Sahara Foley's Blog

 

A private eye with a badge, a bottle, and a little bit of magic…

Justice, Or SomethingLike It

The Jake Bishop Files Book 2

by Doc Blalock

Genre: Noir Paranormal Sleuth Suspense

In Solomon City, everybody keeps secrets. Secrets are JakeBishop’s job.

When a harmless old drunk is caught standing over a corpse,murder weapon in hand, the case looks open and shut—but he won’t say why hepulled the trigger. Just that it had to be done.

Bishop knows better. Digging deeper, he uncovers a blackmailscheme, a shadow war in the Irish underworld, and a threat aimed at the oneperson his old friend has left to lose—forcing Bishop to bend the law, and hisown conscience, to see something like justice done.

 

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“Secrets.Everyone has them. Some folks keep them for good and noble reasons, others, notso much. All kinds of secrets. Personal, professional, valuable, harmful orembarrassing. People will go to extremes to keep them safe. Some folks havebeen willing to die for them. Some will kill to protect them. I’m Jake Bishop,private investigator. Secrets are my job.”

 

A Damned Dirty Thing

The Jake BishopFiles Book 1

The explosion should have killed him . . .

Jake Bishop is back on the streets of Solomon City, tenmonths after a mob bombing destroyed his office and murdered his partner andsecretary. But Bishop isn’t just any private detective—he’s a “ditch wizard”able to step through shadow and bend reality to his will.

When the beautiful and mysterious Portia Vance answers hisad for a new secretary, Bishop thinks his luck might finally be changing.Together, they begin hunting Vito Morelli, the mob boss who ordered the hitthat nearly ended Bishop’s life.

Their investigation leads them through the city’s darkestcorners—from strip clubs to shadow banking operations, from corrupt cops tomagical wards. But in a world where bullets and spells are equally deadly, andwhere everyone has secrets worth killing for, Bishop discovers that the linebetween hunter and hunted is thinner than he thought.

Some cases require a gun. Others need magic. This onedemands both.

In the shadows of Solomon City, justice comes with aprice—and revenge wears a beautiful face.

A gritty noir fantasy that proves sometimes the mostdangerous magic is the human heart.

 

 

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Christopher “Doc” Blalock is a US Navy veteran Corpsman and retiredcounselor. He is a prolific fine artist, illustrator, musician, sculptor andwriter, cursed with the itch to create. He draws inspiration from sourcesranging from JRR Tolkien to Tom Clancy. He additionally draws from his love ofclassic black-and-white noir films, infusing their moody aesthetic andstorytelling into his writing. A helpless coffee addict, he lives in theAtlanta suburbs with his childhood sweetheart and a dog of dubious moralcharacter.

 

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While searching for her missing boss, aWyoming Deputy Sheriff accidentally discovers a secret facilityand conspiracy of silence surrounding a series of mysterious deaths inDeadhorse, Alaska. 

The Weight of ColdThings

by Lisa Towles

Genre: Psychological Thriller, Arctic Noir

Wyoming Deputy Sheriff Gree Gooding has one mission: findher missing boss. The trail leads four thousand miles north—to Deadhorse,Alaska, an oil-drilling outpost clinging to the edge of the Arctic Circle. Aplace where daylight is rationed, where the cold can kill in minutes, and whereher husband AJ, a petroleum geologist, vanished six months ago.

The clues don’t just point to her boss’s disappearance. They reach back intoGree’s own past— to the Wyoming ranch she left behind, to the family secretsburied in its soil, and to the grief frozen like permafrost inside her.

When the investigation cinches around a decades-long cover-up — a black opsprogram called Arc Dominion — Gree realizes someone’s been waiting for her.Someone knew she’d follow the thread. This was never about a missing sheriff.It’s about the conspiracy AJ died trying to expose — and whether she can finishwhat he started.

The cold doesn’t forgive.
It doesn’t forget.
And it’s about to give up its dead.

For fans of Yellowstone and The X-Files — where neo-Western grit meets adecades-long government conspiracy buried beneath the Arctic ice.

 

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Prologue

Winter, 1974 – Prudhoe Bay, Northwest Alaska

 

They gutted an iceberg with two sticks of dynamite, fortyyears ago when the shabby construction camps rose on the iconic Dalton Highway.Oil was struck in Prudhoe Bay in 1968, setting off an irreversible string ofevents: an ecological nightmare, an eight-billion-dollar pipeline transportingcrude oil 800 miles south from the North Slope to Valdez, and passage forseventy thousand oil workers to the most menacing outpost on earth: Deadhorse.

A stolen scrap of bread. Chronic insomnia. Drug abuse. Oneworker snapped, nicking dynamite from the munitions depot, flailing his arms,all the while forgetting how fast the detonating cord burns to the quick. Theshock wave bulleted shards of ice in every direction, thrusting the assailanttwelve feet in the air in a whirl of fire and black smoke. He became the firstprize, the Number One. His victim, the second man, escaped.

It took two days for the particles to clear the air, finallyrevealing an exquisite, dome-like crevasse in the ice the depth of fiveresidential garages — one after the other in a long, hollow train. Except thisgarage had no yard outside because nothing grew in this place but resentment.No gas grill on a redwood deck, no family huddled in the adjacent house. Onlythe unrelenting cold and ice: on the floor, walls, ceiling. He loved it thatway, the Caretaker, the exclusivity of his access and the singularity of hisdark secret.

That spring, the suited men came in droves sporting fineclothing and city shoes to explain the gravity of their problem, which laterevolved into their pitch. Well, their problem had just solved itself, hadn’tit? No one knew about this place and nobody but him would ever find it. Somesecrets were just not for sale.

 

 

Chapter 1

Present Day December 18 – Inglewood Ranch, Cody, WY

 

I could feel it in my bones, this unspeakable energy ofchange. Not a buzz, it was more like a low hum I could almost hear when Iclosed my eyes and got real still. I’d woken with it today, of all days, thisvisceral knowing that despite the regularity of my errand, it would have adisruptive impact on my life, such as it was. My work in Jackson, a five hourdrive from our family ranch in Cody, was an odd arrangement to begin with, andthe two-bedroom condo I rented near the Teton County Sheriff’s Office wasuninhabitable without AJ. Even still, there was something else in the airtoday. Cholo, our ranch hand and my lifelong friend, sensed something too,though it wasn’t his way to articulate his thoughts. Instead, he put cinnamonin the coffee, his quiet way of offering comfort. I could smell it the wholeway in from the barn.

I’d gone out before first light, watching the fluff of graydawn cover my beloved Inglewood, hoping to shake the image of a recurring dreamand to brush AJ’s quarter horse, Rain. At first, it was to console him, knowinghorses had unique and profound ways of grieving. Lately, though, the cold vigilseemed more about me. Rogue, the word had been coming to me since AJ’s death —a blurry dream-hand opening to a tiny piece of paper on which a single word waswritten. Was it him reaching out from his watery grave? What did it mean?

Cholo passed me a cup when I reached the kitchen, shuttingout the ten-degree wind chill behind me. I unzipped my coat and sipped quietlyjust inside the door, letting the hot coffee slide down my throat, waiting forwhatever his face was preparing.

“Been three weeks now.”

I nodded, three weeks since Sheriff Peter Barrettdisappeared — my boss, mentor, now another silent ache in my heart.

“I heard about the fire,” he added. “How many is that now?”

“Does it matter?” I asked him. “Seven.”

“You think they’re connected. Don’t you?”

I shrugged, pretending. But any sane person would. “I’m notan arson investigator. Bryce at the State Fire Marshal’s Office is looking intoit.”

“Really?”

 I laughed. “Come on.Bryce has a good team working for him. I know two of those guys.”

“They haven’t been out here since Thanksgiving.” Cholostared back, thick brows angled over large, black eyes.

“I know, okay? What do you want me to do? I’m not thesheriff.” The words caught in my throat.

“You never know about people,” he said with that quietwisdom I’d never seen in anyone else, like he understood the longings in myheart for answers that hadn’t yet come. Peter Barrett, Jackson’s most belovedsheriff, vanished three weeks ago today.

 Cholo was right aboutBryce, too. Interagency politics aside, I’d need to call and follow up on thearson investigation they said they were running. Add it to the growing list.

He took a long sip, still watching me.

“Well, spit it out already,” I said.

“I can’t take you to the airport.”

“It’s alright, I’ll get an Uber.”

 Cholo’s jaw was settight but his eyes were uncertain, like he was trying to think of an excuse butcouldn’t do it.

“What’s the big deal?”

“Woody’s gonna take you.”

“Woody!” My voice cracked like a whip. I set the cup on thecounter with a clunk and rezipped my coat. Ah…the cinnamon. Son of a bitch.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Does he now?” I grabbed the warm mug for reinforcement and suckeddown the last three gulps. “Does he want to talk about how he stole two of ourhorses, stole money from me? He robbed us, Cholo, all of us. And by doing so,he broke something precious.” I didn’t like the sound of that word, precious.Made it seem like Woody was important to me, and despite the intrusive logic ofthat truth, there was no place for Woody here anymore.

“He says he’s sorry.”

“Not to me he didn’t. Besides, sorry’s just a word.” Alreadymad at seven in the morning, great. I zipped my coat and turned my back to him,facing the door. “A real apology is a change in behavior.” My eyes were wide asI waited for him to take my challenge. To come to Woody’s rescue, explain howthe drugs made him do it or the excuse-of-the-day.

Still fuming, I left via Uber at 7:30 a.m. without anotherword to either Cholo or my dad. Woody could kiss my ass as far as I wasconcerned. I’d have to pay for my cold heart, of course. The world has a quietway of keeping score.

 

***

 

By 3:00 p.m., I was standing on the corner of Wave andMcClellan Streets in Monterey, California. Eleven hundred miles away inhistoric Cannery Row, a sliver of sea was visible between the brownstones onLighthouse Avenue. The sun felt warm on my face and bare arms. Mid December inCalifornia, I’ll be damned. A premonition, I couldn’t put my finger on it, mademe take notice, warning me to be careful. Something bad was coming.

Ash was right, I was loath to admit. There were holidaydecorations and tacky music everywhere, but it just didn’t feel like Christmasin a hilltop penthouse overlooking the ocean, waves beneath me reflecting acloudy sky. The beauty of California’s coast was unmistakable, but in my heart,Christmas was indelibly marked by snow.

“Is that you?” Cholo asked me later, answering his mobile onthe third ring.

“I guess. Some version of me, anyway.”

“What are you doing out there, Gree? You hate California.”

He knew, of course; we’d discussed it back and forth forweeks. Why go now, why go at all? After being on and off the market for tenyears, my mother’s condo had finally found a buyer. I came here to sign papers,to once again acknowledge the sting of her death and bring my feet one stepcloser to the present. But that wasn’t what he was asking. Like all Cholo’squestions, they were part real world and part spirit world. I knew what hemeant. I just wasn’t sure I was willing to answer yet.

“How’s Dad?” I deflected.

“He’s concerned about how it will look to the community, youleaving town after Peter’s disappearance.”

“I don’t recall asking his opinion.” He was right, though.It was too sudden, but it would be a short trip. Besides, everything was brokenright now anyway.

“No, but he’s always willing to share it, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I laughed.

“He’s splitting wood right now,” Cholo said.

“Great idea for a man who just had a heart attack.”

“Come on, it was a mild one. He didn’t even know he washaving it. Besides, it’s gonna be zero tonight. We’ll be using that wood.”

I guess I shouldn’t complain. The fact that they werestaying in the same house, after such a long standoff, was nothing short ofmiraculous and I had nothing to do with it. Maybe the rock of resentment gottoo heavy to haul around anymore. I was dying to know who thawed first, but I’dnever ask. You didn’t do things that way out here. Not in Wyoming, not in thisfamily.

 

“Could you make sure he’s got a jacket on? For God’s sakekeep an eye on him. If left to his own devices he’d chop wood in a—”

“Gretchen.”

It was my dad’s voice now, Ash Gooding, former Sheriff ofPark County, who to this day insists on calling me by my birth name instead ofthe nickname my mother gave me.

“How’s sunny California?”

It was meant as an insult. Everyone in town got lots ofmileage from the fact that I wasn’t a native of Wyoming, even though I’d livedthere since I was five.

“It’s midnight, Wyoming time. What are you doing up thislate? Do you miss me that much?” I joked to an awkward silence. I rambled onfor a while, telling him about the dark orange sunset I’d seen from the balconyafter signing a four-inch stack of papers. Hadn’t they ever heard of digitalcopies? Apparently, this mortgage company insisted on paper-everything. Ashlistened. I heard the clinking of ice in his glass. Would this be his third orfourth by now? I decided not to mention the wood chopping.

“You didn’t tell her?” he mumbled to Cholo. “Mmm.”

“Tell me what?”

A murmur of conversation in the background. Maybe his handwas covering the phone. And maybe this was what Cholo was hiding from me thismorning.

“Dad, what is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t. Gotta show you. Guess we’ll have to wait till youget back.”

 

 

Sonofabitch. I knew my dad, and that meant no manipulationor psychology would wriggle out of him whatever he was keeping from me. Aftersigning over ownership of what had been my mother’s dream home, I left the keywith the bankers and took with me a cedar box of my mother’s mementos, which Iwould undoubtedly squirrel away somewhere and forget about for the next decade.All the better, right? Avoidance, since AJ’s death six months ago, had become asort of new religion. Didn’t avoidance almost always turn to cancer somewheredown the road?

When I got back, I didn’t bother going home first beforelooking for Ash. He’d planted an evil seed of dread and apprehension, and heknew it too. Maybe punishing me for something; he’s a Gemini after all. I flewinto Cody from San Francisco instead of Jackson, where I’d worked for the pasttwelve years as deputy sheriff under Peter Barrett, one of the kindest men I’dever met. Why did I feel like Ash’s secret had something to do with him? Thebuzzing in my bones this morning…maybe that was the warning. Jesus, no. Notthat. The vague comfort of the word missing was too hard to give up.

Three in the afternoon to Ash Gooding meant five o’clocksomewhere. There’s this ratty bar on the edge of town called Stagecoach, Ash’sfavorite. Drafty as hell with dusty floors, swivel stools, and random dartsscattered on the floor looking for their board, threatening tetanus. Weird partabout it was that the owner isn’t a wrinkled prune of a man but someonebelonging on the cast of Below Deck, a body intended for board shorts, tannedlegs and a white polo shirt hauling up ropes with three-ply triceps. He wastrying to be unassuming in a plain brown t-shirt stretched out at the neck,pretending he didn’t care about his looks. His artificially whitened smilebetrayed the deception – laughing eyes with something sinister behind them, ajoke no one knew about but him.

“How’s it going?” the guy asked.

I exhaled. “G&T, please. Been a long day.”

“Coming up.”

When Runway Model set down the glass, I suddenly didn’t feellike talking. The weight of air travel, of the milestone I’d crossed andtoday’s sad anniversary, burned behind my eyes. They watered as I took thefirst swallow. I turned on the stool to look around. Ha, I knew it.

“Ash,” I said, walking across the creaking floorboards.“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Drinking here alone, that’s what.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You can come to my house in Jackson and drink with me.Wouldn’t that be nicer?”

He laughed. “Not necessarily. Besides, too long a drive.”

“Look, you can stay here and punish yourself for Mom’s deathall you like. I know what day it is.”

The slap of the men’s room door distracted us from thetension. It was a sad old story with no ending. I smelled Cholo’s Irish Springsoap behind me. I turned, my left arm involuntarily reaching for him, tuggingthe frayed edge of his Carhartt jacket.

“Well.” I stood back a ways. “You two got real chummy in theone day I left town.” They were looking sideways at each other in some silentcommunication. Ranchers at a bar in the middle of the afternoon; it didn’t makesense. “What’s the deal?”

Cholo nodded. “You’d better sit down.”

 

Lisa Towles believes stories hold the world together – andthe best ones expose what we hide even from ourselves. She builds that beliefinto her main characters – Mari Ellwyn, Angus Mariner, Kurt Farin – each onedrowning in dark secrets, running from unthinkable truths. The award-winningauthor of 14 mystery thrillers, her books pull readers into worlds of globalespionage, fringe technology, and shadow governments. Her titles include TerrorBay (NYC Big Book Award), Codex (BookFest First Place), The Ridders (AmericanFiction Award), and her E&A Series thrillers Hot House and Salt Island bothreached Amazon Kindle #1 Bestseller. Her next thriller, The Weight of ColdThings – described as Yellowstone meets The X-Files – publishes in August 2026.When she’s not writing, she interviews authors on her Story Impact Podcast andcoaches writers on how to be visible and memorable to readers. Follow her toget notified of new releases.

 

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Controlled by aliens, Nathaniel Wayne can’t resist hisattraction to Marlene Broadie.

Requite of the Fates

by Venus Campbell

Genre: Interracial Time Travel Romance, SciFi Adventure

Perfect for fans of The Song of Achilles and A Touch ofDarkness, this interracial time-travel romance is a Greek mythology retellingof the Theseus and the Minotaur that follows war photojournalist, MarlyBroadie, surviving on grit and grief as she encounters Emissary Nate Wayne,under the control of aliens.

Set in near future New York city, and Los Angelos and 1500’sBCE Crete, Nate’s body, as Emissary for Earth, can be piloted by the Entity,aliens threatening humanity. Any resistance initiates humanity’s annihilation.Marly’s photography of the Emissary will ensure her mother’s life-savingtreatment. Instead, Marly provokes the Entity’s interest and Nate’s. Alientime-travel tech flings them back to ancient Minoan Crete. Stuck in the past,their desire for each other grows. Every reclaimed memory brings them closer toreturning to the present and the Entity who can possess Nate’s body. However,the future without them means human extinction. They will escape the past astheir love is required to ensure humanity’s future.

From award winning author, Venus Campbell, Requite of theFates is a multicultural mytho-sci time-travel romance for readers ready toadventure into the mythical past.

 

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Nate had never known true agony. He was lucky. She wantedto hold it against him, his “everything will turn out all right” point of view,but she needed a bit of that. She looked up from her hands in her lap and methis gaze. Yes, a bit of fantasy in her life would do her good.

Smiling, she quipped, “You promised food.”

“Did I? Well, I think Stacy should be out in a minutewith dinner. I usually get a pot pie. Chicken is one of her specialties.”

Marly nodded. Her stomach growled as she adjusted herbottom in the seat. “I could eat anything at this point.”

“You were rude, Mr. Wayne,” a woman’s voice interruptedfrom behind her. “And I just wanted you to know that it reflects badly on youto be sleeping with a woman like her.”

Marly turned to stare up at the tall blond who hadaccosted them in the front hall earlier. It took Marly a minute to absorb whatshe’d heard, then her face heated.

She didn’t think. She just stood, fury boiling to thesurface. She took one step in the woman’s direction and would have let out anasty response if Nate’s hand on her shoulder hadn’t restrained her. Staring athim, she opened her mouth to speak, but he wasn’t looking at her. He angled infront of her and squeezed her arm reassuringly in one controlled movement, thenadvanced on the blond with angry intent.

Nate’s voice rang out powerfully in the dining room’ssudden silence. “You better get smart. A mouth like that will get youpermanently barred from a career in Hollywood. You’ll certainly never work on afilm with me. And just so you know, I wouldn’t sleep with you to save the great race. Let’s go, Marly.”

He curved around the woman, making sure no part of himtouched her, and headed out of the dining room with Marly right behind him. Atthe double-door hall entrance, a stalwart Stacy sent Nate a questioning look.He stopped, his nostrils flaring, and bit out his words.

“I believe that woman is having difficulty finding herway out.”

Stacy nodded. “I’ll make sure she gets there.” She handedhim a key. “I’ll have your dinner brought up.”

Nodding a quick thanks, his expression impenetrable, Nateturned and pulled Marly up dark-carpeted stairs. They made their way silentlydown a wide hall, the maroon-colored wallpaper casting a forbidding slant totheir mutual silence. She couldn’t figure out what was going on. He seemedangry with her, yet he’d defended her. Maybe he regretted his outburst, but shedidn’t. Now she understood why every sane person wanted to be with or be NathanielWayne.

They stopped at a door and Nate slipped the key into thelock, turned it with a click, and pushed, then retreated to let Marly enterfirst. She marched into the room, and after he’d followed and turned to addressher, she slammed the door shut and grabbed his sweat coat, her mouth crashingagainst his as she pulled him down desperately.

He held back a second before grabbing her ass. Yes. Perfecthands.

Then his chest, arms, and nether regions pressed againsther, his hard body inching her backward until she was against the wall and headjusted his grasp on her buttocks. He held her against his erection.

His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth. She tastedmint on his breath. Tilting his head, he raised one hand to frame her face, thecallouses on his fingers brushing sensuously on her cheeks. He pulled in herbreath, lapping at her tongue, then slanted away to suckle her lips as his blueirises bored into her eyes. A question twinkled there and Marly nodded. Thistime, yes.

She couldn’t think as she watched him. Her eyes closed inshuddering bliss as his lips touched her neck and he ran his hands down herbody again to pull her against him. Want was all she could think. She achedwith want.

Then he was pulling away and the contrasting cool to hiswarmth returned thoughts to her head. Should they be doing this? She stared athim as he stepped back, breathing hard.

His hands, shaking, reached out to straighten her rumpledshirt, then held her face a moment. “I’ve been in enough movies to know thatmaking love to you right now would ruin any chance I have at persuading youinto a relationship with me.” He took another deep breath as if to steadyhimself. “May I draw you a bath?” His question was so innocent, so concerned.Marly’s heart thumped.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Taking her hand, hewalked her to the bathroom and flicked on the light switch. Lavender. Marly’seyes lit in the violet-and–tiled room as the scent of lavender floatedinto her nostrils. Bath and hand towels in a matching -and-violet schemelay folded on the marble countertop. A ceramic clawfoot bathtubdominated the room; its classic silver knobs caught Marly’s glance. A pair ofcomplementing knobs shone from the sink. Stacy must have paid for the bestinterior decorator money could buy.

Nate left her to bend by the tub and turn on the water.After a minute of fiddling, he seemed to have the temperature where he wantedit. Marly was drawn to the water’s relaxing tinkle. Fatigue pushed forth again,as her tense muscles unwound from her earlier confrontation with Nate’sless-than-adoring public and, well, her life. She had to fight to keep hereyelids open as the steam from the tub wrapped itself around her.

Nate appeared before her and lowered her slicker off hershoulders. Then he pulled her shirt gently up and off her body and reachedaround to unhook her bra. No flicker of desire lit his gaze. Only concern. Hershirt and coat flung across the crook of his elbow, he smiled and rubbed herarms then bent to help her pull off her jeans.

Marly blinked to combat her fatigue. With her clothes inhand, he walked to the door and looked back. She could barely discern hiswords.

“I’ll be right outside, okay?”

Nodding, she let her gaze slide to the hot bath beforeher. The door clicked shut. Pulling off her bra and underwear, Marly climbedinto the warm water and sank until she was covered up to her neck. The lappingof the water at her chin drew her lids lower until she couldn’t resist sleepanymore. Nathaniel Wayne, desire and concern in his eyes, was the last image inher head. Her last thought: she was falling in love with him.

 

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Sometimes grief sneaks up on you and hunts you down.

Sometimes it walks right up and punches you.

Holes in theSomewhere 

by Richard R. Brown

Genre: Speculative Fiction, Horror Stories

Holes In The Somewhere is a collection of short works,anchored by a personal memoir of the author’s own experience with grief andloss after the passing of his father from cancer, by speculative fiction authorRichard R. Brown.

A single mother encounters insanity in the worst possibleperson; an estranged parent loses his reunited family to a mysterious bathroomwall; a group of strangers come together to fight a fungal pandemic; collegestudents prepare for the extinction of the Sun… these are a few of thechallenges faced by the desperate characters in Holes In The Somewhere. Thechoices they make, the dilemmas they wrestle with, all have very supernaturalconsequences, but are felt with very human emotions.

These stories will tug at strings your heart thought weretoo well-hidden for anyone to know about, and cause the mind to probe the grayareas between wrong and right. Between normal and paranormal. Behind what’sreal and only to the side of what’s unreal. A perfect mix of quick, unsettlingreads, and longer, heart-wrenching escapes.

 

What readersare saying:

“The debut is speculative fiction in form: weird,unsettling, occasionally cosmic. But it reads less like a genre exercise thanlike grief that has been given permission to take unusual shapes.” –Justine Castellon, Author/Reviewer

“I guarantee there is a ‘gotcha’ story in there forjust about anybody, and if you don’t find at least one that bothers you just asyou’re about to fall asleep, you’re made of sterner stuff than I am.” –Kenneth Crist, editor-in-chief, Black Petals Magazine

“These stories are weird and creepy and heart-wrenchingin all the best ways. If you enjoy fiction that makes you question everythingand wrecks you emotionally, this is for you!” – Valerie S., 5 star AmazonReview

 

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Excerpt from ‘Death’s Demons’, a story in ‘Holes In TheSomewhere’

 

Thedarkened sky descended into the depths of a dismal dusk, and Jason and Abbyreturned to the church. The priest met them at the looming front door andoffered his aging hand in greeting.

“I look forward to hearing your storyagain, Jason. I am Father Gregory. I see you have brought a friend. Excellent.Miss?” The tall, slender man turned to Abby.

At the utterance of his name, Abbyturned white, despite her tan. When he offered his hand to shake, shereciprocated like a zombie in that old music video. She couldn’t manage tovocalize an answer to him, though. She winced and visibly recoiled when the manbrought her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers.

“This is my best friend, Abby. She’spleased to meet you,” Jason said, curious at Abby’s unexpected frigidity.

The priest smiled at Abby, thenproduced an oversized key ring from his coat pocket. He found a very large ironkey and used it to unlock the gargantuan portal into the church.

“Please, follow me to my office,” hesaid, and led them toward the altar. He climbed the three small steps to thealtar and turned left, heading for a door much like the door to theconfessional. As Jason and Abby approached the altar, Abby clutched Jason’s armand clung to him. Jason turned his head to ask if she was all right, but wascut off by Father Gregory.  “Please, makeyourselves comfortable,” he said.

Abby chose a chair in the corner,leaving the chairs in the middle of the room open for Jason and Father Gregory.As Jason sat down, he heard Abby scoot her chair next to his and felt her handslide under his and grasp it tightly.

The priest closed the office door andsat in the unoccupied chair. “Would either of you care for a glass of water?”he asked.‘Either’ came out as ‘eye-thur’, and Jason imagined that snakes wouldpronounce it in the same way if they spoke English.

They both shook their heads inrefusal, and Father Gregory sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Allright, then,” he said, and looked at Jason with an expectant smile curving histhin lips.

Jason squirmed under the priest’s gazeand started the discussion. “Well, I told you about my seeing Death…” he began.

“Yes. Please recount your experiencesfor me,” Father Gregory prodded.

 

 

Richard R. Brown is a legally-blind author of speculativefiction, horror, and thrillers. He writes from experience, having lived throughparanormal events, alien attacks, and cosmic horrors — at least, in his mindand in the books he listens to. He and his Guide Dog live in the Pacific Northwest.Richard is between Guide Dogs at the moment as Edison retired last summer.Edison was at Richard’s side through every story in his book. Richard has nosuch guidance for his current novel, but will likely have one for editing help.

 

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She never belongedto the pack—until fate led her to him.

Secrets of theCryptids

Cowboys and Cryptids Book 1

by Sharon Buchbinder

Genre: Paranormal Romance, Romantasy

She never belonged tothe pack—until fate led her to him.

Cybersecurity expert Hayil Rufus Rose has spent her life hiding one impossibletruth: she’s a werewolf who has never shifted, a failure by her pack’s rulesand a woman on the brink of exile. A solo hike in Glacier National Park ismeant to clear her head—but instead, a chance meeting with Will Penn, a guardedfederal agent with powerful instincts and secrets of his own, changeseverything.

As Hayil becomes entangled in a missing persons case involving Will’s brother,she uncovers corruption, cartel money laundering, and violence threatening theBlackfeet Nation. She forms an unexpected bond with a Bigfoot family, who arenot monsters, but an ancient people who recognize her latent power. Throughtrauma, loyalty, and near‑fatal danger, Hayil finally undergoes her fulltransformation, claiming her identity at last.

Secrets of the Cryptids launches a thrilling paranormal romanceseries about found family, fierce hearts, and the courage it takes to becomewho you were always meant to be.

 

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Hayil had the advantage ofexcellent night vision—super vision compared to other humans. Plus, shepossessed an almost uncanny ability to connect with most wild and domesticanimals. Hayil mentally grimaced. She could also thank her grandmotherfor her long overdue ability to shift. What would it take to trigger her bodyinto the lupine version of herself? Was it like a growth spurt that hadn’t hither body yet? Or was Hayil destined to remain the one person in her pack whowasn’t able to wolf out?

 

Once again, her mother’sconstant refrain came back to her: “You’re a late bloomer, like yourgrandmother. She was older than you when she shifted. All in good time.You’ll see.”

 

Sure, Mom.

 

Hayil knew her motherwanted the best for her, but found her cheerfulness a bit forced. Beneath hermother’s optimism, Hayil sensed an undercurrent of concern about herthirty-year-old daughter’s ability to integrate into the red wolf clan. Thismissing piece of Hayil’s identity called to her like a siren’s song, demandingshe complete herself. Would she ever be a true part of the pack? Orwould she forever be the unmated one? What then? She was an anomaly, somethingthe pack didn’t tolerate well. Tradition dictated that if a pack member didn’tshift by the end of their third decade, they were banished.

A chilling thought struckHayil mid-stride.

 

If I don’tshift this year, will they force me out of the pack?

 

They were the only familyshe’d ever known. Her mother would fight for her to stay and would probablywin. But at what cost?

 

Hayil would be an outcast.She’d never be invited to pack meetings, deliberations or celebrations. Thosewere reserved for shifters. If she married a non-shifter, the pack would driveher out, of that she was sure. What if her offspring were able to shift? Wouldthat make things better? Would the pack let her stay then? It wasn’t as if shecould go to a genetic counselor and ask for a DNA test for werewolves.

 

The thought of losing herextended family through no fault of her own made her gulp back tears. Angry atherself for allowing her thoughts to go down that dark rabbit hole, Hayilreminded herself she was a scientist. Review the facts, not the fears.

 

Fact one: Grandma had beenin labor with Hayil’s mother when she’d shifted for the first time.

 

Fact two: The majority ofthe pack members had shifted when they’d hit puberty.

 

Fact three: Hormones! Ithad to be related to hormones! The rush of hormones at puberty and the flood ofpregnancy hormones had to be related somehow.

 

Hayil was long past pubertyand the associated mood swings and acne, thank you very much. She was not readyto be pregnant. For starters, she would need a romantic partner in her life.She’d had zero luck on that score so far.

 

“I still have time. It’snot too late. I won’t give up hope.”

 

Shaking her head to clearher mind, Hayil double-checked her wild animal deterrents. All in place.Then she tugged her knit cap down over her ears and pulled her hands-freeheadlamp into place. She zipped her fleece jacket against the breeze andadjusted her twenty-five-pound backpack. With an altitude gain of almostnineteen hundred feet, she planned to take her time, pacing herself for thestrenuous four-hour hike. She grasped her lightweight hiking poles and took alast look up at the stars. Time to see that spectacular view at the top.

 

As promised by the trailblog, the dirt path was well maintained. The morning air was cold and crisp,layered with the woodsy scent of damp earth and pine needles. An owl hooted,and Hayil spotted movement in the brush between the thick pines beside the trail.Her headlamp reflected in the eyes of small critters, all of whom skittereddeeper into the woods.

 

For three hours, all sheheard was the crunch of her hiking boots on dirt and gravel, the rasp of herown breaths, the glug of water when she drank and the jingle of her bear bells.She looked at yet another incline on the trail and decided she needed a hikingsong for inspiration.

 

“Country roads, take mehome,” she sang, belting out “Mountain Mama”—and something crashed through thebushes ahead on the trail. Something large.

 

She froze.

 

An enormous black bearstood on its hind legs at the top of the hill.

 

Shit,shit, shit. If only I could shift, shift, shift!

 

The animal had its back toher, but if it got her scent, it could turn and charge at her in a flash.

 

Heart pounding like ajackhammer, she placed her hand on the bear spray.

 

A breeze sprang up, makingher eyes water with its intensity. The good news was that it meant she wasdownwind of the bear. The bad news was that the air smelled like a wet dog hadrolled in a dead animal. The worst news was that the bear turned and lookedright at her.

 

Omigod.It’s not a bear. What the heck is it?

Sharon Buchbinder is an award-winning author who has beenwriting stories since she could hold a pen. The paranormal romance genre is herwriting home, a place where the impossible is simply the beginning, where womenfind their power in the most extraordinary circumstances, and where love isalways worth the danger of seeking it.

A Maryland-based author with a background in healthcare andhigher education that has informed her vivid, grounded storytelling, Sharon isdrawn to heroines who have been underestimated — women who carry somethingextraordinary inside them and spend the whole book learning to trust it. Sharonbelieves passionately that readers deserve stories where the heroine doesn’tjust survive — she transforms. When she’s not writing, Sharon canusually be found unplugging in her garden, obsessing over cryptid mythology,and convincing her pets they are not, in fact, supernatural.

 

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An ancient bloodline.

A forgotten war.

A woman destined to awaken both. 

The Half Kasst

by Delilah Belvedere

Genre: Paranormal Vampire Romance, Urban Fantasy 

After a charged encounter ignites something ancient in herblood, Sarai Davis becomes entangled in a world of hidden magic where pleasureand danger are inseparable.

A shocking prophecy shatters her reality: Sarai is a HalfKasst, descended from an erased bloodline and born to stand against a secretnetwork of aristocratic vampires.

Now hunted, Sarai must reclaim a legacy meant to be wipedfrom history, and embrace her power before the forces hunting her finish whatthey began millennia ago. But power always demands payment.

 

**NEW RELEASE!**

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Kate adds, “She is right, Sarai. You must feed. If HalfKassts are anything like vampires, you don’t want to experience what starvationis like. My father…”

She pauses, looks around the room, then continues.

“My father punishes vampires who don’t follow his rules bylocking them up, and he does not provide them any blood. It’s terrible. Theywither away for years; their screams get weaker in just weeks, and after a fewmonths, you don’t even hear them anymore.”

Delilah Belvedere is a Kenyan-born, Washington, D.C.–basedauthor and keynote speaker whose stories weave together mythology, sensuality,and power. Her writing blends African-inspired mythology with nontraditionalvampires, witches, immersive worldbuilding, and unapologetically sensualstorytelling, exploring themes of identity, legacy, and self-discovery throughbold, unforgettable characters. Drawn to the spaces where ancestral magic,forbidden desire, and hidden histories collide, Delilah creates worlds wherepassion is transformative, power is inherited, and destiny is written in blood.Through every story, she champions authenticity, body positivity, curiosity,and the courage to embrace one’s truest self. When she’s not writing, Delilahis exploring new cuisines, hosting backyard BBQs, or binge-watching her nextfavorite series.

 

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Two series, one shattered universe: 

an ancient war thatforged magic, 

and the modern invasion that it made possible.

Mother of Trees

Thaumatropic Roots Book 1

Part of the Fractured Arcana Universe

by Steven J. Morris

Genre: Epic Fantasy

A dying goddess. Afractured prophecy. A magicless elf who shouldn’t exist.

Elliah has spent her entire life being told what sheis—bereft, wrong, a mistake the world would prefer to correct. Drifting fromtown to town with a mother who won’t explain why they keep running, she has nomagic, no place, and no future. Then a single misstep draws the attention ofthose who’ve been looking for her, and everything her mother was hiding comesapart.

She isn’t ready for what she learns. But ready was never anoption.

Mother of Trees is the thrilling first book inthe Thaumatropic Roots epic fantasy series. Enter a world of dangerous magic,ancient powers, and one impossible girl who refuses to stay down.

 

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Elliah ~ 1

My mother told me many times that all adolescents feel likethey don’t belong, but… I really didn’t. So I spent my free time away fromother elves, on my own but for the animals… they didn’t understand how broken Iwas. And I was quite pleased with my current find, so I snarled when a noisebehind me scared away the drakeling that had settled in my hands. Black with apattern of red scales along its spine, its body the thickness of my finger, ittook flight with a flurry of thin leathery wings and disappeared behind amassive brown trunk.

“The real ones are much more intimidating,” saidan unfamiliar voice.

Time slowed as I tensed to run, shocked that I’d let myguard down so much that anyone had gotten that close. How many lurked behindme? On the outskirts of town, in the thick of the woods near the river, I hadexpected solitude.

“Stay, Bereft. I am not afraid,” said the voice.His words provoked me.

“No one’s afraid of me,” Iblurted. Bitterness stained my words as surely as the pollen of the bloodcupshad stained my ragged clothes.

I turned away from the vanished drakeling to focus on theintruder who’d scared it away. A man. No, I corrected myself, someonemy age. Someone not quite old enough for adults to consider one of theirown, but too old to call a child.

But not Bereft. No other elf shared that with me.

The newcomer was slightly taller than me with a thin frame,his light hair hanging long, wild, and tangled. He was new to the village—Iwould have noticed an elf with skin so light. I’d heard whispers of him atschool. Kethryllia had called him Salt-kissed, and I’d wondered what thatmeant, but his light skin answered that question. He’d undoubtedly caughtwhispers about me, heard of my… condition. Bereft. Yet at that moment, Ithought only of the hours of coaxing I’d spent to draw the little drakelinginto my grasp, and that the stupid elf had scared it away. I wanted to punchhim.

“Maybe they should be,” he said, taking a stepback, though it would have taken me two leaps to get to him, and he’d have mepinned in one, if he had any skill with magic at all. But I’d prepared a leapalready, only not in his direction. As I sprung away, he continued, raising hisvoice, “And you’re right, they’re not afraid of you.”

I landed with a tree between us. His magic wouldn’t be ableto snag me there. Unless he was very good at it.

“They’re afraid of what you represent.”

Continue the ThaumatropicRoots Series

Magic is asnatural as breathing in Elliah’s world — except to her. Born without a singlespark in a war that runs on it, she has nothing but her will and her refusal toaccept the limits everyone else has already decided for her. This is whathappens when the world writes you out of the story, and you refuse to leave.

 

Get them:

Motherof Trees

Bonesof Cenaedth

Secretsof Deara

Shepherdsof Truth

The Guardian of thePalace

The Guardian League Book 1

Part of the Fractured Arcana Universe

by Steven J. Morris

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Magic isn’t real.
Red Hernandez is very sure of that.

She wants a quiet life after Special Forces—just a steadysecurity job at a half-finished Manhattan skyscraper.

But then a sister tower implodes in a way physics can’texplain.
Witnesses report creatures in the smoke.
And something hunts her in the tunnels beneath.

Red wants answers. What she gets instead is an elf with asword, a troll with a wry sense of humor, and a dwarf who believes every battlerequires an audience. They insist an ancient enemy has crossed into ourworld—and Red becomes an accidental gatekeeper simply because she’s standing onthe fault line when it cracks open.

As a hidden war erupts in the shadows of New York City, Redmust decide: run from the past that nearly destroyed her… or fight for a worldshe’s only just beginning to believe in.

A veteran withnothing left to lose.
A threat born of magic and shadow.
A team she never saw coming.

The Guardian of the Palace launches theaction-packed Guardian League series—perfect for fans of urbanfantasy, modern-world magic, found family, and heroines who refuse to backdown.

 

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Prologue

Corpses patterned the ground as far as my eye could see, apatchwork quilt of death.

I stood atop a skeletal tower, overlooking the broken ruinsof an ancient civilization, so very far from home. I envisioned the beauty thatthe soaring arches once held, the bridges between the constructs reaching outwith broken arms, buildings leaning against one another like ancient lovers ina final embrace. Crumbled remains powdered the bases of former statues, and,everywhere, all of it was littered with the dead.

Like a phoenix, I stood, bathed in fire. An Angel of Death.Not the Angel of Death—he was an ass.

A part of me wanted to go down and see for myself. Maybejust to make sure… to make sure I had done my job… and killed everyone thatused to inhabit that world. The magic I was wielding should have destroyed themall—something inside of me could feel that it had—but I wantedto see it.

Yet I knew that was unrealistic. I didn’t have the time.There were other worlds that needed my infection, and Earth was on myshortlist.

   

Chapter 1

Red – Day 20, Sunday, the day after the attack

“Ms. Hernandez?” a muffled voice called from adistance, accompanied by a gentle rapping on a door. My consciousnessregistered the interruption as a nuisance and pulled me back under.

What seemed like seconds later, the rapping came again, moreinsistent. “Ms. Hernandez.”

Ms. Hernandez was my mom… why were they bothering me?

Then a scraping sound, and an alarmed voice. “Ms.Hernandez! Are you okay?”

Some scrambling, some grunts, more scraping… shit, I wasgoing to have to wake up. Why couldn’t they just let me sleep?

I tried to answer, but my throat was dry and nothing cameout. Coughing, I attempted to sit up, not wholly returned from my trip todreamland. “I’m here. I’m okay.” Was I though? I wasn’t sure.

I was in my flat. Not the desert. My door was partway open,and a slightly overweight man had paused in the act of pushing his way in. Irecognized him, but his name escaped me. Swinging my legs off my cot, I did aquick modesty check. I was fully dressed, though rather tragically, in somesemblance of civilian fatigues—muddied, disheveled, and a little bloody.

The reason came screaming back to me. There had beencreatures, unearthly monsters, in The Palace. They’d done things Icould not explain by any of the rules I knew. And they’d beaten the hell out ofme and then patched me back up in a matter of seconds. I’d blown the head cleanoff of one of them and fled the scene.

Not my smartest move.

Continue TheGuardian League Series!

Earth, through its technological advances, supports nearlyeight billion souls; from a cosmic perspective, that makes it ripe for thepicking. ‘Red’ Hernandez, trying to put a questionable military life behindher, finds herself caught in the middle of stopping an apocalyptic invasion ofEarth. But to do that, she has to figure out who the good guys are, and how shecan combat forces in which she does not believe.

 

Get them:

TheGuardian of the Palace

Starsin the Sand

We’reGoing On An Elf Hunt

TheSong Unsung

Getthe Box Set Here

Steven J. Morris writes fantasy where magic runs deep andthe consequences run deeper. By day he’s an engineer and father of three inAustin, Texas. He’s the author of eight novels across two completed series —the epic Thaumatropic Roots and the urban Guardian League — both set in theshared Fractured Arcana universe. Find him at sjmorriswrites.com.

 

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If you love snarky heroes, twisty mysteries and plenty ofmagic,

delve into this urban fantasy series set in Melbourne, Australia!

Graves Robbed,Heirlooms Returned

Reed Lavender Book 1

by Ashley Capes

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Mystery

 He can speak to the dead. But will giving them justice get him killed?

Reed Lavender lives two lives—one as a detective and another as a reaper.Hearing the last words of the dead is a handy skill in his line of work, butmagic can’t solve all his problems. While investigating the case of a teenrunaway, he learns his cousin is missing. Racing against the clock, Reed soonfinds himself trapped in a vast conspiracy.

A cult is capturing reapers to siphon their powers and his current case issomehow connected. But the deeper he digs, the more dangerous and convolutedthe trail becomes. As his two lives get tangled, Reed realizes if he can’tsolve the case and save his cousin, the man who listens to the dead will end upjoining them.

Graves Robbed, Heirlooms Returned is the first thrilling urbanfantasy novel in the Reed Lavender series. If you love snarkyheroes, twisty mysteries and plenty of magic, delve into Graves Robbed,Heirlooms Returned!

 

**Get it FREE!**

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Graves Robbed, HeirloomsReturned (Reed Lavender: 1)

 

Chapter 1

 

In the bright moonlight, Reed Lavender inserted his bestcrowbar into the pine box where the top met the sides and wrenched the steeldown. Wood squeaked and he shuddered. Worsethan fingernails on a blackboard. He lifted the lid free, resting itagainst the freshly turned earth – which, unlike the sound of an opening coffin– was an almost pleasant thing. A pungent scent, but real. Honest. Worms andbugs, minerals and secrets lived in the earth; when you got right down to it,grave dirt wasn’t really any different to regular dirt.

Andhe was certainly down to it now, about to be elbow-deep in a coffin.

Again.

Butfor what they’d given Elise, the word ‘coffin’ was a stretch. A pine box wasn’tmuch of a final resting place – dignity hardly came cheap in Rikerton’s funeralhome and unclaimed bodies were lucky to avoid the incinerator. Or maybe thatwould have been better. Dust to dust andall that.

“Butthen you’d be out of work,” he told himself.

Elisethe runaway – that’s what the police thought she was – lay in her dirty jeansand the same faded Pink Floyd t-shirt she wore when she walked into the cafetwo days back. Her arms lay at her sides, cuts on her palms mostly hidden. Herface had been covered… by a used napkin. “Jesus, Jennings, that the best youcould do?” Reed growled. At least the napkin was in one piece; the undertakerhad been known to be far more slipshod at times.

Reedlifted the napkin… and ground his teeth.

She’dbeen beaten blue. Deep bruises swam across her cheeks, one eye swollen shut andthe other just as blackened, torn skin at her temple. Jennings had cleaned herface up well enough but there were still leaf fragments and dried blood in herhair. The pallor of death had washed out Elise’s freckles, mere suggestionscrossing her bent nose. God, what is she,fifteen? She looks so small.

Reedtossed the napkin aside and unwound his scarf, folded it and placed it over herface, standing still a moment, shaking as he blinked. The night air ran chillfingers across his now-exposed throat and the back of his neck. Finally, hetook a breath and leant over the coffin, where he lifted her arm. “Sorry,sweetheart,” he said softly, twisting her silver bracelet up to the moon. Only theletters ‘Elise’ engraved there. Really, there was little he could learn from aperfunctory glance at her clothing and jewellery that the police wouldn’t havealready catalogued. He’d check that later, of course – but Elise deserved more.

No,he’d have to wake her up – sort of.

Herlast words would maybe be enough of a clue. Most folks didn’t have much to say,right before the end. Sometimes it was a scream or a grunt if he was unlucky.Other times, they addressed their killer. Or a loved one, perhaps, if the deathwas peaceful. Not that I’ve heard a lotof those in my time.

There’dbeen a man out west, he couldn’t recall where – so many cities and townsblended together – whose last words had been an apology for burnt toast. Afterthat, the poor guy hadn’t said a thing before being t-boned at an intersectionby a bus an hour later, two blocks from his office.

Butsometimes, a person’s last sentence held a clue.

“Comeon, Elise, tell me something I can use.”

Ifshe didn’t, he had no other supernatural tricks up his sleeve either, since hecouldn’t simply call upon her spirit. It would have made things much easier and allowed him to stop violatingpeoples’ graves but sadly, he wasn’t that lucky.

Reedremoved the scarf a moment, took her cold hands and closed his eyes, sendinghis awareness down through her mute fingertips, pushing his way along quietveins until he reached her chest, still echoing with the memory of a millionheartbeats, then at last up the throat to the tongue; the tongue whichremembered everything.

Butit would move only once more.

“Inthe name of Mors, speak any that you might,” he whispered. “I’ll help you ifyou can.”

Herbody resisted.

Notunusual. It meant reliving the pain and shock – why wouldn’t her body want tofight that? It was at rest now, if not at peace. But he had to know. Reedpushed harder, pouring both his hope and anger into the request. “Please,Elise.”

Aflicker, a tiny sound as her jaw shifted.

Heopened his eyes and leant close. Would it be a scream? A clue? Nonsense? Hervoice was little more than a rasping whisper, such as might easily be mistakenfor a breeze, but he caught the words.

“Wow,what a beautiful view. This is some place; you can see half the city fromhere.”

Thensilence.

“Shit.”Poor girl, she probably never saw it coming.

Reedlowered Elise’s hands. Half the city.That hardly narrowed things down – there were only hundreds of such high points available. But it probably put theowner in a certain tax bracket at least. He shook his head. No assumptions. It was his first rule.And that went for murder too – maybe it was an accident. Still, something happened to bring Elise’s lifeto an unjust end.

Hehad to find out; no-one else was looking and Elise’s grandmother deservedanswers. Even unpleasant ones, he supposed.

Reedplaced the scarf back over the girl’s face and reached for his shovel.

The Radiant King

Reed Lavender Book 2

Things aren’t exactlygetting easier for Reed Lavender.

Old obligations and new cases are piling up but in the aftermath of Feronia’sdefeat, answers are still too thin on the ground. But one clue – his father’sknucklebone – might just lead to something big.

To learn the truth about his parents’ disappearance, Reedwill have to take the fight to whoever is behind the growing turmoil in hiscity. And if the rising number of Spirit-Worms, needy Gods, vindictive lawmenand only somewhat-helpful cousins don’t stop Reed, then his sense of duty mightdo what the others cannot.

Because Reed now finds himself caught between two goals –solving the murder of Elise or chasing down whoever stole the Goddess’ hand, anunfathomable thief who might hold answers about his parents…

 

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Summer in the City

Reed Lavender Book 3

Reed is about to snap– and this time, nothing is going to stand in his way when it comes to gettinganswers for Elise, not even a supposedly long-vanished Sumerian God. 

Or so Reed thinks.

But summer in the city isn’t going to be like the others.The city itself isn’t quite the same either, and even if you’re lucky (orcursed) enough to count the children of Gods among your friends, nothing isever simple…

 

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Ashley is a poet, novelist and ex-teacher living inAustralia.

He taught English, Media and Music Production, he ‘sang’ ina metal band, worked in an art gallery and for a few years, slaved away atmusic retail. (For a few years, he was also a legal secretary).

Aside from reading and writing, Ashley loves (indoor)volleyball, Studio Ghibli and Magnum PI.

 

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Twelve-year-old Tabitha returns to the remote Shetlandisland of Papala expecting adventure – not a mystery linked to an ancientselkie legend.As pollution threatens the coastline and the island faces an uncertain future,Tabitha and her twin brother Timothy, must uncover the truth before theislanders lose both their livelihood and their home.

Living at the Edge ofthe World – Summer

The Papala Island Adventure Series Book 3

written by S. J. Barratt

narrated by Gill Mills

Genre: Middle Grade Eco Adventure 

When twelve-year-old Tabitha returns to the remote Shetlandisland of Papala, she expects adventure with her twin brother and friends–nottrouble.

As their ferry approaches Papala, Tabitha discovers whatappears to be a selkie skin drifting in the harbour. Local legend says the skinbelongs to a mythical creature–half human, half seal–and that if it is notreturned before midnight, the island will be cursed with generations of badluck.

But Papala is already under threat. Pollution creeps alongthe coast, the bird sanctuary is at risk, and the island’s owner plans to sell.With time running out, Tabitha and her brother must uncover the truth andconvince the islanders to protect their home.

A lyrical eco-adventure for those who enjoy atmosphericisland stories like The Storm Keeper’s Island by Catherine Doyle, with theadventurous spirit of Malamander by Thomas Taylor.

 

“Educational storytelling doesn’t come any better thanthis.”  Dieter Korger, Science fiction author for adults.

This story has a little of everything that 9-12+year-oldslove to read: ocean life, adventure, animals, science and suspense. The listgoes on and the pages keep turning!” – Janet Ashmore, children’s writer

“The fast pace and beautifully vivid descriptions add tothe richness of the story. JudyWollin, Writer Fun Fast Reads” 

  “I am still as thrilled with this third volume of thePapala Island Adventure Series: the writing is top-notch, the plot is gripping,and we are getting attached to the characters. This time, the main themes areenvironmental conscience, and whether it’s even worth fighting against a globalproblem.

An uplifting and important read for young people.” – Anne-Chat – Amazon 5 star review

 

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Don’t miss thefirst two Papala Island Adventures!

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Living at the Edge ofthe World – Winter

The Papala Island Adventure Series Book 1

Audible * Amazonebook

 

Living at the Edge ofthe World – Spring

The Papala Island Adventure Series Book 2

Audible * Amazonebook

S. J. Barratt is a self-published, professionally editedchildren’s author whose eco-themed stories celebrate the connection betweenpeople and the natural world. Rooted in an English countryside upbringing andshaped by a career in agriculture, she blends a gardener’s curiosity with astoryteller’s warmth to her writing. Now based in Lyon, France, Suzanne createstales that inspire middle-grade readers to swap screen time for green time—andrediscover the wonders waiting just outside their door.

 

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A former BBC broadcaster and journalist, Gill Mills bringsover 20 years of experience in entertainment to her narration. Known for herwarm, resonant voice, she began her voice career while DJing on BBC Radio 1 andhas since voiced numerous TV and audio productions. She now runs a contentcompany specialising in podcast and film production from her studio in EastLondon.

 

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A scientific experiment gone horribly wrong sends anapocalyptic firestorm raging throughout the Eastern seaboard. If it reaches theAtlantic, it might just be game over for the world. 

Fireline

by Peter Berk

Genre: Action, Eco Thriller, Suspense

An unhinged scientist introduces a nano-based chemicalcompound into the Potomac that’s designed to purify the world’s waterways butthat instead sets the river on fire and rapidly spreads directly towardManhattan, with only the young chemist who first warned against the experimentthe worlds best hope of stopping it. 

Fireline takes us from the heart of Washinton, D.C. to the Statue of Liberty –all of which are direclty impacted by an out-of-control firestorm snaking itsway to the Atlantic where it could go on to threaten every corner of theworld. 

A science gone astray disaster novel, Fireline also touches on such timelessthemes as personal redemption, heroism in the face of seemingly insurmountableobstacles, friendship and even father-son dynamics – all handled with touchesof humor and romance. 

 

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Peter Berk has written six novels, three TV pilots anda dozen screenplays, including several with his father which became the basisfor the TimeLock series of novels. The original TimeLock novelis a Finalist in the 2023Chanticleer International Book Awards for Science Fiction, Mystery,and Global Thrillers. TimeLock was also named as a Distinguished Favorite in theTechnoThriller category of the 2024 Independent Press Award. TimeLock2: The Kyoto Conspiracy was published in 2023 and the third book inthe series will be published by IngramElliott. Peter and his family livein Southern California.

 

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