Linda Welch's Blog

Photo from the archives of the Standard-Examiner, Ogden, Utah.

 

A few weeks ago I was again asked why, if Tiff obviously lived in Ogden, Utah, I didn’t call the place Ogden in the Whisperings books (yes, I mean you, Kenny!) As always, I was so flabbergasted at being approached by a person who actually knows who I am, and asked about my books, my brain flew off into the ether and I became all but unintelligible. I mumbled something about thinking Tiff might insult someone (by which I meant an Ogden establishment or proprietor, or lifestyle) so decided to avoid that by not calling her city Ogden. As it was, Tiff didn’t insult anyone, but at the beginning, before I thoroughly settled into her personality, I did worry she would, so it was one of the reasons. I have to stress, though, it’s the least of them.

I always knew Tiff was a woman who lived in the mountains, and I envisioned her in my mountain valley, the Ogden Valley – which is confusing to some because it’s several thousand feet above Ogden City, while Ogden City itself is in the Salt Lake Valley. But Tiff’s environment needed certain features, like a police department and city streets where her story unfolded, none of which are found in my valley. For me, being a lazy author, it was easier to picture a city layout I already knew, so Ogden became my grid map. Readers who know the area well will detect that although some of the locales I used are similar to Ogden’s, others are not. And the street names are different

I had an imaginary town in a mountain valley and I don’t think anyone would have been the wiser, until I indulged myself by including one of my favorite places in Ogden: 25th Street with its long, narrow shotgun style buildings, now transformed into unique stores, eateries, galleries and clubs, and Union Station facing from the west, became Clarion’s 22nd Street. And as Ogden’s history fascinates and entertains me, I couldn’t resist mentioning it in the books. Popularly known as Two-Bit Street, the area obtained such a bad reputation in the early 20th century due to gambling, prostitution and narcotic sales that Al Capone was rumored to have said Ogden was too wild a town for him. It is also said the connecting basements below the street were used for all kinds of naughty things during that era. Tiff’s 22nd Street (aka 25th Street) is what makes local readers say, wait a sec, this is Ogden!

Now I ask you, as this city is up in the mountains, not down in the Salt Lake Valley, and is not exactly alike, how could I call it Ogden? It became Clarion. And because it is Clarion, not Ogden, the street names, restaurants, etc., are not the same.

How, with a city stuck in the middle of it, can Tiff’s valley be the Ogden Valley? Hence the names of lakes, mountains and canyons in comparison to their location are also different.

This is what is meant by “based on.”

Many of the locations in the Whisperings books are “based” on places I know. The house in Arkansas: my brother-in-law’s house. The farm in Nebraska: another brother-in-law. Janine’s house in a gated community in California: my husband’s uncle’s place. Little Barrow in Wiltshire, England: a blending of Upavon and Rushall, where my parents used to live.

Why Clarion? I thought I invented the name. It seemed to me to have a Biblical sound to it, as so many towns and cities in Utah have. I had no idea there actually is, or was, a place called Clarion in southern Utah. Jewish families from Philadelphia and New York settled a piece of land in Sanpete County, west of Centerfield and Gunnison, beginning 1911. At its peak, 156 people lived in Clarion. But farming the dry land was difficult and water scarce, and the colony as a farming community was a failure. Most of the community had disbanded by 1916. A state order terminated the colony’s title in 1915 and Utah began to auction off the land in 1916. Local residents continue to refer to the area as Clarion although it is now in the Centerfield postal district.  Now, only a few weathered concrete foundations, and two lonely graves, are left of the original Clarion settlement.

My husband and I went to southern Utah to find Clarion. The landmarks and roads spoken of online didn’t seem to exist anymore. We were lucky to find a local lady at the Gunnison Valley Senior Citizens Center who gave us directions. Either the old foundations were hidden by grass, or we got on the wrong dirt road, because all we found were a few early 1900s homes, still occupied, which were not built by the colonists and part of the original settlement. Still, it was a nice day out, apart from all the flies congregated around the nearby dairy, some of which snuck in the pickup and annoyed us most of the way home to northern Utah.

So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen: the process by which Ogden became Clarion and the reasoning behind it. Not that I “reasoned” it out beforehand; no, it was a gradual process during the writing and many, many painful revisions of the first two Whisperings books.

Have a good day!

 

NOW AVAILABLE.

There is a terrifying evil that only a select few can see. It comes from the depths; whispering, coaxing, pushing people to commit atrocities.

Bobbi Clarke is about to come face-to-face with it.

Despite the vicious migraines she seems to have inherited from her dead mother, seventeen-year-old Bobbi is happy with her life. Soon she’ll be eighteen, graduate high school and begin university with her best friends, and she even has a part-time job lined up. And now Grey Adams, the boy she’s crushed on for two years, asks her out on a date.

Then Ky, a complete stranger, comes busting in with a ridiculous story about fighting demons. With his arrival the blows come hard and fast—her aunt and uncle are not who she thought they were, they’ve lied to her and now mean to hand her over to Ky.

Bobbi wants nothing to do with Ky and what he says is her purpose in life. But has she a choice? And what of Grey? Is he the monster Ky claims he is, or the shy, gentle boy she believes him to be? Who can Bobbi trust? One is her destiny, the other her betrayer.

I hope you enjoy this latest offering! Icari is available on Amazon US as e-book for $3.99, Amazon UK £2.19. This universal link will take you to Icari on Barnes&Noble, Apple, Kobo, Scribd, Inktera or 24symbols.

 

NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.

If not for the migraines she seems to have inherited from her dead mother, life would be running smoothly for seventeen-year-old Bobbi. Soon she’ll be eighteen, graduate high school and begin university with her best friends, and she even has a part-time job lined up. And now Grey Adams, the boy she’s crushed on for two years, asks her out on a date.

Then Ky, a complete stranger, comes busting in with a ridiculous story. With his arrival, the blows come hard and fast—her aunt and uncle are not who she thought they were, they’ve lied to her and now mean to hand her over to Ky.

Bobbi wants nothing to do with Ky and what he says is her purpose in life. But has she a choice? And what of Grey? Is he the monster Ky claims he is, or the shy, gentle boy she believes him to be? Who can Bobbi trust? Who can protect her? One is her destiny, the other her betrayer.

I hope you enjoy this latest offering! Icari is available on Amazon as e-book for $3.99 and free for members of  Kindle Unlimited. Don’t have a Kindle? You can download a free app from Amazon to enable you to read Kindle books on your device.

 

When I get emails and personal Facebook messages asking if I’m still alive, I know it’s time to write something on this little old blog.

I’ve never been a social media butterfly, never blogged frequently or spent as much time as I should on Facebook and other sites. I do appreciate the opportunities it’s given me, and I’ve met some wonderful people, but as little as I’m active on social media, sometimes I still want to give it a rest. So I’ve been busily filling my life with the mundane. You know, the family, the home, the garden, all very un-writerly things. Gasp! If you want to know what I’ve been up to, read on, but I warn you, it’s all very boring.

We started the year with a redecorating project: painting the kitchen/dining room, living room, upstairs bathroom and hall. In February this was interrupted when I went downstairs late one night and stepped into several inches of water. A toilet tank running water for three hours had filled up our septic tank, which showed its displeasure by belching back into the house. Luckily our floor downstairs slopes slightly so the water was only in the east side of the basement and didn’t get into the den. But the laundry room (it’s a BIG room) the downstairs bathroom and a bedroom were flooded. We were up till 3 AM sucking up water with shop vacs. Such fun, especially having to carry the full vacs upstairs and outside to empty them. Also lucky, no lasting damage and almost everything was salvageable. We did have to move everything out of the bedroom and take up the carpet, and decided to repaint the room while it was empty.

Lo and behold, water started to come into the same bedroom and we realized we have a crack in the foundation. Husband had to chop out a lot of newly painted drywall to find the crack and patched it on the inside, but we still have to dig down outside to patch that.

Are you having fun so far? We did. Ha ha. I hope you can hear the sarcasm.

We’ve since learned our septic system is on the way out. The poor old thing is damaged and all the snow melt is leaking into the tank, plus the leach field needs to be replaced.

We took a vacation in Mesquite, NV. We spent one day on our ATVs south of Mesquite in some incredible red rock canyons. Unfortunately I didn’t take my camera because Husband had his, and his camera batteries died, so no pictures. Another day we drove up into the mountains west of Mesquite, along one of the little country dirt roads which deteriorates the farther you drive. When we got to the warning sign – go farther at your own risk – we went farther. The road got very bad, and ended with a punctured tire. My, what an adventure.

We took another mini vacation to Kanab, UT, and stayed at the Best Friends Animal Society in one of their cabins. What an incredible place! I’ve supported Best Friends for probably 20 years and this was my first visit. The staff is amazing, the work they do with abandoned and abused animals is amazing. The countryside is wonderful. Rock formations fascinate me and I got my fill there. One day we took the ATV on the Mail Drop ride. As per usual, the trail maps were not 100% accurate and we wasted quite a bit of time trying to find the actual Mail Drop, driving miles of trails and clambering up cliffs. The two men who directed us – I’d love to meet you again and tell you what I think of you. These two guys sent us in the wrong direction and we ended up taking some really nasty trails. We did eventually find the Mail Drop. What is the Mail Drop? In the 1800s, it was easier to send mail down a cliff to the valley below and the communities there, than ride all around the mountains to deliver it. The history of the Mail Drop is interesting, if you want to take a minute to read it. This is the best account I’ve found so far.

Lately I’ve had a spurt of domesticity. It’s as if my mum is inside my head, possessing me, telling me Linny, you have a lovely home but it’d be lovelier with a dusting rag and polish applied, the floor mopped, the junk tidied away (the list goes on and on.) You’d have a beautiful garden if you tidied it up. So on and so forth. To demonstrate how far down this road of doom I’ve gone, I even took everything out of my display cabinet, cleaned them and the cabinet! This is something I usually only do when we’re expecting visitors and the dust is so thick you can’t see what it’s hiding.

And, oh yes, I have been writing. Almost finished the first draft of a young adult paranormal romance: Icari. And I’ve also started on the third and last Downside book: Fallen.

And you thought I’ve done nothing but waste time with domestic issues, didn’t you.

A very small area of the Angel’s Rest pet cemetery at Best Friends. Beautiful and peaceful. Can you see the wind chimes?

This is actually the ceiling inside a cave on Best Friends property.

The Beehives on the Mail Drop ride.

 

Looking out over the Mail

Drop.

 

I watched flames writhe behind the wood-burning stove’s glass door. The Christmas tree sparkled in the corner of the living room, the tree-topper an inch or two from the ceiling. In the kitchen, Royal assembled the ingredients for hot chocolate. I bought a bag of mini-marshmallows especially for him; Royal loves them on his cocoa. He can’t wait for them to melt in the hot liquid and slurps them up when they are still gooey and chocolaty, then puts more in the mug. He has the sweetest tooth. I wonder he isn’t fat. Can a demon’s natural body heat burn away all the sugar? Does he have a hyped metabolism? His body is as tight and toned as when I met him.
I sighed. Whatever his advantage, I don’t have it. Come 2016 I’d be jogging, trying to get rid of the pounds gained over Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve.
I remembered when this room looked like it was decorated during Queen Victoria’s reign. Now, after Royal and I remodeled, it’s a nice place to relax, particularly this time of year with the lamps off, fire going and Christmas lights twinkling.
A massive whump from outside made me start.
“That sounded close,” Mel said, almost making me jump out of my skin because I didn’t realize she was nearby.
I hurried to the kitchen. Royal stood at the big windows and I joined him. “What is that?”
A big red, green and gold object outside hid the view of the street.
“It’s big,” Royal said.
“No kidding.”
I went back to the hall and opened the front door to look out.
The vehicle which covered my front yard and jutted out in the street must have skidded off the slippery road and from the sound of it, ended up right next to the house. It looked like an old-fashioned sleigh, the kind the Jameson ranch uses to give rides on their property during the winter. But it couldn’t be a sleigh; there were no horses and any harness to indicate there ever were any.
The guy who climbed from it was big and wide. As tall as Royal, which is to say taller than me, and his red jacket strained over an enormous belly. He backed away and pushed his fur-trimmed red hat off his forehead.
“Santa Claus is coming to town!” Jack trilled as he came up behind me.
“Looks like he already arrived.”
Jack gasped as his gaze settled on the man outside. “It is! It’s Santa!”
“Don’t be silly.” I frowned at the obstruction flattening the snow on my lawn. “I was kidding.”
“It is! It is!” Mel wriggled like a puppy. “Santa, and his sleigh.”
“Then where are the reindeer?”
“Perhaps they got free and ran away after they crashed.”
Santa walked around the sleigh, then gave it a vicious kick.
I put on my fur-lined boots, down jacket and warm gloves, and went outside. Royal didn’t bother with cold weather wear; in his T-shirt and jeans, he strode out and over to the portly man.
The sleigh or whatever sat inches from my wall.
The man noticed us as I joined Royal, and stopped cursing at his vehicle. He swept off his hat to reveal long white hair, which matched his long white beard. “Sorry about this, Sir, Ma’am.”
“You’d have been sorrier if you’d hit my house,” I said with a scowl. “Going a mite too fast, were you? Lose control?”
“No I did not,” he grumped back. “It just quit on me. Just glad I wasn’t over the ocean.”
“Had a little too much to drink tonight, did we?”
He pulled himself up and straightened his shoulders. “I’ll have you know, Madam, I never drink on the job.”
“Well, Mr. . . .”
“Claus. But you can call me Santa. Everyone does.”
I hiked an eyebrow and looked at Royal, expecting him to step in. But he was speechless. He watched the old fellow with stars in his eyes.
“See, told you so,” from Jack as he hovered behind me.
“Can you give me a push,” the fat old fellow asked.
“That?” Not only was it a big, heavy vehicle, it was loaded with cargo of some type.
“It’s not as heavy as it looks.” He put a finger alongside his nose and winked. “The magic, you see. Makes a difference.”
“Magic.” I forced a smile and nodded too hard. “Uh huh.”
Not magic. Royal. I shot him a look—this was just the kind of trick he’d pull on Christmas Eve. Get a friend to dress up as Santa, someone else to bring him and the sleigh to my place, get it in position and skedaddle.
“Royal, would you like to introduce me to your friend?”
“It’s Santa Claus, Tiff,” he said in a voice heavy with awe. To Royal’s mind, Santa Claus was one step removed from god.
Not what I meant. “Yeah, and he looks the part. Typical merry old elf with his hair and beard, the cheery red cheeks, the clothes.”
“My cheeks are red because it’s cold out here,” Santa said.
“If you think I’ve anything to do with this, you’re wrong,” said Royal.
I gave him a squinty-eyed look. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll see about that.”
I grasped a hank of Santa’s beard and pulled.
“Ow. Ow. Ow. Let go!”
So the beard was not fake. Plenty of men have long white beards.
His thick, furry brows drew together. “I don’t have to look at my lists to know if you were naughty or nice.”
Royal spoke to Santa. “What happened?”
“Damn technology.” Santa growled. “Used to be, something went wrong, you found the cause, changed parts, and off you went. Now everything is computerized. Were I a conspiracy theorist, I’d say it’s all a government plot to get folk to put their money into car dealerships and garages.”
“Where’s Rudolf?” Mel asked.
“Rudolf? In his stable I should think, with the other reindeer.” Santa peered at Mel. He slung one hand at the sleigh. “Now I have this. State of the art, navigational system, bells and whistles all over the place.” He spun on the sleigh and gave it another kick. “Useless pile of junk.”
He eyed Royal. “You look like a strong young man. Want to give me a push, see if we can get the engine to turn over?”
“Sure, Santa, anything for you.”
I twisted on my heels. “Oh, good Lord!”
“Give me a hand, Tiff?” Royal asked.
I folded my arms. “You put it there. You get it out.”
“Sweetheart, I have nothing to do with this.”
“Yeah, and pigs might fly.”
“Do you want it off your front yard or not?”
“Okay!” I let my arms hang loose, then went to stand next to Royal.
Santa climbed in the sleigh, Royal gave him a thumbs-up, and we pushed. Man, the thing was heavy.
The sleigh slid a few feet. Deep inside it, something ticked over, then caught and rumbled, then whined and died.
“Again!” Santa yelled.
But the motor refused to catch again.
Santa dismounted wearily and pulled a cell phone from his deep pocket. “I’ll have to call for backup.”
He turned and walked away, the phone to his ear.
“Oh my, what about Christmas?” Mel said.
“He can’t make his deliveries!” from Jack.
“I’m sure he will work something out,” Royal said, slipping an arm around my shoulder.
If I rolled my eyes many more times, they would stick in a skyward position.
Santa came back to us. “They’re on their way.”
“Do you want to come in?” Royal asked as my face began to freeze. “I was making hot chocolate.”
Santa rubbed his mittened hands together. “Hot chocolate will go down a treat, thank you.”
Royal beamed.
Inside, Santa took off his hat, mittens and jacket and I hung them on the hall stand. We went in the kitchen.
Royal zipped to the stove and started the hot chocolate.
“You do have cookies?” Santa asked with a wink.
“I think there’s a packet of oatmeal with macadamia nuts and white chocolate chips.”
“Not homemade?”
“Not unless you want to make them.”
“Packaged will do,” he said quickly, then added, “although homemade are best. He got a dreamy look in his eyes as he sat at the table. “You know the best thing about Christmas? The food kind families leave out for me. Cookies, mincemeat pies, brownies, candy, mugs of cocoa, glasses of sherry or wine, or milk. And no Mrs. Claus to harass me about my waistline.” He smirked to himself. “One little girl left me a bowl of M&Ms.”
Royal came back with mugs of cocoa and I shot to the cabinets in search of the cookies. I brought them to the table along with some plates.
Santa took a big slurp of cocoa, and sighed. “Thank you. This is good stuff.” Then he munched a cookie in two bites.
“What’s it like at the North Pole,” Mel asked.
“Cold,” said Santa, and that he saw and heard Mel and Jack finally registered in my brain.
I admit, we were a jolly little bunch, eating, drinking, chatting and laughing. Santa had a vast repertoire of jokes about elves and penguins and I laughed so hard, my stomach hurt. Did Royal hire one of our local entertainers to impersonate Santa?
Santa stopped mid-joke and rose from his chair. “Ah, they’re here.”
We followed him to the window. A big semi backed down the street, with headlights flashing and a persistent beep-beep-beep as warning. It stopped with the back facing the sleigh, the door rolled up and a ramp slid out.
Santa’s gaze roamed the night sky. “And here is the alternate transportation, right on time.”
A small red light flashed on and off. At first I thought it must be a small plane and wondered how it would land in the street. But no, as it neared, I saw reindeer harnessed to a sleigh and heard bells jingling. And in the lead, Rudolf, his bright red nose blinking on and off. The sleigh made several passes over the street, each time getting lower, until it neatly landed and the reindeer brought it to my house.
I was stumped. I could come up with a way Royal made everything work up till now, but not a reindeer and sleigh flying through the night sky and landing in my street.
I had to do it. I couldn’t stop myself. In a trance, I went outside, walked to Rudolf and stroked his face.
“Hey, babe, don’t forget me!” Another reindeer called.
“You talk!” I stuttered.
“Of course,” said Rudolf. “What do you think we are, animals?”
What did I think? I thought I felt flesh and hair and warmth under my hand. I thought the impossible was possible.
“Let’s get the show moving, men!” Santa called out.
Elves swarmed from the back of the truck. I kid you not—elves, small men and women, dressed in green with those funny little green hats, and every hat sported a gold bell. They were all over the beached sleigh in seconds, removing sacks and boxes and bags, parcels of every size and shape, and packing them in Rudolf’s sleigh. Then they surrounded the first sleigh, dived underneath and a high voice sang out, “Heave ho!”
 The slight lifted off the ground. Honest, it looked like it had little green centipede legs which trundled it along the street and in the back of the semi.
A tall elf climbed from the driver’s side and meandered over to us. By tall I mean man-sized. His green hat perched on curly brown hair and he wore a cheerful smile.
“Okay, Santa?” he asked.
“Just get this pile of junk out of here,” Santa grumbled.
“Your wish is my command. We’ll run a diagnostic and have it fixed in no time.” The tall elf swept a bow at Santa, winked at us and returned to the semi.
“Diagnostic, huh.” His gaze followed the tall elf. “He’s really human,” he said from the side of his mouth. “We’re going to have to tell him he’s adopted one of these days.”
He eyeballed his sleigh and the waiting reindeer. “I must be off. Thank you for the cocoa,” his gaze slid to me, “and commercially manufactured cookies.”
He sidled up to me and spoke in a low voice. “By the way, my dear. Where did you purchase those cookies?”
I made a face. “I don’t remember. Anywhere good cookies are sold?”
He climbed aboard and picked up the reins. The reindeer circled until they pointed down the street toward Clarion. Santa jiggled the reins. “Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!”
“Holy cow. He really said it!” I said.
Rudolf turned his head.
“And Rudolf!” Santa added.
The reindeer started off along the street and when they reached the brow of the hill, they kept on going, trotting in air. Higher and higher they went, and I heard Santa call back. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”
We waved as the sleigh circled and went over our heads. It climbed and was soon lost in the twinkling stars.
“It’s ready, Tiff!” Royal called. “Shall I bring it in there?”
I opened my eyes and blinked, feeling groggy and cotton-mouthed. I must have fallen asleep for a couple minutes. Thank heavens, it was all a dream. Santa and elves, reindeer. Ha!
“I’ll come get it.”
I heaved up from the sofa and went in the kitchen rubbing my eyes. Royal held a mug of cocoa out to me, but whisked it away when I went to take it. He pointed up at the mistletoe ball hanging from the ceiling. They were all over the house.
“Earn your cocoa, woman,” he said sternly.
“Yes, Sir!” I snapped back, and collapsed into his waiting arms. His lips were hotter than any mug of hot chocolate every made, firmer and sweeter than any marshmallow.
When I could breathe again, I took my mug to the window and looked over the street while I sipped. Houses shone with lights. Christmas trees glimmered through windows. A billions stars twinkled in the dark velvet sky.
“Hey, Royal!” I called as my gaze dropped. “Any idea why all the snow on the front yard is trampled down?”

 

 

Dear Scribd readers of my books. I know you’re out there, because Scribd used to pay me for every book you read. I’m sorry if you didn’t get to read all of the Whisperings series before they vanished.

I expect you know that in June of this year, Scribd began a massive purge of their e-book catalogue. It started by removing tens of thousands of books from the Romance and Erotica genres. Why? Those naughty, naughty Romance readers were reading too much! For their small subscription fee they could satisfy their craving, devouring book after book after book, and their fee didn’t cover what Scribd had to pay the authors of those books.

Unfortunately, many books which were not Romance and/or Erotica got scooped up in the purge, including mine. Nobody knows what parameters Scribd is using to select which books it dumps, but I suspect it uses software which is seriously up the creek. Let’s look at what is left on Scribd.

Two – yes TWO – Along Came a Demon. It’s the first book in a seven books series, but if you use Scribd you won’t get to read the rest.

The three Whisperings shorts. You won’t get as much out of these little stories if you haven’t read the Whisperings series. Unfortunately, you can’t. Not on Scribd.

Baelfleur is there. Baelfleur is the sequel to Downside Rain. Again, unless you’ve read Downside Rain, many references in Baelfleur will be lost on you.

On an author/reader forum, I read that subscribers who ask Scribd what happened to certain books are told the author or the publisher removed them. I’m sure this is true because when the purge began, all my books seemed to still be there on Scribd, except clicking on a book’s icon took me to a page which said the book was unavailable because the author or publisher removed it. Icons for unavailable books have now disappeared, along with that lying, totally unethical statement.

So I am writing this post to let you know I’m sorry my books are gone, but I had no say in the matter. Maybe they’ll reappear on Scribd one of these days, but I’m not holding my breath.

Dark Demon Rising
Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven.

 

 

 

Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Amazon Canada ~ Amazon Australia ~ Amazon Germany ~ Kobo ~ iTunes ~ Barnes and Noble

What would you think if you woke in an unfamiliar place, with no memory of how you got there?

Suppose it’s a dream, and pinch yourself?

What if you can’t pinch yourself?

I have to rely on my ghostly buddies and a fake clairvoyant to help me solve a personally harrowing mystery and just when we think we’ve found the guilty party, the game changes. The real culprit’s convoluted plan is diabolical and shooting me was the first step. The next step could change the Gelpha world, and that would be just the start.

Poor Royal. He’s tolerated my interaction with dead people but never been happy with it. Now he has to take a real leap of faith. Now, if he wants to save my life and protect the future of three worlds, he has to believe.

Dark Demon Rising
Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven.

 

 

 

SAVE BY PRE-ORDERING FOR $2.99 FROM THESE RETAILERS (Click on the links, below):

Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Amazon Canada ~ Amazon Australia ~ Amazon Germany ~ Kobo ~ iTunes ~ Barnes and Noble

What would you think if you woke in an unfamiliar place, with no memory of how you got there?

Suppose it’s a dream, and pinch yourself?

What if you can’t pinch yourself?

I have to rely on my ghostly buddies and a fake clairvoyant to help me solve a personally harrowing mystery and just when we think we’ve found the guilty party, the game changes. The real culprit’s convoluted plan is diabolical and shooting me was the first step. The next step could change the Gelpha world, and that would be just the start.

Poor Royal. He’s tolerated my interaction with dead people but never been happy with it. Now he has to take a real leap of faith. Now, if he wants to save my life and protect the future of three worlds, he has to believe.

 

What would you think if you woke in an unfamiliar place with no memory of how you got there?

Suppose it’s a dream and pinch yourself?

What if you can’t pinch yourself?

I have to rely on my ghostly buddies and a fake clairvoyant to help me solve a personally harrowing mystery and just when we think we’ve found the guilty party, the game changes. The real culprit’s convoluted plan is diabolical and shooting me was the first step. The next step could change the Gelpha world, and that would be just the start.

Poor Royal. He’s tolerated my interaction with dead people but never been happy with it. Now he has to take a real leap of faith. Now, if he wants to save my life and protect the future of three worlds, he has to believe.

 

Prologue:

It turned out to be one of those days.

One phone call would bring Royal here in a jiffy. No doubt he’d change my tire without getting a mark on his clothes. But I’m not a woman who summons her man for every little thing. I call it preserving my independence. He calls it stubbornness.

I am woman. Hear me roar. Though it sounds more like a whimper.

I grunted as I gave the tire iron a final push to tighten the lug nut. I would get a flat out in the hills and the Jeep had to end up in the mud when I took her off the road. Slush and mud coated my jeans from the knees down. Muck smeared my coat from maneuvering the flat off and putting the spare tire on. I didn’t have gloves with me and my hands were caked and freezing. Wrestling with the wheel, I banged my forehead on the car body and now an egg-shaped bump throbbed. The dazzling winter sun hitting my eyes didn’t help.

I climbed in the Jeep and started her. She whined before the engine kicked over. “Don’t you give me any grief,” I told her. “Not today. Not here.”

I put her in gear and off we went.

Except we didn’t. The wheels spun in the mud.

“No, no, no!” I thumped the steering wheel with my fist as mud and water fountained behind the Jeep.

Wrenching the gear into reverse, I tried to back up. The wheels got traction and moved half a foot before sticking again. I put her in drive and hit the accelerator.

The Jeep whipped on the road, hit the ice and snow and impersonated a whirling dervish.

When I got her under control, we sat in the middle of the road, happily pointing in the right direction.

“Right!” I drew in a long breath. “Off we go.”

Before we reached the next bend in the road, the engine made a god-awful grinding noise, followed by clunks, and died. The Jeep ungracefully slithered a few yards before stopping altogether.

I got out and slammed the door. Now what? I can change a tire but engines are a mystery. I’d have to call a tow service to take us to a garage.

Channeled by snowy banks either side of the road, the wind screamed through the canyon. The crisp air promised another snowfall. I fumbled my cell phone from my coat pocket with numb fingers and thumbed on the screen.

No service.

“Of course.” I looked skyward, waving my hands in the air.

I turned on the Jeep and vented my anger by kicking the tire. Then I limped down the road until my toe stopped throbbing.

~~

Snow fell thickly to blanket the buildings and sidewalks, wind whisked the white flakes in my eyes as I parked on Twenty-Second and slogged to Royal’s apartment and our office. Thankfully the Jeep was a quick fix. The mechanic tightened a doodad and replaced a gizmo there on the roadside and I was good to go. I didn’t need a tow but that I paid plenty for parts, labor and the guy coming out did not improve my mood.

After a quick change of clothes, I arrived half an hour late for an appointment with a new client. When I called Royal he said the client didn’t mind waiting but keeping them hanging didn’t set a good precedent.

I paused at the bottom of the covered stairwell and wiped my wet face on my wet sleeve. The bump on my forehead had swollen to a hard, pounding knot. I touched my head. “It can’t be that big.” Probing the lump with my fingers made my eyes water.

Which may be why, when I heard a crack and chips of brick exploded from the wall beside me, I only looked up through watery eyes, dazed. Another crack and a blow to my head, as if a nail punched in my skull, an instant before my head shattered.

COMING SOON:

 

 

Road Trip, a Whisperings short story, takes Tiff, Royal, Jack and Mel to southern Utah in a quest to find the body of a  brutally murdered woman. Tiff would rather her roommates stayed at home in Clarion, but there is no way to shake off shades who cling to your aura and come along for the ride. And Jack is determined to see his ex-lover, Dale, and discover why the man has not been in touch for over a month.

I . . . um . . . borrowed (cough) a Whisperings fan for this story. I know she’ll recognize herself.

 

Only $0.99 on Amazon.com and comparative price on Amazon.UK ~ Amazon Germany ~ Amazon France ~ Amazon Canada ~ Amazon Australia. If not listed here, look for it on your local Amazon site!

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