's suffered for so long has become a reality. She and her brother are now being hunted because of the secret her family has killed to protect. Her world has been turned upside down, every belief she held true destroyed. Aided by her new friends, who have some dark secrets themselves, can she and Jason survive long enough to figure out the secret behind the secret?

Excerpt:

Prelude

Alexandria Nicolette Reed

August 3, 1996 – August 25, 2012

Loving Daughter and Sister

Mental Patient,

Shy, Quiet, Reserved

Weird, Insane, and Invisible

May You Rest In Peace

And Never Return

You Will Not Be Remembered

I remembered that day in the park. I remembered writing the eulogy into my journal, tearing it out and shredding it. The pieces floated away on the wind like dandelion wisps. I remembered how I’d felt that day—excited, scared, determined.

Looking back now, I realize how innocent I had been. I’d thought The Event had changed me all those years ago, but I was wrong. It had been those words I’d written on that piece of paper which had truly sealed my fate.

I am Alexandria Nicolette Deveraux and this is my story.

********

I ran through the woods, the sunlight warm on my face.

The sounds of the forest blended into the wind that tore at my fur. The ground gave way beneath my paws as I launched myself through the trees. Never had I felt so free, so exhilarated. I owned these woods. Branches tugged, trying to slow me down as I bounded through the maze of trunks and undergrowth. The cold autumn air smelled of dying leaves—their moldy, decaying odor signaling the birth of fall.

I was home.

I slowed, catching the scent of a deer and wove between the trees until I saw it. A doe stood before me drinking from the stream that wound its way down through the mountains. I admired the beauty of the animal. I found the deer's gentle eyes rather expressive. They glowed with a shy innocence. 

I inched closer, testing the wind. It blew towards me. My scent wouldn't reach her and I wanted a chase, a more challenging kill. As I eased forward, I made no attempt to hide the sound of the leaves crunching beneath me. I wanted her to hear me. 

Turning toward the noise, she saw me and went completely still for a heartbeat. Her eyes reflected her fear, her sudden panic. 

Her tail twitched and she bolted.

Growling, I barreled after her, letting her think she could be fast enough to get away. Silly creature. As if she could ever be faster than me. I lived to run

She streaked through the trees and I let her have her way for a bit. I enjoyed the chase. The sound of her deep, labored breathing drove me on, the smell of her fear driving me a little crazy. The thrill of the hunt wormed through me, building the sense of anticipation of the kill. I could almost taste all that hot blood gushing into my mouth. Her fear smelled sweet to my senses and made my hunger increase. I howled a challenge at her. She turned to start up the mountainside. I snarled and jumped, taking her down in one leap.

My teeth bit into her neck even as she bucked beneath me, trying to free herself. Adrenaline surged through me—the exhilaration of the hunt flooded my senses with her futile struggles. I had taken her down. She was mine. Victory made my snarl all the more fierce in the face of her soft whimpers. Mine. All mine.

As I had no wish to make her suffer I killed her quickly. Then I set to enjoying my kill. Her warm blood filled my mouth, coated my muzzle. I ripped and tore at the flesh until my stomach became full and sated. I left the carcass for the smaller animals. I was done and there were others that were hungry.

Running softly, I splashed into the creek to enjoy the feel of the cold water as I rinsed the blood from my coat. The water always soothed me. I blinked my eyes, more than a little sleepy now and thought I might find a quiet place to rest. I stepped out of the water and the unfamiliar scent hit me. 

I tasted the air around me. A sweetly bitter scent, not one I recognized teased my senses. It did not belong in these woods. I started to track the smell, listening for sounds. I heard nothing, but the smell became stronger the farther out I searched.

He jumped in front of me and shook his head, warning me to go no further. Rage filled me. Who was he to tell me what I could or could not do in my own forest? I growled a warning low in my throat.

He snarled at me in reply.

His head whipped around as he too caught the scent I’d been tracking. I stared past him. 

A new hunter had arrived.

He stood silently watching us, an indulgent smile on his lips. I felt fear gazing into that smiling face.

The hunter started forward.

About Apryl:

So who am I? Well, I'm the crazy girl with an imagination that never shuts up. I LOVE scary movies. My friends laugh at me when I scare myself watching them and tell me to stop watching them, but who doesn't love to get scared? I grew up in a small town nestled in the southern mountains of West Virginia where I spent days roaming around in the woods, climbing trees, and causing general mayhem. Nights I would stay up reading Nancy Drew by flashlight under the covers until my parents yelled at me to go to sleep.

Growing up in a small town, I learned a lot of values and morals, I also learned parents have spies everywhere and there's always someone to tell your mama on you. So when you get grounded, what is there left to do? Read! My Aunt Jo gave me my first real romance novel. It was a romance titled "Lord Margrave's Deception." I remember it fondly. But I also learned I had a deep and abiding love of mysteries and anything paranormal. As I grew up, I started to write just that and would entertain my friends with stories featuring them as main characters.

Now, I live Huntersville, NC where I entertain my family and watch the cats get teased by the birds and laugh myself silly when they swoop down and then dive back up just out of reach. The cats start yelling something fierce...lol.

I love books, I love writing books, and I love entertaining people with my silly stories.

You can reach me at any of these places:
Blog: http://apryl-baker.blogspot.com/
Twitter:@AprylBaker

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Heather Kenealy

Introducing award winner, Heather Kenealy! She is another great author joining in on the Pandora Box Set.

Blurb:
The greatest betrayers of Myth, Religion and Legend are released from hell, returned to the world, to use this second chance to clear their name, to receive the adulation that should have been theirs, to be loved... but what price does the Devil demand for His generosity?

Excerpt:

The three had been here for longer than they themselves knew.

There was no ceiling to this round room, or if there was it was so high that it could not be seen. The walls were pocked with blackened windows that filled with demons now and then that watched the trio and laughed and mocked. Gnarled creatures with eyes like coal and twisting horns ringing their heads like sham crowns. Each of these men saw them differently, and each man heard their taunting cries in their own language. 

But they didn't know this. The language of the damned is always the same.

Screams echoed through the room, sometimes. The tormented souls outside suffered differently than the three who waited in here. They were Betrayers, afforded a special place in the Eternal Confinement, for was their Jailer not a Betrayer, Himself? Did He not rise against one who trusted Him, and was He not cast down for it?

There was a bonfire in the middle of the room and the three reclined around it on hard marble benches stained black with the soot that did not touch these damned souls.

They were stained enough already.

Loki Shapeshifter, Judas Iscariot and Mordred Le Fey.

Loki was long and thin, fair in the manner of his people. His hair was red as the flames that surrounded him and there was a fine network of scars around his red and green eyes from where the serpent dripped its poison on his face in the time before Ragnarok. His lips too were scarred where once Brokk the Dwarf sewed them shut as punishment for an insult. His legs and arms were shapely but the ankles and wrists bore red never-healing burns from where he broke his chains when the time came for him to end the world.

Sometimes in this place, he became a woman, who batted flirtatious eyes at the others with mocking laughter on her lips. Sometimes, he was a horse, who nickered softly and paced the room, restlessly. Sometimes he was a bird, who flew upwards, looking for the way out of this room. He could never maintain these forms for long, that power had been limited here in this place, restricted by being reduced to myth. It was how he was chained here, though there were no chains to be seen. Loki was the only one to ever sleep here but when he did he woke up in the middle of a nightmare, flailing at the serpent that was no longer there, feeling the poison's burn on his face, calling for Sigyn, his good and godly wife, who had gone into exile with him. 

She was at rest now, now that Ragnarok has come, rewarded for her devotion to an unworthy man who never said a nice word to her. She was at peace but Loki never would be.

He was forever dressed in only a white fur trimmed tunic and high-laced sandals that he had worn for eternity, a gold torque about his throat the only ornament. He was here in this place longer than the others, longer than this place was even known of. Once upon a time, this place was ruled by his little daughter Hel, but no more. She died at the World's End and this place was given to another.

Judas was next to him, Judas dark and bearded, reddish highlights in his deep brown hair. He did not look at the others. He did not speak to the others. He lay on his back, his brown-almost-black eyes seeking the Heaven that he would never see, the mark of the rope that throttled the life from him burning red on the tan skin. Now and then, his lips moved in prayer, but always they stopped again, as if he had forgotten the words.

Sometimes despair came upon him and he wept, beat his chest, pulled his hair and tore the pure white robe he wore. Always the rips were mended and the scratches his nails left in his cheeks were healed. The angry welt on his throat would burst and the black blood dried quickly in the heat of this place, but that would never heal. It was the mark of his death.

"Why?" Judas sometimes murmured. "Why me? My Lord, forgive me." 

Mordred, who called himself Le Fey, was the last. He was a Pendragon by birth, though Arthur never recognized it. The youth who should've been a prince didn't acknowledge it either. He looked like Arthur, though, strawberry-blond and handsome, blue eyes that reflected only pain and heartache. He was small and delicate, barely twenty years of age when he died, well formed except for the one shoulder that raised itself the tiniest bit higher than the other.

Well that, and, the hidden deformity in his chest.

Beneath the white and gold velvet tunic that he wore, there was a gaping hole. His heart had been there, but Arthur's rejection had ripped it from him. He had plunged his pike through that empty space, and Mordred's hatred had given him the strength to pull himself up the length of the shaft to kill his murderer.

That hole had never healed.

He did not look at the others, either. Why should he? He did not trust people. People turned on him. People judged him. People betrayed him. What good would it do to place his faith in these two? After all, they were betrayers already. That's why they were here.

There was only the confinement, the mockery, and the waiting.

So, forever, the three waited. They didn't know what they waited for. They didn't know how long they would wait.

But, they waited.

For there was nothing else for them to do. Myth, faith and legend joined in their evil, joined in their betrayal, awaiting redemption—maybe---awaiting an end--certainly.

About Heather:

Heather Kenealy is the Winner of Cinescape's Short Story contest, and of the Stan Lee Presents The Seekers contest held by MTV Geek and POW! Entertainment. She is an avid comic book reader and writer, and besides short stories has written several screenplays and other entertainment based media.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Conner Kressley

I have featured Conner and the Breaker's Code before, but it's such a great book and part of Pandora that I'm going to do it again.

Blurb:
Three weeks shy of her sixteenth birthday, Cresta Karr wakes to find she has a pimple the size of Mt. Vesuvius, that the necklace her father left her is mysteriously missing, and that her house is minutes away from exploding. To top it off, Owen, the enigmatic, if slightly off-kilter guy of dreams, tells her that not only is he NOT interested in going out with her, but he's also a superspy sent by a clandestine organization to keep tabs on her.

Turns out Cresta is the subject of a 500 year old prophecy, and if Owen and the other “Breakers” can't find a way to circumvent the future before she turns sixteen, Cresta is destined to bring about the end of the world -- something she'd rather not have on her college applications. That is, of course, if the gun-toting cult members piling onto her front porch don't get to her first.

Happy birthday, Cresta.

My Review:

The first chapter drew me in and didn't let go. I think it was the fast pace of the novel. I LOVE fast paced novels. Of course, fast pace can't completely hold my interest. The story itself was intriguing. It was based on the debate of free will vs. destiny. Can one really fight the events that unfold and seem to lead them down one path?

The characters themselves were pretty deep and enjoyable. I would ahve liked to a little more about some of the antagonists, but that was minor. I can say I am a major Casper fan and can't wait to see more of him in the next book.

In fact, I'm really looking forward to the next one. Get to writing, Mr. Kressley.

Excerpt:

I stared at myself; half in shock, half in horror. A wedding dress, an honest to God wedding dress. It fit perfectly, hugging all the right places, and flattering all the wrong ones. I almost looked like a woman. I almost looked beautiful.

“You forgot the veil.” A man’s voice sounded from behind me. I spun, the fabric of my gown ruffling, to find Allister Leeman leaning against the doorway. He smiled a wide, dark smile. The raven at his throat seemed to caw and move; its wings flapping against his Adam’s apple. His dark hair was slicked back, and a toothpick peeked out from between his lips. His eyes cut into me. A delicate white veil danced around in his fingers, and he was dressed in a tuxedo that, sickeningly enough, seemed designed to match my dress.

“Where are my friends?” I asked, trying to steady my voice. 

“You don’t have any friends.” He plucked the toothpick from his mouth. “If you mean the people that were captured with you; they’re fine.”

“And my mother?”

“She’s fine too,” he answered, and started to make his way toward me.

I flinched away. “I want to see them. I want you to let them go. I’m here. I did what you asked.”

“You did part of it,” he thumped his toothpick onto the floor in front of him. “I’ll let them go when you do the rest. “ He reached for me, and ran his disgusting hand through my hair. I shivered and slapped it away. “Though, I don’t know why you’re so attached to them,” he grinned. “They don’t care about you, my darling. Not really.”

“They risked their lives for me,” I snorted. 

“They don’t even know you. To them, you’re something to kill, something to change. Even your mother-Or, more appropriately, the woman who calls herself your mother, has only the most conditional of loves for you. None of them accept you for what you are. They would never try to understand you, or embrace the truth of who you are. That’s why they’re here, Cresta Karr. Not for you; it was never for you. They’re here because they can’t stand the idea that you are more than them; that we’re more than them. I’m the only one who understands you, Cresta. Because I know what it is to be called for something so monumental. I share your pain and your exhilaration in the same way that I will soon share your bed and your life, because it is mine as well.”

“We’re not sharing anything!” I couldn’t help it. I slapped his stupid face. I probably shouldn’t have done it. After all, he did have everyone I cared about in the entire world in his clutches. But he was just so smug, pushing all my buttons. “What the hell is the matter with you anyway?” I shouted. “What kind of lunatic actually wants the world to end?”

He put a hand up to his quickly reddening face. “The kind that knows it has to.” A broad dangerous smile crept across his face. His eyes glowed menacingly. “They haven’t told you all of it, have they?” He did a little shuffle with his feet, almost like he couldn’t wait for what came next. “This isn’t about the way the world ends. It’s about what comes next. The world has ended a hundred times before; with ice ages, and floods, and meteors that have purged this planet of everything it could find. But each time, the world has come out of it for the better, stronger, and more evolved.”

There it was, that word, evolved. 

“Just as human replaced the dinosaurs, we will replace humans. It’s the way of the world. The strong always replace the weak, my darling.” He held the veil out toward me. “And you are the one who will set it all in motion.”

I slapped it away too. “I would never hurt anybody.”

“Just as the wave would never hurt the mountain. Still, the mountain erodes. “He picked the veil up, folded it, and put it in his pocket. “They paint you as an antichrist, but you are a messiah.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m not the Bloodmoon. I’m not anything. Look, I’m not going to kill anybody. So, I can’t be the Bloodmoon. The sun will be up soon, and then everybody will know. So, just give me my mom and my friends, and let me go.”

“Still, with these friends, “he muttered. “Come here. Let me show you something.”

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Carol Lanham

Blurb:
THERE ARE MONSTERS IN THIS WORLD, I'VE LEARNED, AND SOMETIMES I HAVE FALLEN PREY TO THEM AND SOMETIMES I HAVE BEEN ONE…

When Lilabet last saw Iago, they were ten years old. Whisked off to America by his father in a desperate attempt to escape the dark superstitions of Wales, Iago’s letters have been the single thing to connect them. Now, fourteen years have passed and Iago has asked Lilabet to be his bride.

Eager to begin a modern life in an exciting new land with the man she has loved for all her days, Lilabet is about to discover that black magic may find a home on any shore. Three red-haired witches have been playing a deadly game of revenge with Iago and if she wants to have a life with him, Lilabet will first have to fight the dark forces that have claimed her young husband for their own.

Excerpt:
13 June 1897

It’s dangerous for me to keep going to him but Iago says the only time his head is clear is when we’re together. I’ve explained to him what Bethan is doing; calling him to her, making him hurt himself. I’ve told him to listen for my voice instead whenever he hears Bethan intruding in his thoughts. If we can work together to overcome what she’s doing, I think he’ll be able to leave.

1 July 1897

Today Iago came running like his hair was on fire and all because of me. Bethan made me call him. ‘Tell him to bang his head against that wall,' she instructed.

His beautiful cheeks are still scratched from yesterday when she commanded he tear off his face. I didn’t want to see him bang his head on the wall but I kept thinking about what she did to Ceiro that last day and I didn’t want to make her any angrier than she already was. I spoke inside his sweet trusting head and he hammered his skull until blood poured in his eyes. ‘That’s wonderful, Meriel. What a good little witch you’ve turned out to be. He’ll do anything for you, won’t he?’

Poor Iago. He was still hitting his head on the bricks. ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Bethan said. ‘Why don’t you ask him to show Gwendraith and me what you’ve been doing to him every night?’

‘Stop it!’ I said, fed up to my core. ‘This has gone far enough. We need to let him go.’

Bethan grabbed him by the hair to stop his thrashing. ‘Show me what Meriel does to you when you’re alone, Boy’ she said. When I tried to block her voice, Gwendraith put my head in a bucket and held me under water. By the time she let me up, he was kissing Bethan. She made me watch this for several moments before shoving him away. Her smile was covered with his blood. ‘I want you to punch my sister in the head as hard you can now, Boy.”

He didn’t hesitate. The first blow struck me across the jaw. The second, crunched my ear. Between the pounding of his fists, Bethan pounded me too. ‘How dare you take him for yourself!’ she said. ‘He belongs to all of us!’

She gave him the ax. ‘Kill her.’

‘No Bethan!’ Gweny said.

I looked at my sister who I loved. I’d followed her blindly, I loved her so. I waited for her to put an end to all of this. Iago lifted the ax and she folded her arms.

He swung.

Luckily, he lost his balance and his aim was bad. I saw the tops of the fingers on my left hand come off. They scattered across the floor between us and there was a lot of blood, but I didn’t feel it.

Iago staggered to his feet and we all looked at Bethan, expectantly. Bethan kicked the tip of my little finger across the room. ‘Lock her in the barn, Gwendraith.’

About Carol:

Carole is the author of the book The Whisper Jar, 24 short stories, and one novella. She lives in the St. Louis area with one mighty fine husband, two wonderful kids, and a huge collection of aprons.

Visit her at carolelanham.com, horrorhomemaker.com, and Morrigan Books

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Louise Caiola

I am honored to feature bestselling author Louise Caiola today. Her new novella, What Truly Knows will be a part of Pandora. It's so exciting to join with so many great writers in this project!

Blurb:

She was born with the Magical Knowing – a gift, some said. A curse, said others. But for Truly, it was the very thing meant to save her life. If it didn’t kill her first.

Excerpt:
Mama said that eighteen years ago I was plucked from her belly with the Magical Knowing right there waiting for me. She said it was like somehow I knew there’d been a cord wound tight as an ole’ clock spring round my neck, keeping me from my rightful first breath of life. And yet, I wasn’t bothering with fussing over it, ‘cause just as soon as those doctors wrestled me free, the story goes, I looked Mama square in the eye and winked. Much as it sounded like a whole mess of hogwash, Mama swore on the Holy Book that it was true. I reckon she oughta know for real. Though some said Mama did her fair share of fibbing, when it came to the Magical Knowing, Mama didn’t lie.
It was on account of this that I had a horrible feeling someone was due to be dying on Skinners Bridge that night. With the Magical Knowing a person could sense beginnings and endings real clear, the way some folks could tell if it was planning to rain by the way their joints started up with aching. I was hoping it wouldn’t be so. Really hoping.
But then there was that moon that hung over our heads, all crimson-colored and with a mean look on its face. If that wasn’t a deadly moon I don’t know what was.
Locals in Madison County, Alabama say that Skinners had seen its equal split of love and tragedies. Seeing as how it was situated at the butt end of nothing more than some silly little lake, a chunk of trees, and practically no light, kids for years saw fit to visit and do the things nature led ‘em to. Mama says most girls around these parts had babies brewing in their britches from the time they could toddle across the kitchen floor. Lots of those young’uns were shot from their daddy’s lustful limbs right down under those wide oak, only yards from the mouth of the bridge.
As for the tragic part, well that was a tale for unfolding like a linen hanky in a dainty lady’s lap. This was how the Magical Knowing grew into more than Mama or I had ever imagined it could – in a calamity that intended to be much, much more.
On the night in question, Ridley Fisher and I were set to meet Jayden Collins at Skinners to square matters. Jayden had been all bowed up over the very notion that Ridley, who’d arrived in my universe all the way from South Africa if you can imagine that, was fixing to steal my heart and all that went along with it. Not that Jayden and I were a thing. At best we were the very closest a boy and girl could be without ever having locked lips. Our houses were so near you could lie down in between them and have your head in his garden, your toes in mine. Suppose that was one of the reasons Jayden felt like he had some ownership of me, since we’d been next-door neighbors for six years and counting.
Didn’t matter none that when it came to my affection, it wasn’t a lick of Jayden’s concern. Didn’t matter none that Jayden could have practically had me a hundred times over if he really tried. Which he never had up till then, and thusly my heart was officially up for the taking.

About Louise:
Louise Caiola, former administrative assistant and small business owner, has authored several works of genre fiction, including WISHLESS, released in 2011, and THE MAKING OF NEBRASKA BROWN, an Amazon bestseller released in 2014. Her two-book short story collection PETIT FLEURS and VIGNETTES will be released in September 2014.
Louise has just wrapped up work on the first installment of a romantic fiction series, LITTLE MAY BIRDS. She has also begun crafting another contemporary mystery entitled COUNTING SNOW DOVES. WHAT TRULY KNOWS is her first paranormal novella debuting on August 5, 2014.
Visit her at www.louisecaiola.com or on Twitter via @AuthorLouiseC and @lcwritten.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Angela Fristoe

Today we have award winning author Angela Fristoe and a feature of her story Lie to Me, a wonderful story that will be a part of Pandora.

Blurb:

Phoebe Matlin has always felt broken. While one of her sisters sees the future, and the other can heal people, Phoebe has come to accept that her truth telling gift just doesn't work.

Then her best friend, Tonya, lies to her and Phoebe's gift flares to life. With Tonya pissed at her, being a Truth Teller suddenly doesn't seem like such a great gift. Although, it is nice knowing she was the reason her crush, Nathan, dumped his stalker girlfriend.

But in lies, intention is everything and Tonya's lies are a cry for help. The fear that her friend is covering darker and more serious truths is something Phoebe can't ignore. But knowing when someone is lying is the easy part. Now she has to decide what to do about it. And with Nathan and his doubts about her ability confusing things, finding a way to help Tonya isn't as easy as Phoebe thought it would be.

Excerpt:
Vivian was such a drama queen. What did Nathan ever see in her? I rolled my eyes, then slid the note over to Tonya. Her soaring eyebrows made me wish I hadn’t. No way would she believe me about the first note now. My best chance against her questioning was a quick escape after class, before she started the interrogation.
Luck, however, deserted me. The bell rang and Tonya grabbed my bag, holding it hostage behind her as she stood with the table between us. That was the problem with having a best friend; they always knew what you were going to do. She was almost as bad, or good depending on your point of view, as Chloe sometimes, though I’d never say that to Chloe. Doing that would just open Chloe’s vision floodgates and I’d be constantly bombarded with every detail of every soon to be minute of my life.
I refused to struggle for my bag. Tonya would only take it as confirmation that I was hiding something from her. Instead, I screwed my face up in confusion and hoped she’d buy it.
“What’s wrong?” I sank back further in my chair, tipping it up on its back legs again as Mrs. Schaeffer went out the door, following the rest of the students. Owen and Bianca stopped behind Tonya, waiting, Owen looking mildly disinterested, while Bianca was completely confused.
“What are you hiding?” Tonya asked, her head tilting to the side.
“Noth-”
“Cut the crap, Phoebs. Vivian is pissed and you’ve been looking guilty all class, well at least the part where you were awake.” Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring my bag as it swung around and bumped her hip. There was no way to get out of this, but if I told her now it’d be all over campus within an hour.
“Fine, but not at school. I’ll tell you when you come over tomorrow.”
“I can’t tomorrow.” Her face shuttered and she turned around, tossing my bag to me in a quick motion. I caught it as it slammed into my chest.
“Why? I thought we were gonna go Christmas shopping? You already ditched me last weekend.” There were only six days left to shop and I needed to get, well, everything, and Tonya was one of those people that managed to find the best things the instant she walked into a store.
She shrugged and twisted a strand of her straightened hair.
“I’ve gotta go see my mom.”
Liar. It whispered through me, my stomach churning to the point I thought I’d puke. There was a moment when my brain tried to make sense of what I was hearing, what I was feeling, then it came again. Liar.
“Liar.” The word slipped out, unrestrained in its harshness, and almost instantly, my stomach settled. Until I saw the expression on Tonya’s face.
“What did you call me?” Her back stiffened and her head reared back. Shit. Owen and Bianca went bug-eyed behind her. Tonya’s lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, darkening from brown to black.
“I...I...” My voice faded, unsure if I should call her on it again, or try and fib my way out of it. This wasn’t the first time I’d called her a liar and she’d always laughed it off before. Her reaction and the flush coloring the soft brown of her cheeks told me I’d actually caught her.
“Screw you,” she snapped as I stood there with my mouth moving like a gasping fish. “I don’t need to tell you every move I make, and I don’t need my best friend calling me a liar.” She spun, shoved Owen out of her way, and took off out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
My bag thudded to the floor. Owen and Bianca stared at me, the question in their faces a reflection I was sure of my own. What the hell had just happened?

About Angela:
Born in Northern Canada, Angela grew up on the Canadian prairies amid dreams of becoming the next Dian Fossey or a world famous flight attendant. Those, however, were never meant to be. Instead, she moved to Texas and then eventually beautiful Colorado where she divides her time between her family, writing and her other job, teaching.

Angela was the winner and double finalist in Romance category of The Strongest Start 2010 Contest hosted by TheNextBigWriter.com. Songbird, published by Little Prince Publishing, is Angela's first novel.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: DelSheree Gladden

Today I present DelSheree Gladden, another bestselling author who is a part of Pandora.

Blurb:
Olivia’s best friend is not imaginary. He’s not a ghost, either. And she’s pretty sure he’s not a hallucination. He’s just Mason.

He is, however, invisible.

When Olivia spotted the crying little boy on her front porch at five years old, she had no idea she was the only one who could see him. Twelve years later when new-girl Robin bumps into the both of them and introduces herself to Mason, they are both stunned.

Mason couldn’t be more pleased that someone else can see him. Olivia, on the other hand, isn’t jumping at the chance to welcome Robin into their circle. Jealousy may have something to do with
that, but honest fear that Robin’s presence will put Mason in danger is soon validated when a strange black car shows up outside Olivia’s house.

The race to find out what Robin knows in time to protect Mason from whatever threats are coming becomes Olivia’s only focus.

Excerpt:

Without warning, catching my breath seems impossible. I don’t know if I can handle the thought that someone might actively be trying to hurt Mason. Before I can stop myself, I feel tears begin sliding down my cheeks. I’m not the only one who feels them. Mason reaches up and touches my face, seeming startled when he realizes I am crying. Not that I can blame him. I’m about as much of a crier as he is.
“Oh, Ollie,” he says softly. His strong, but gentle arms easily pull me out from behind him and nestle me against his body. I curl against him as I try to shut out the fear that is quickly swallowing me up.
“Mason, I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” I whisper against his chest.
His arms press me against him so tightly there is no space left between us. “I’ve already lost one family. I won’t lose you, too.”
The night quiets as we lay in each other’s arms. Slowly, Mason’s breathing calms. As he relaxes, my own fears begin to calm as well. They don’t disappear, but they come down to a manageable enough level that I can think and ask the question lingering in both of our minds.
“Mason, what do we do now?”
He sighs. His fingers stroke my hair softly. “I don’t know. I’m not sure how to get more information out of Robin without telling her the truth.”
“We can’t tell her the truth. We have no idea who she’s really involved with. It’s too big of a risk.”
“I know, but we have to stay close to her, too. If she is a threat, we can’t be blind to it.”
I know he’s right, but I don’t like to think about Mason being so close to someone who could potentially hurt him. But what choice do we have? I look up at Mason and find him already staring down at me with a look of concern. Something about the moment makes my heart lurch. It takes me a few seconds to gather my thoughts.
“Mason, we’ll figure this out,” I promise.
As his fingers brush against my cheek, that strange sensation flashes again, but I am too anxious to pay it much attention.
“Out of everything Robin told us today, do you know what hurt the most?” Mason asks, surprising me by his change in topic. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Robin said something like sometimes it’s hard to remember ‘I wasn’t human,’ that I was sent here to be raised by Caretakers. Do you realize what that means? Not only am I not human, my family isn’t even my real family. All of the sudden, I’ve lost another family, one I never knew, maybe one that didn’t even want me to begin with.”
“We’ll find answers, Mason.”
I know it’s not much as far as comfort goes, but I don’t know what else to say. I have no idea why anyone would give up someone as wonderful as Mason. If his biological parents didn’t want him, their stupidity was our gain. I can’t imagine my life without Mason.
I have no idea what time it is, but weariness begins to creep over me. My eyes are starting to close when Mason asks one last question.
“Do you think Robin is right about me not being human?”
A yawn stretches my jaw before I can answer. “I don’t know. Maybe. You are invisible.”
“Does that bother you?” he asks quietly.
My shrug is more of a twitch as sleeps tries to steal me away. “Why would it? I love you no matter where you came from.”

About DelSheree:
DelSheree Gladden lives in New Mexico with her husband and two children. The Southwest is a big influence in her writing because of its culture, beauty, and mythology. Local folk lore is strongly rooted in her writing, particularly ideas of prophecy, destiny, and talents born from natural abilities. When she is not writing, DelSheree is usually reading, painting, sewing, or working as a Dental Hygienist.

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Thomas Sullivan

I am honored to feature Pulitzer Prize nominee Thomas Sullivan and his novel The Water Wolf, which will be a part of Pandora.

Blurb:

Lane Anderson is a professional dispeller of myths and manipulation. But the next exposé will rekindle his own painful past. A cryptic pylon that lies beneath an ancient Peruvian fortress will lead him to Egypt, and then to Ireland, where a woman of more-than-mortal roots will guide him to a colossal subterranean world-and the soulless horror that killed his father and now is coming after him.

Excerpt:

It was the mourners at the foot of the grave who saw her first. A moving shape in the mist from the direction of the pond, becoming then a human figure, then a female figure – very female – because she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on to hide her comely form. If they hadn’t seen Una McCabe up close before, they got to see her now. Naked to her navel, no matter which direction your eyes started from. Rivulets running off her firm breasts, down her tapered thighs. In the achromatic light she looked almost luminous, her ash blond hair nebulous, her sea-green eyes electric out of dark hollows. And something else that the women noticed for a certainty, and that the men afterward agreed must be true. She was pregnant and beginning to show.

Scota O’Neill threw an elbow into her husband Dolan, meaning for him to take off his jacket and cover the bare naked thing, but somewhat dumbfoundedly Dolan merely jerked an umbrella over the nude woman’s head as she continued to the lip of the grave.

“He’s not dead,” Una said in an even voice.

About Thomas:

www.thomassullivanauthor.com

Pulitzer Prize nominee Thomas Sullivan has been a gambler, a "Rube Goldberg" innovator, a coach, a teacher, a city commissioner, and an All-American athlete. Having lived in a dozen countries by the time he was six, Sullivan is at home in many cultures and across the literary spectrum from mainstream to genre. Over 90 publishing credits in all fiction categories, his work includes eight novels in 22 domestic and foreign editions, journalism, non-fiction and active film options. Sullivan currently lives on a lake in Maple Grove, Minnesota, writing full-time and speaking internationally in venues as diverse as the House of Literature in Oslo, Norway, and American schools and universities. His inspirational monthly newsletter (Sullygram) is available free on request. Write him at mn333mn@earthlink.net

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Christi Goddard

Today I have a great YA novel than will be a part of the Pandora Box Set from Amazon bestselling author Christi Goddard.

Blurb:
When a smartass magical creature invades Kathleen’s life, a boy she hates turns up dead and her mother goes missing. Then a letter she wrote for an old friend becomes a key piece of police evidence—implicating Kathleen. As she fights her way out of a web of lies, the trust she has in those closest to her shatters. In the end, she’s pushed to a terrible choice: who lives, and who else dies.

Excerpt:

My mom’s a liar.

What parents aren’t, right? They tell their kids lies about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. Even the Boogeyman who crouches in the shadows beneath beds has his legend whispered into the ears of young green bean-haters.

I wished my mom would use her power of deception for good. For one, I wouldn’t have to chase down people in the dark, braving the muggers and would-be rapists who lurk in the bushes on my street. 

If she’d told the boy who came knocking I was upstairs in my room, then we could have had a quick—though unlikely civil—conversation on the front porch. Instead, she told him I was out with another boy.

And she didn’t just tell this to anyone. No, of course not. She told this to Josh Colby. 

It was the equivalent of having some celebrity knock on your door after their car broke down. Except, as far as celebrities go, Josh’s status didn’t reach beyond the doors of our high school. We’d known each other for the many years of our educational careers, and mostly succeeded with our mutual effort to avoid speaking to one another.

Mocking doesn’t count.

“Josh!”

I was too lazy to run for more than a block. To scream seemed an easier solution. When a male voice called back, I smiled at my small victory of intelligence over physical prowess.

“Yeah?”

He sounded close, within a block or so, but I couldn’t see him. The sliver of moon lacked radiance as it was smothered by dark clouds, but the streetlights were enough to confirm there was no silhouette of him on the sidewalk. He must have cut through a neighbor’s yard to head back to his house on the next street over.

“What did you want?” I winced at the sudden, sharp brilliance of lightning. Spots did flip-flops against the stretched shadows on the grass as my vision tried to recover. The scent of ozone carried on the cool breeze blended with that of a fresh cut lawn.

“That you, Elchubba?”

Elchubba is not my name. Not even close. Not that many of the kids at my school cared, and several might even be shocked to discover my real name was Kathleen. Not Kathy. Definitely not Elchubba. To my eternal frustration, I won that clever little nickname in junior high. Mostly because Ryan Dixon is a jerk, but also because I was horizontally challenged and usually clad in black from hair strand-to-toenail polish. It’s to do with Elvira. Lame, I know.

I just hoped Josh hadn’t asked my mother if Elchubba was home. I wouldn’t put it past him. Instead of correcting him, I turned on my heel and headed home. I didn’t answer him on principle. 

My house was still a sadistic distance from me when I heard Josh stumble through some bushes near the sidewalk behind me. Oh, heavy black boots, how you’ve failed me again.

“Wait!”

He mumbled a curse behind me after the distinct sound of his rubber soles tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. I didn’t slow down. Maybe he would follow me all the way back to my front door so I could slam it in his face.

He outpaced me to step into my path. I considered knocking him on his boney ass. I had the weight and momentum to do it. A whiff of whatever cheap, man-scent product he used to attract girls assaulted my nose. It reminded me of dish soap and burnt popcorn.

“Please, would you just stop?” Josh said. 

“Fine. What do you want?”

A car horn blared a few blocks away, followed by the squeal of tires. Josh glanced around like a super secret spy. 

My response was an eye roll and crossed arms. If he didn’t want to be seen talking to me, then he shouldn’t have answered me. For that matter, he shouldn’t have come over.

Josh said, “I need you to do me a favor.”

The laugh that escaped me sounded more maniacal than I expected. “You’re high.”

Great. I wound up chasing a boy I hated down the street to do a favor for him. It was not the pinnacle of my existence. At least I hope not.

“No, I’m serious.” Josh leaned closer and dropped his voice. “I’ll pay you.”

“Then it’s not a favor. It’s a business proposition,” I said. “If you’re going to pay me for services—of the non-prostitutional variety—then it’s a business arrangement, not a favor. A favor I’d do for free.”

The hopeful look that passed his face prompted me to add, “For friends, not for you.”

“Okay, whatever.” Josh fished in a pocket of his too-baggy jeans and pulled out a folded bill. It was too dark for me to see which president. He smiled, his teeth a perfect picket fence of glaring white. “I want you to write a letter for me.”

My eyebrows lifted without my permission. “A letter? To who?” I didn’t ask why me. I was editor for the school paper and wrote for the quarterly lit magazine. 

“I’m not telling you unless you agree to do it.”

 

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Pandora #Paranormal Box Set Author Showcase: Steven Katriel

Do you dare open the box?

Today I have bestselling author Steven Katriel. I had feature a review for his novella A Portrait of Alatiel Salazar when it was first released. You now have a chance to pick it up along with 19 other amazing stories for just 99 cents!

Blurb:

When Gabriel Holland’s beloved Helena vanishes from his life, he journeys to the home of disgraced artist Cristian Salazar, the man he holds responsible for her disappearance and the death of several friends. Once in the town of Carliton, Gabriel finds only malice and mystery in the tales told by the few brave enough to speak ill of Salazar and the sinister Cousin Beatriz. And within shadows, in the guise of night, walks Alatiel, the creature Helena has become. . . .

My Review:

Disclaimer: A Portrait of Alatiel Salazar is a Gothic Horror novella. It is for a niche audience and not what I am used to reading. So, if you read more of this than i do you may have a differing opinion. This was given to me for a fair review by Steven's publisher Immortal Ink.

The Good:

Writing Style: Mr. Katriel's choice of wording and voice give a very creepy overall feel throughout the book. He sets the horrific ambiance well. The novella is written in a Victorian style which is around the time the story is set in. I would have to say this is my favorite part about the story.

Characters: Even in the beginning which focuses on series of journal entries you can still get a feel for even the tertiary characters. My heart aches for Gabriel and what he has to endure throughout the novel. Alatiel is intriguing and horrifying all at once.

The Bad:

Confusion: This may be because I am used to reading more fantasy, but I never really understood what Alatiel or a few of the other characters were. The is a point in the story where another character tells Gabriel what he knows of them, but this still only gives me a very vague sense. Also there were a couple of times that I got confused at what was going on in the story. Still this may be because I don't read a lot of this type of story. The ones I have to compare to are Dracula and a Picture of Dorian Gray. Those two stories I knew before I read the books, so it may just be me.

Overall: I would definitely recommend this book, especially is you want something to run chills down your spine in cerebral way. There or no cheap thrills in this book.

Excerpt:

Camden Town, 1880

THIS IS MY VOICE. You cannot hear me, but I hope you will read my thoughts . . . .

The only sign of life he found in the broken and windswept house was one of death, the outline of a body, borne on a cradle of blood-stained paper. The intruder took another page from the dishevelled bed and continued to read Helena Graham’s journal:

I will endeavour to record everything—every word, each thought and action; such is the hateful gift of insight Alatiel has forced upon me. To my regret, I am certain she will take her turn to relate our story, smiling to herself all the while, secure in her wretched vanity and the knowledge that the chances of this journal being found are slim. Besides, she may just cast these pages into the fire and all my words will have been in vain. That would amuse her, I imagine . . . if indeed she is capable of such a human trait’.

She will use my mind, my memories, to set down this tale. I hope against hope that someone discovers my journal and, having read it, fashions a way to destroy Alatiel, even if this action means the loss of what was once my life.

Spring

“I’VE FOUND HER!” Julian Paradine said. Those were his very words. But, truth be told, Alatiel found him, marked him out; well, she left her mark on poor Julian . . . on all of us, in fact.

We sat outside a small café on Thurzon Street, the men daydreaming, no doubt, that they were kindred souls of the Parisian Bohemians we had all read about; I, the token female in this circle of art lovers, was admitted only by virtue of my writing pastime and, of course, because of my brother. Although our parents had passed on, keeping company with these harmless ‘radicals’ would have been unthinkable were it not for my beloved Matthew.

Julian alone had actually been to Paris, but then, he was the only one amongst us whose career was in the ascendant; the Academy were beginning to notice his crowd-pleasing paintings. We were happy to follow his lead in so many things . . . .

He pulled away from our table, took the girl roughly by the arm and pushed her forward. She appeared to glide, or float, towards us, and even when the cause of her strange and somewhat comical motion came into view, the eerie effect remained. The girl gave the impression of perfect control—of herself and of events—although seemingly at the whim of her master. She did not stir, did not blush, as one might expect.

With his usual carefree, infectious enthusiasm—the joie de vivre which so endeared him to us—Julian presented his new plaything for closer inspection. Or perhaps that should be ‘delectation’; Matthew’s mouth fell open, and he gazed in wonderment. The poet Callum Flynn, however, flinched as though he’d been struck. He raised himself, made no attempt at excuses and simply murmured, “I must go,”; he’d always impressed me as a strange man, all the more now. My fiancé, Gabriel Holland, also stood up suddenly and left us. His seat fell to the ground, and he backed away from the table. Finally he excused himself by claiming that he was worried about Flynn. At first, we were perplexed and concerned, but once the two friends had departed, we gave free rein to our merriment. To my shame, I was too curious about Julian’s latest escapade to follow Gabriel. As it was, the remaining men resumed their scrutiny of the girl in that concentrated, trepidatious and thoroughly silly way which is the hallmark of their sex. I, of course, could stare freely at her, with no such pretence or man-made restriction. 

Certainly, she was beautiful, but in a strangely bland, indistinct way—not unlike an elder sister of Mr Carroll’s ‘Alice’, I thought. Her complexion was simply too pale, as though iced water slithered through her thin veins, and her ash blonde hair had none of the lustre of true health. 

Julian held the girl by her shoulders and addressed us again:

“Well actually, Cristian Salazar found her, or rather, he bought her. Made a gift of her to me. She is perfect, isn’t she?” he looked at each of us in turn, soliciting agreement. “Say hello to Alatiel.”

They greeted her respectfully enough, I suppose, though Daniele Navarro made a show of slowly raising his hat, a display of ironic homage unworthy of him, I thought. Perhaps I was mistaken, and this was the closest thing to chivalry he could muster . . . . Matthew stuttered a few indecipherable words, such was his amusing shyness. The girl remained silent and still. Julian Paradine stood apart from her now. 

“Ah, my apologies, gentlemen—and Helena, of course—I should have mentioned that Alatiel is a mute . . . or, at least, she claims she is.”

I felt rather ashamed as the others laughed at the girl’s expense.

“Alatiel . . . that seems familiar to me, as if it were from a book I read many years ago.”

“She has no name, Daniele,” Julian said, “so I chose one for her. I have invented her, you might say.”

About the Author:

Steven J. Katriel writes Gothic Horror, Paranormal Fantasy, and Literary Fiction. He has lived in Wales, UK all his life. In recent years, he wrote history articles for a community magazine. Steve’s literary heroes and heroines range from Oscar Wilde to Hilary Mantel. He has a passion for past times and this is reflected in his writing.

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