Thursday, June 8, 2017

Do these books have all the write, I mean right, stuff? #ASMSG #Romance #RPBP

Do you make a buying decision based on the cover design?  
How do you rate a cover?
Color? Imaging? Wording? Overall Design Flow?
Maybe you make a choice based on multiple factors.
Cover, Price, Synopsis, Sample....

If a book has all of these traits, why aren't buying it?

Let's look at some work by Sybil Shae!
According to the rating system I mentioned above, how would you rate these books?

1st up

Timing Is Everything: Origin Of The Journal

cover by Margaret Daly

2nd In Line

Time Will Tell
*Included in The Make Time For Love Box Set

cover by Margaret Daly

Not Available For Individual Purchase At This Time
see Make Time For Love Link Below

Currently in Kindle Unlimited

On The Chopping Block Next...
An Upcoming Clean Romance

Whisper Bay
Oliver & Chloe
The Beginning

Cover by Margaret Daly

Read The Intro
Whisper Bay is a series consisting of 3 parts.
This book, part one, contains 3 novelettes.
Expected to publish June 30, 2017.

You can find Sybil Shae and read samples by clicking here!
Have a cover designed by Margaret Daly, click here!
Thanks for stopping by!
We hope you will come back again!

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Enjoy The First Universe In Flames by @kalliasx for just #99cents! #ASMSG #RPBP

The First Universe in Flames Trilogy
(Books 1 to 3): Earth - Last Sanctuary, Fury to the Stars & Destination Oblivion
​(UiF Space Opera)
Limited Time Special Launch price 
(80% off) 
3 Books For Only $0.99!
​Returns To Full Price Soon!
Buy It Here!

I am Fury. Evil has followed me to Earth. I shall Protect this World until my Dying Breath.
When the Obsidian Empire obliterates the Star Alliance with the help of the Zarlacks, an old evil race long thought extinct, the universe is set ablaze. The last survivors are forced to make a blind jump beyond the outer reach of the charted universe, to a world teeming with life: Earth. The fleet's arrival inadvertently alerts their enemies to the presence of sentient life in that part of space, resulting in a swift and devastating invasion of the blue marble.

Under the guidance of the Olympian goddess of Love, Aphroditis, Lieutenant Chase Athanatos learns of his origins and must race against time in a daring attempt to save Earth, their Last Sanctuary.

With Earth now thrown at the center of the conflict, the newly formed Earth Alliance struggles to keep the enemy at bay. Desperately outnumbered, Chase and his friends must wage one battle after another while seeking new allies to survive.
When it becomes clear that his Fury powers are awakening, Chase must face his inner demons and learn to control them or he could very well destroy the universe he has sworn to protect. Can his Fury heritage and unwavering determination hold the key to change the course of everyone's destiny?

The Trilogy edition contains the first 3 books of the Universe in Flames saga: Earth - Last Sanctuary, Fury to the Stars and Destination Oblivion in one eBook. This version contains the latest edits and proofreads from the series with a new cover.
Included in The Trilogy

Copyright ©2017 by Christian Kallias

​The First Universe In Flames Trilogy

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations n a book review.

First Printing, 2017 / Version 1.01
The First Trilogy

Earth - Last Sanctuary (Book 1)


Chase looked at the display with unmasked satisfaction as the last red dot disappeared from his radar. The remaining pieces of the fighter he had just blown out of space came burning against his frontal shields, illuminating the cockpit with radiant blue light for a brief instant. He took the opportunity to make a quick systems check. His shields were still in the green, standing strong at eighty percent and recharging. He had only exhausted half of his missiles against the eleven kills he had made in the last twenty minutes of combat.
Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all...
The thought quickly died as the ship’s computer broke the triumphant silence. The computer spoke with a soft, sexy, female voice—probably way too sexy for a star fighter navicomputer designed mainly for dogfights. But this was an old Manticore Mark II model, which was equipped with outdated software. Chase had to admit, when it came to the voice, there were times when he didn’t mind.
“Multiple enemy targets on approach vector,” said AINI, the Artificially Intelligent Navicomputer Interface. The radar let out four successive, high-pitched beeps as each of the targets progressively appeared on the scope. They were flying in a standard square formation, one pair of fighters covering for the other.
The grin slowly faded from Chase’s face. A dogfight against four enemies with no wingman was not to be taken lightly, not if one wanted to live long enough to talk about the encounter. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to face such odds, but each time he had, it had cost him and his ship dearly. And here he’d hoped to bring the fighter back to bay with as few scratches as possible. Wishful thinking.
As the fighters approached, his mind raced over the different tactics that applied to such a situation. The academic ones as well as the crazy ones—those that most dogfight instructors would consider not only insane, but also directly against practically all the rules in the flight book. Standard by-the-book tactics would dictate prudence by trying to reduce the number of enemies from the first pass, allowing the pilot to concentrate on killing the next target while avoiding only a pair of bogies. A feat which in itself was far from easy. Chase’s main instructor and war hero, Admiral Tharowni, would say that a couple of missiles locked and fired at the exact moment bogies entered firing range had a ninety percent chance of scoring a kill, reducing the odds to three against one. Again, not easy, but statistically preferable to trying to engage in a dogfight while being pursued by three enemy vessels.
But Chase never fought thinking about the statistics or the odds. While he respected the wisdom in such a course of action, losing two out of his three remaining missiles so early in the fight was not something he was prepared to do, at least not today.
“Enemy craft entering firing range,” AINI purred with all the charm programmed into her vocal subroutines.
Time to make a decision. In only a few seconds, Chase’s fighter would be in a shower of enemy laser fire. He needed a plan.
“Let’s try something new, shall we?” he said aloud. This rhetorical banter was rather routine for him and his sensual computer. One-sided, but routine.
Three seconds later, heavy laser fire started to fall around his fighter’s canopy like red rain, occasionally igniting the shields. Pulling hard on the stick, the fighter effectively rolled and dodged, avoiding most of the damage. But his enemies were still closing on him at high velocity, firing all the while.
“Missile lock!” AINI sounded as alarmed as she could, humming with the familiar buzz that warned of imminent danger.
A slow smile spread up the side of Chase’s face. Time seemed to slow, then for a split second, it stopped altogether.
He released countermeasures and his fighter veered sharply and made a tight break to the right, still not firing a single shot. The incoming missile fell for it. The port shields received part of the incoming laser fire while the internal structure of the fighter moaned in disagreement over its rough handling. Clearly not designed to be subjected to a brutal ninety-degree break while at full afterburner speed, the ship made warning noises and lit a red LED light across the primary alarm panel. The ship’s inertial dampeners were clearly not made for this kind of abuse. As always, the dangerous creaking and flashing was accompanied by the silky vocal explanations of AINI.
“Structural integrity failure imminent,” she warned.
Unfortunately for the ship, in Chase’s mind “imminent” still meant that he had a couple more seconds. That was, coincidentally, all the time he needed. Once he pulled out of his break, the primary alarm LED turned from red to yellow. Automatic systems were redirecting power to structural integrity to compensate for the ship’s mistreatment. Soon, it would turn green as power would be siphoned off other systems like shields, guiding systems, weapons, and even life support.
A quick glance at the radar showed Chase that his maneuver had gone exactly as planned, forcing the quartet of ships to break hard left to follow him and take position at his six o’clock. He could almost see his instructors holding their heads in their hands; such a display would most certainly be defined as “reckless flying.” He brushed the thought away and shook his head to clear it. He would need perfect concentration if he intended to leave this dogfight as something more than a floating pile of space rubble.
Streaks of laser fire passed by his canopy again, but this time from behind, and while many of the hits reduced the aft shields, he still thought that this tactic, however highly dangerous, would pay off. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He was about to find out.
“AINI, prepare to execute maneuver Theta-4 on my mark.”
“Loaded and ready,” she answered almost instantly.
The next instant, AINI killed the afterburners and engaged the reverse thrusters while simultaneously boosting their power by redirecting ninety percent of every other system’s power into them, leaving the ship with minimal shielding for just a few milliseconds. Chase sucked in a deep breath. If the enemy had anticipated such a maneuver, those milliseconds would no doubt mean the end of him. But sure enough, the fighters were caught completely off guard and sailed past him like shooting stars into the quiet night.
Once AINI’s sensors detected that the targets had passed by, she automatically re-balanced the power, redistributing it equally between two main systems: forward engines and weapons. The Theta-4 maneuver was programmed to stay in this distributed power scheme for ten seconds. More than enough time for Chase to rain deadly supercharged firepower upon his foes, effectively draining their aft shields while they undoubtedly tried to understand what had just happened to them. After a few seconds of showering a full spread of laser fire, he quickly selected the two enemy fighters that had lost more than half their shields and locked onto them with a missile each. When AINI acknowledged the locks, he simultaneously fired the missiles and turned quickly on the third craft’s vector, the one which had its aft shield at the minimum. Chase aligned his vessel perfectly to his foe, not letting it breathe. Each of its attempts to dodge were carefully anticipated and compensated for. There was no escape. Its structural integrity started to decrease rapidly and most of his laser shots were now scoring holes in its metal armor, leaving a trail of sparks and chunks of metal in its wake. A few seconds later, it finally exploded in a bright fireball.
One down, thought Chase.
He glanced at the rest of the ships just in time to see the first missile reach its target, effectively tearing a port wing to shreds and sending the craft into a twirl before it detonated brightly. Chase couldn’t help but crack a smile.
Bold maneuvers. Worked every time.
The second missile-locked fighter launched a decoy and the missile fell for it, but its late deployment still weakened its shields and caused enough damage to effectively remove it from the fight for a few moments as the pilot broke off to recharge. Glancing at the radar to find the fourth fighter, Chase was rewarded with a spread of fire on his port-side shield. He pulled hard on the stick while cutting its velocity by half, allowing the enemy to pass him by and using the momentum of this last attack to reposition his fighter back into the hunter’s position.
“Port shields failing,” AINI advised.
“Dammit!” he swore. One more hit on this side of his craft and he was history.
He quickly checked the status of the damaged fighter only to swear again as he realized that it was already back on course. Two to one, and he was in bad shape. He had to act fast. The only good news was that his maneuver to place himself behind the only undamaged fighter had been a success. He started showering it with all the laser fire he could, hitting it many times on its aft shield. But it wasn’t enough to get it out of the sky before the second ship would reach him.
An almost Zen-like state came over Chase as he considered his options. He still had one missile left, but he knew that firing it meant using his final ace. As he deliberated, he saw the vessel in front of him effectively spinning around, avoiding his lasers and keeping its shields up despite being in the red. Chase had no doubt that the pilot had redirected every ounce of energy to keep his shields up, probably even cutting life support. A risky strategy, but it had worked; it bought him enough time for his wingman to rejoin the fight.
The situation was beginning to grow dire. Chase wondered if the standard by-the-book tactics wouldn’t have been wiser, but he quickly disregarded the thought. He’d made his decision, now he had to blow up two fighters. Such was life.
“Missile lock!” AINI cooed, displaying two missiles advancing quickly on his position.
“Looks like this guy doesn’t want to see if I have any more tricks up my sleeve, now does he?”
Sometimes Chase wished AINI’s programming extended to sarcasm. In moments like this, her silence twisted his stomach.
“Launch countermeasures on my mark.” He pushed his stick to the left, a little more, and a little more, before shouting, “Mark!” as he performed a hundred-and-eighty-degree spin. Then he double clicked his afterburner, activating a fifty-percent power boost transfer from other systems. One of the missiles scored the decoys and, as Chase had predicted, his spin took him far enough away to avoid any critical damage from the blast. However, he no longer had any side shields, as the starboard ones had failed upon the missile’s detonation.
Nervously glancing at the radar for the last missile’s position and trajectory, he suddenly smiled as he saw that he still had a few seconds to complete his plan. With quick fingers, he soothed his lasers from rapid fire to concentrated beams. He only had one shot at this, and it had to be enough. His instincts took over as he aligned himself perfectly behind his foe’s engines and fired. The concentrated beams scored multiple hits, knocking out the remaining vessel’s aft shields and disabling one of its engines. As it struggled to recover, Chase passed quickly by and broke hard on the right. The last missile still on his back adjusted course only to find Chase’s crippled foe right in its trajectory. With a screeching rip, it tore through metal like paper and the ship exploded in a million pieces.
“Three down, one more to go!” Chase shouted in triumph.
And one missile left. Perfect. Just like he’d planned.
With a fierce concentration that came from years of fighting, Chase locked on the last enemy craft with his final missile and fired away. At the same time, he continued blasting away with his lasers, delivering a concentrated burst of fire at the precise moment the missile made contact. A blazing explosion sent it straight to hell, leaving pieces of debris and a sudden silence in its wake.
“Phew, that was too close a call…” Chase murmured to himself, glancing at his ship’s status. But he couldn’t help but be proud.
He had succeeded in eliminating all four enemy craft without compromising his own ship’s armor. The only damage was to the shields and they were already recharging. He clicked a few buttons and looked at the fight’s statistical display: a more than satisfactory sixty-seven percent laser hit ratio and a total fight time of two minutes forty-two seconds. That had to be a new record for this kind of fight.
“Hey AINI,” he smirked, “looks like we just made histor—”
“Multiple inbound system jumps detected.”
The words echoed in Chase’s mind but, before he had time to process them, there was more.
“Enemy vessels on approach vector.”
“You have GOT to be kidding me!”
A series of high-pitched beeps answered back from the radar. No less than six foes, two of which were highly shielded corvettes. Way too much firepower for a ship even twice as solid as his was now. His beauty had seen better days, and that was before dispatching fifteen enemy vessels.
He quickly glanced at a map readout and keyed jump coordinates as fast as he could, only to be rewarded by another vocal alarm.
“Jump engine inoperable, one of the ships has erected a JIF.”
“A jump interdiction field. Great. Why am I not surprised? Well, I guess I’ll go down in a blaze of glory then.”
“Enemy ships entering firing range.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Some comfort you are.”
Then all hell broke loose.
Both corvettes’ long-range laser-cannon fire sprayed heavily towards him. He jerked on the controls, trying to evade in every possible direction, but it was only a matter of time. It would take just one or two direct hits to vaporize him. A quick glance at the displays showed the quartet of fighters protecting the corvettes as they vectored towards him. They were only a few seconds away from entering firing range themselves, at which point any attempt to dodge fire from six simultaneous targets would be all but futile.
“Unless...” he let the word hang in the void while his brain worked away at light speed. Glancing at his star chart, he bellowed, “Full power to engines, vector zero by four by six, towards that blue moon.”
The ship’s engines roared to life, doubled by a big rumble from the afterburners. The enemy craft were heavy fighters; that gave him just enough of an advantage in speed to outrun them for a little while. His fuel gauge, however, indicated some rather alarming readings, not to mention, main power was almost in the red.
“It will have to do... AINI, give me an ETA on the moon and the time difference for the enemy fighters to reach us.”
“At present speed, we’ll reach the moon in one minute, twenty-five seconds. The vessels will enter firing range approximately twenty-five seconds before we reach it.”
“Damn and I thought this could work…” he muttered. “Well, maybe it still can. AINI, what if we redirect all power to the engines, including life support?”
“Simulations project that we would reach the moon with an advance of five to ten seconds if we execute that command immediately,” she crooned.
Amazing, even in a life or death moment, his computer sounded like she was inviting him to bed.
“Execute now!” he cried. “And…goodbye AINI,” he added, knowing full well that executing the command would also take the power away from her artificial circuits. He would have to fly by the stick and pushing buttons from now on.
A few moments later, the moon was on the view screen, growing fast. Chase aligned his fighter into a near-atmosphere entry vector line. Red LEDs started to blink all over the cockpit as each of his systems siphoned off their power. At this rate, if he even brushed the upper atmosphere, the ship would transform into a big ball of fire. Chase pushed the thought from his mind and tightened his hands around the navigational stick.
His enemies were closing in fast, but not fast enough to get a clear shot before he disappeared behind the moon. They would, no doubt, pursue. But it didn’t matter now.
He pushed his ship to the upper limit, only a few feet off the moon’s atmosphere, and used its gravity to start a slingshot run around it. His speed grew exponentially and he redistributed some power to his shields and life support when the air started to become too thin to breathe. Now was not a good time to be light headed. The energy drain for propulsion was no longer necessary, thanks to the formidable gravitational forces of the moon. The ship would accelerate with incredible velocity even if he only gave the engines a little rub.
“Space Applied Physics wasn’t such a dumb course after all,” he reflected, trying to boost the inertial dampeners to avoid having his bones crushed under the pressure of the Gs pulled by the maneuver.
A few minutes later, his fighter was on the other side of the moon, ready to finish the slingshot. He adjusted his course towards one of the corvettes and, once he was away from the gravitational forces, he disengaged his engines. Then he quickly keyed a set of commands as his ship entered the corvette’s firing range. He pulled hard on the controls to put the ship in a wild spin, trying to avoid enemy fire, then he submitted the command he’d keyed earlier, diverting power to the shields and the weapon systems.
He was only a few seconds away... He’d entered what he liked to call the “dead zone,” the stretch where enemy craft were at optimal firing range and during which the probability they scored a hit was much higher. Not a moment later, the ship took one hit on the starboard shields, disabling them on the spot and sending a few metal pieces of the hull floating off into space.
Streaks of red laser fire streamed all over his canopy, and he was mere moments away from the corvette. Then suddenly, he keyed a flurry of other commands. His shields went down and his lasers started to fire at full power. Then, before he could even brace himself, he pulled very hard into outer space, spinning in his chair just enough to watch his plan play out.
His ship collided with enormous velocity into the corvette’s frontal hull, causing a massive explosion. Its fractured momentum sent it hurtling full speed into the second corvette, which promptly split in half.
And that was the end of it.

Who Is Christian Kallias? 
Christian Kallias was born in Geneva, Switzerland. As his surname suggests, he has Greek roots and often dreams of life in Greece. The rest of the time, he plots space operas and fantasy stories at home in Switzerland.

Christian has always been fascinated with space and Science Fiction in general. As a teenager, he was forever imagining stories, enjoying video games, and creating various art projects. With his sight always set towards the stars, his novels reflect many of his favorite things, like Star Wars, Star Trek, Babylon 5, and Stargate. He has fond memories of playing games like Wing Commander, a fact that should be apparent in his depictions of dogfight scenes.

Christian has always been drawn to imagining his stories in which his utopian aspirations for a better world where humanity shines and evolves towards a higher level of civilization often find their way into his novels. After trying to become a mangaka, a video game creator, an illustrator, and a cd cover artist, he realized along the way that the best medium to express himself was simply through the written word.

Christian began his career as a system engineer and understands technology very well even though he's more than happy to never have to fix a server again for the rest of his life! With that old life behind, and now living his dream, he's thoroughly enjoying creating storylines and characters that entice the reader to reflect and to ask themselves what if? What if we did things differently? What if we challenged our beliefs? But he doesn’t imply that he is right with his questioning. He just has these questions and likes to share them with his readers. In the end, Christian writes, first and foremost, to entertain. So for a little while, the reader can be transported to other worlds, and he hopes they enjoy the ride.

Connect With Christian
Twitter: @kalliasx
Thank you for joining us today!
We hope you will enjoy this Trilogy!

Monday, May 22, 2017

Dive Into Epic Greatness! Fantasy Fiction like no other for just #99cents! @LucyBison #ASMSG #RPBP

When was the last time you experienced an epic fantasy? 
One that would stay with you for a long time coming? 
One that leaves you wanting more? 
Well, I have just the book series for you! 
The Complications Of Being Lucy 
local talent and author Gus Kenney!
Today I'm going to share with you an excerpt from each of the three novels in this series. There are three of them. Well, two that are currently available and one that is due to release in July of this year.
I am super excited to share this with you today as I love this series!
Up first is The Changeling And The Cupboard: Book One

As It Is
My name is Lucy Bison. It’s pronounced Bay-soon, not like the lumbering animal. It is not an easy name to grow up with. Noncreative people call you a cow, which is probably why I force myself to stay so skinny. That and a grandmother who pokes my stomach and proclaims how fat I am getting. That was when I was six. I am presently nine years old exactly which makes it my birthday. I know I could be like most kids and be spending my morning running around playing with children my own age in preparation of some big slumber party celebration. But I am not like most kids, thank you very much. Plus, I live with my uncle and he would never stand for such things.
His name, my uncle, is Mortimer Claus. Uncle Mort is the most he will tolerate for informal address (his words, not mine). He might sound strict which is fair because he is. The rules were laid down the first day I came to live with him when I was, well, too young to remember. They have remained unchanged and, wisely, on my part unbroken.
1. I will wake up promptly in the morning at six and consume a meal that meets the nutritional requirements for someone of my age and height as outlined by governmental guidelines.
2. I will attend school every scheduled day, unless deemed physically unwell and obey every rule laid down by the administration and staff.
3. I will return briskly home at the end of school and immediately locate myself to the dining room table, unless it is already in use and then an alternative location will be designated, for the completion of all homework.
4. Dinner will be served at seven. After its completion I will clean myself, brush my teeth, and lay out my clothing for the next day.
5. I will place myself in bed at nine. Lights out.
6. I will never go into the park.
Now the last one there may sound a little strange, but we do live next door to a large park. One of those big conservation preserve ones that was all trees and no camping. I never asked Uncle Mort why he had that rule, but I never broke it either. Not until I met Frankie Friday.

The Intruder
“Whose brother are you?” I asked Uncle Mort while he was cutting vegetables for dinner at a speed I thought only possible in cartoons.
“Your parents.” Uncle Mort answered in his thick German accent, his S's coming out like a hard Z, making quick work of an onion before a tear could reach any eye.
“I know, but my mom’s side or my dad’s?” I tried again.
“Yes.” Uncle Mort’s piercing blue eyes never twitched away from his work and his face never gave anything away, but it never did. Uncle Mort was tall and thin with short blonde hair and a desire to wear only black clothing like a second skin. I remembered, of what little I could remember some days, that my father was tall and thin and my mother had long blonde hair, but nothing clearly enough to say which one matched my uncle the closest.
“Well which one?” I pressed on. This was a conversation I had tried to breach several times in the past. Usually with the same result.
“Which one what?” Uncle Mort crushed a garlic clove with the flat of his knife and a loud bang of his fist that shook the cutting board. Anyone else would have taken that as a sign of irritation, but I had never seen Uncle Mort irritated, or angry, or anything resembling an emotion. I had failed a science project in school on purpose once, just to see what he would do. He made it clear that it was my own fault for failing and that I should try harder in the future. He even went as far as to inquire if I needed additional educating or assistance from professional tutors. Once I told him no, he walked away from the subject and never mentioned it again.
“Are you my mother’s brother or my father’s brother?” I tried to be clearer in my inquest. “I mean my name is Bison and yours is Claus--“
“Claus!” Uncle Mort snapped his name as a correction to the way that I said it, though I was never sure how we said it any different from each other. Continue reading sample...
You can get this book for $2.99 or download it for free with Kindle Unlimited!

Next Up Is The Changeling And The Borrowed Family: Book Two. 
This book is on sale for $0.99 until May 27th, 2017.

Mortimer had been pacing his office staring at the newest message from Mother Morgan about Lucy's dreams, indulging in his private pleasure on the record player, and contemplating the next move both in his real investigation and the one he presented to the Ruke, when an intrusion came in the form of a small knocking at his door. He swore under his breath, feeling that he had been on the cusp of discovering something before the interruption, but knew that it was just annoyance and hope making him think that. His annoyance grew slightly when he opened the front door and found the young Friday standing there. 

“Hi, Mr. Claus.” Francis said nervously, a state that the man was fine with leaving the boy in. If not he had a tendency to talk. A lot. 

“Francis.” Mort replied with his usual hiss of menace. 

“My mom wanted me to bring this over for you.” The small boy hefted a plastic shopping bag from off the porch and offered it to him. “She says she figured you would be too busy with what's going on to have a proper Thanksgiving, so she made you a small dish.” 

“That is very kind of her.” Mortimer took the bag from Francis, surprised by the generosity of his mother. No, not true. It would be generosity from his father that would surprise him. “Please express to her my deepest thanks.” 

“Okay.” Francis hadn't moved from the mat outside the door. Usually he would be half way down the walk if he wasn't there to see Lucy. “She also said that she knows it's not in your usual diet, but that it was the thought that counted, and that she made enough just in case Lucy's aunts and grandmother showed up.” 

“Exceptionally thoughtful of her.” Mortimer gave the boy a more thorough regard. He was still not leaving, but was still nervous about something. Mort knew his experience with children was heartrendingly limited to just what he had received from Lucy, and as she continued to bloom into adulthood, he felt he would fall further out of touch with her. But even drawing on his own life at Francis's age, he could not determine what the boy was doing. Of course the boy was not a typical child. “Is there anything else?” 

“Not from my mom.” The down turned face and the fiddling with a mitten, told the tale clearly to the older man. 

“I think I should return your mother's generosity in some small token.” Mort stepped aside. “Why don't you come in while I locate something for you to take home?“ 

“Okay.” The boy looked relieved at the offer and scurried in. Like a good visitor, he immediately removed his hat and boots. Mortimer walked slowly ahead of him, giving him a guiding shadow until the fog on his glasses cleared. “What's that music?” 

“Nothing.” Mort snapped and slammed his office door closed. 

“Sounded like a guy my dad does an impression of at New Years.” Francis went to press his ear to the door and Mortimer cleared his throat at him. “Is it true you are friends with Burymore Legions?” 

“We are acquainted.” Mortimer credited himself as quick with his wits as he was with his blades, but even he had trouble keeping up with the subject changes when dealing with the boy. 

“Did he really attend Lucy's coronation?” Francis asked too loudly for Mort's liking. 

“He was in attendance.” 

“Mom said that she was surprised to learn that.” Mort started for the kitchen, hoping the boy would either get to the point or wish to leave. “She thinks he had a falling out with the All King. She says that he is on Manus's list.” 

“Which list is that?” 

“The same one your on of my dad's.” Francis looked around the room nervously. “The one that starts with a bad word.” 

“He was there, I can tell you.” Mortimer knew the truth of this and more. 

“I just read about how he turned the tide in the Battle of Betrayal.” Francis did not take his customary place at the kitchen table but followed Mort to the pantry. “Did he really duel General Nicodemus to force him to surrender?” 

“It is likely.” Mortimer rattled cans and boxes about in the small room, trying to sound busy as he let the boy get whatever was on his mind off. Francis had a mind like Lucy which meant Mort might be rattling about for awhile. “It is also likely that it was just a fanciful historian's take on the conclusion to the second war.” 

“I should ask Dargo.” Francis sounded enthused. “He was probably old enough to remember that stuff.” 

“Indeed.” Old enough to serve, Mort knew for a fact. 

“I also read how a swamp witch saved Magnus's life.” Francis dropped his voice as low as Mortimer had ever heard it. “They drew her to look an awful lot like Lucy's grandmother.” 

There was that nervousness again that Mort had been picking up on. He was starting to believe it had nothing to do with him and very little to do with what the boy was rambling about. 

“I am sure it was done to show respect to the woman.” 

“Which one?” 

“Either.” Mort gave up on pretending to search the pantry and went back into the kitchen, Francis on his heel. 

“I also read–.” 

“Is that all you do? Read?” Mortimer didn't snap at the boy as he was prone to do when annoyed and distracted. He was certainly no more annoying than usual and he was a huge distraction to what he should be focusing all his energy on. There was no logical reason to be indulging the child. 

“No.” Francis gave him the confused look of an analytic person being asked a rhetorical question and trying to figure out its true answer. 

“Good. Books are full of the shadows of the past cast by the light of the present for people who wish to change the future.” Mortimer prattled off the line that he had heard from Mother Morgan once when she was bothered by the amount of time Lucy spent reading and blaming it for her lack of social interaction. 

“Really?” The boy sounded excited by the analogy, and Mortimer sometimes forgot he was dealing with a Croucher, or at least half of one. 

“Yes.” He slammed a cupboard closed and opened the last one. “And if you find a way to travel to those shadows, let me know. I have a few memories I would like to revisit.” 

“This is kinda like that thing Lucy and I were talking about the other day. With the changing your past stuff.” Mortimer let out a sigh as he felt that the boy would never get to the point. By the way that he suddenly got very quiet, Mort knew he was wrong. “Is Lucy going to be home for Thanksgiving?” 

“I don't know.” Mort said, hating that it was not just the holiday plans he had no clue about. 

“I hope so.” Francis looked at the floor. “I miss her.” 

“Do you?” Mortimer gave the top of the boy's head a penetrating stare, wishing he could peel him open to read his mind. 

“Of course.” He looked up and Mortimer remembered that the boy didn't have a lot of layers to dig through. “She's my best friend and a lot of fun. And Mom was going to invite you guys over. She was going to meet my uncle. He is so much fun.” 

“Well, let us both hold out hope that our holidays will be made complete by her presence.” Mort pulled down an old bottle of his personal blend of basting oil. He placed it in a bag from the pantry and added a loaf of fresh bread that he had made the other week. 

“I can do that.” Francis perked up, his nervousness only slightly relieved. “Do you think she wants to come home?” 

Mortimer's hands faltered in his search of the vegetable crisper, and he was grateful that the boy could not see his face, for there was no way he could have kept hidden the sudden pang of dread that came over him. He had been only trying to think of how to keep her safe and bring her back under his protection. He had never thought that she might not want to come back. It never made sense that she should want to be anywhere else but where she was safest and had lived her whole life. Thoughts that he had buried centuries ago, and with the exception of the influence of the Sleesh had never been unearthed, called to him. She had her real family; why would she want to leave that? 

“Tell your mother thank you very much for the food.” Mortimer said brusquely, as he hurriedly placed the remainder of the ingredients into the bag for the boy. “She will have everything in here to make homemade stuffing with the exception of fresh sage, as I am all out.” 

“Okay.” Francis sounded down. He clearly had hoped for some kind of reassurance but Mort had none to give. He didn't believe in false hope or misinformation. He did have hope that he would solve the puzzle of who wanted to hurt Lucy because he knew his own skills. And it wasn't false hope to think that he might see her on the holiday, because he planned to roust the culprit very soon. “Happy Thanksgiving.” Francis said prematurely, as Mort held the door open for him. 

“And to your family as well.” 

“Do you guys do the whole sit around the table and say what you are thankful for?” The boy asked, once he was on the porch. 

“No.” Mortimer hated the sentimentality and false humility of the act. 

“Oh.” Francis looked crestfallen again, “What about watching the football game?” 

“Have you ever seen a television in this house or seen an enthusiasm for organized sports?” 

“No. What about the big nap on the couch after eating?” 

“We don't do any of the typical traditions.” Mortimer suggestively began closing the door on the boy. 

“We only do some of them because of Dad.” Francis shrugged. “He made a deal with Mom that if we had to do Herald holidays, then we also had to do human ones too. It's the best of both worlds.” 

Or the worst, Mortimer privately mused as he finally got the boy to stop talking and leave. He made it only a step back into his office when it hit him. He knew what the kidnapper's next move would be, or more importantly when.
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“I want a drink.” I slowly hissed against the strain of holding my concentration. “A nice cool drink.”

Lidio didn't react to my words. Not so much as a flicker.

“With lot's of ice.” I reshaped my mind around the image of the most perfectly satisfying beverage I could imagine. “Actually, ice cream. A shake. A chocolate shake. With a swirl of hot fudge. I want it so thick that you can barely use a straw to get a taste.”

Boris began to pester me for the treat again and I let him. I even began slowly passing it before his face, making sure he kept it in focus.

“Yeah. Chocolate ice cream with chocolate milk, syrup, and fudge, all mixed together and poured slowly into a chilled mug.” I could almost feel the cool glass in my hand and the sensation of trying to draw the thick drink up the straw. “Perhaps with just a ring of whip cream with dark cocoa shavings on it.” Boris got more insistent for the sweet and I ignored the sticky sensation of his tongue trying to liberate it from my teasing hand. “For one of those, right now, I'd give anything.”

From the edge of my vision, the briefest silhouette flickered into existence for a heartbeat. And the world changed in that beat. I snapped my hand towards the shape and let fly the treat I had been withholding from my dog. The figure just started to fade from reality when the candy hit them and a very amusing second later, Boris followed. The pressure, I had started to suspect was afflicting us all, dipped in the moment that my dog lost interest in the treat and instead put his jaws around something tastier. The shape of the room changed as sounds of terror and alarm came from the thrashing form that Boris held at bay. The space grew in size and in occupants. A thin figure stood in a corner behind Lidio and before they could do what they might be capable off, I grabbed what I assumed was an ashtray and hurled it in their general direction. My aim was as good as before but the target was more prepared and swatted it aside. This still worked in our favor, as whatever had suppressed Vienna relinquished and she illuminated the room with a bolt of lightening that the man in the corner could do nothing to deflect. With the after images of Vienna's Art fading, I witnessed Grandmother rise to her feet and bring the tip of her cane up into Mr. Skalden's jaw. The thin man snapped back into his chair and rolled several feet away from his desk from the assault.

I grabbed for the nearest thing I could use as a weapon when a scuffle broke out behind me. I turned to face a wall of solid black that after several seconds of thoroughly concealed violence, faded to reveal Cecilia standing calmly straightening her long dress. A moment or two later, the door burst open to let in my aunts and Dargo. They didn't seem in a hurry to lock or barricade the entrance.

“How did things go in here?” Aunt Eva asked, walking over to check on me before going to see who Boris still held subdued.

“Unexpectedly.” Grandmother said sharply. “I thought this man was an enemy to your kind.”

“So did we.” Aunt Eva did little to hide her confusion. With a nod that it was okay, I finally called off my dog and my aunt hauled his victim to it's feet. “Why would a Succubus work for this monster?”

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Blog Author: Margaret Daly

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Cargon by @kimmydonn~#RPBP Featured Book Of The Week! A Post-Apocalyptic, Sci-Fi, Fantasy #eBook for #99cents!

Honor and Privilege is the first of three Cargon books. As a post-apocalyptic renaissance, Cargon combines the feel of medieval fantasy with the science and speculative components of Science Fiction. It is a true Sci-Fi/Fantasy. Although the protagonist is female, this isn't a 'girl' book. Logic rules Eve more than emotion and the point of view in the story is shared with a male character, Adam.

Honor & Privilege
​(Cargon Trilogy Book 1)
In a post-apocalyptic world, a lowly servant is at the front of a second renaissance.
Eve is born to the lowest caste, but her sharp mind brings her to the attention of the elite.
In an unprecedented move, she initiates a game of Cargon, the method elite use to rank themselves, and wins a place among them. From within, she sparks new ideas, ones that will literally enlighten her world.
Can she balance the sacrifices that come with her new privilege? Will she marry a partner that will bring her honor as well as love?

Available Wide
     The Second came in through the main doors beside the High One and met her gaze before taking his seat. Was that a good sign, or a bad one?

     Whispers filled the hall, as they had every night. Tonight, however, they knew the game was over, but everyone was still in their places. Who had lost an honor? Who gained?

     The first course came and went while the elite continued to speculate and find no answer. The High One put them out of their misery. “Second, where is your father's honor?” Her voice rang through the hall, bringing a hush to the others.

     Eve gripped her pitchers more tightly. His father's honor? What did that mean? What did she have around her neck? The medallion felt colder and heavier. Only a few links of the chain showed on her chest, the rest tucked away.

     “I'm afraid I lost it.” The elite looked amongst themselves again, trying to find the medallion.

     The High One dropped her voice. “And you could not have given something lesser?”

     “She deserved nothing less.”

     At full volume she asked, “Then tell me, Vanto, who has joined our family?”

     Vanto? Eve thought with confusion. He was Second; he would only be Vanto if... She paused in the middle of a stride. If another were made Second.

     Eve considered running for the kitchen, especially as the Second rose from his seat. Barely starting in that direction, she had only reached the edge of one of her tables when he caught her. She shook as she dropped into a very deep curtsy. He was going to punish her now. That was the only thing that made sense.

     Adam cringed, watching her shame herself. She didn’t know what she had won. Of course, none of those around him knew either. He took her pitchers and set them on the table. Her hands fell as soon as they released the silver, bracing on the floor. Her shoulders shook. Putting his hands to her neck, he slipped his fingers under the bits of chain exposed. She gasped, and he made a note to apologize later for the unavoidable contact. He lifted the medallion from under her dress and let it fall over her chest. The elite seated at the table gasped. 

     “Rise, kin.” Eve needed the order to make her move, but the address should soften the blow. He offered his hand and she took it, rising. Ashen, her eyes darted and rolled, testimony to her shock. At least he’d gotten her moving. He’d get her settled and give her time to recover. She leaned on him slightly, as though afraid of falling. 

     Leading, keeping her close to his side, he stopped before his mother. “Mother, may I introduce Eve?” 

     Eve froze, eyes popping, unnaturally still. 

     The High One rose. “It is wonderful to finally meet you, Eve.” 

     Finally? Comprehension came quickly. Someone had put Eve into Ernst Peter's class. Adam nearly fell as Eve's full weight fell on his arm. Bending a knee to brace her, he made sure it was as he suspected. She’d fainted. He smiled at his mother and chuckled.

Discover Kimberly Gould!
Kimberly Gould hates being called Kimmy, but her mother called her Kimmydonn and that was okay. She lives in Edmonton with her husband and daughter. When she isn't writing about the post-apocalyptic world, she is doing her best to prevent an apocalypse as an environmental consultant. She is the author of the Cargon series as well as Thickness of Blood and Never Say Die: A Zombie Time Loop Story. You can find her anywhere online as Kimmydonn, including her website,
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Twitter: @kimmydonn

Monday, May 8, 2017

Get Your Scare On for 99cents! Mister Jones Mystery Series by @macmillanjones #ASMSG #BookBoost #RPBP

Welcome To Mister Jones Mystery Series!
Get Your Scare On For 99Cents!
The Showing

His visit to the house has awoken that which was sleeping: how many must be taken before IT can be laid to rest?’

For Sale again is Mister Jones’ family home: a house he had known and feared since his childhood. On a nostalgic whim he decides to visit the house, with disasterous results. The house reacts to his appearance and the estate agent who is showing him around vanishes. Shortly afterwards the next agent appointed to handle the sale of the property also disappears.

Mister Jones wants nothing to do with the property. His visit has awoken old memories for him, and the memories are not pleasant. But it is clear that something else has also been awoken by his visit, and when he is begged to help find the young agent who has vanished, he can no longer avoid the responsibility of facing his legacy of evil, and dealing with the curse laid upon the house.

But what will happen when he faces IT, and who will emerge alive?

If you knew just how much of this story is true, how well would you sleep tonight?

Portrait Of A Girl

Does lightning ever strike twice? It would seem so for the unfortunate Mister Jones. After a harrowing encounter with the paranormal in The Showing, once again he again finds himself in mortal danger on the borders of that shadowed world.

An antique painting holds a strange fascination for him - and others. What does the girl in the portrait want from Mister Jones and from the others who become entranced by her beauty? And can she be stopped before she unleashes her ancient evil into our modern world in a lake of blood?

‘This is a great read. I literally devoured it in less than 24 hours. If you liked The Showing... it's better. Spooky. It reads a bit like Sheridan LeFanu or Guy de Maupassant. Awesome. Classic horror short story, except this isn't short. It's a full novel. Just wanted to clarify, it READS like a classic horror short story. Tight, spare and invoking tons of imagination.’

The House Next Door

Mister Jones thought that he was finished with the world of the paranormal: but the paranormal world hadn’t finished with him… His next door neighbour is attracted to a statuette and takes it home. Shortly afterwards, her mother is brutally murdered, - and that isn’t the only death. As the casualties mount and the dead roam free, can Mister Jones stop the tide of evil?

When Sheila Balsam finds herself compelled to buy a genuine antique in a strange little shop, she didn’t bargain for what came with the statuette - and Mister Jones finds himself once again drawn into the dangerous world of the paranormal : this time via the house next door.

An ancient evil has found a way to break from his enchanted prison and the only one who is going to stand in his way is the unfortunate Mister Jones, who seems destined to live in interesting times.

The Curse Of Clyffe House

It was supposed to be a holiday, time away whilst his friend and neighbour wrote a book about their last adventure. But as soon as Mister Jones arrives at the holiday cottage things start to go wrong, and waking up to find a skeleton in his bed is only the start. Terror stalks this cottage and before long Mister Jones discovers an ancient Evil is plotting to wreak devastation across the land; and it plans to start with his death.

Poison, fear, and a horrific Shadow from long ago stand between their survival: can Mister Jones and his friend defeat the Curse of Clyffe House and live?

Coming In The Summer Of 2017
Demon's Reach

Mister Jones discovers more about his family in this fifth novel about his adventures. A relative he had never known appoints him both executor of his estate, and the beneficiary should the main beneficiaries have died before him. Surprised and curious to learn more about his family and their past, Mister Jones journeys to the mist haunted eastern coast of England, and the village of Hawkstowe.

There he finds that his family have an unsavoury reputation locally for their dealings in black magic, and that his arrival is viewed with fear and horror. So scared are the locals that Mister Jones might herald a return to the dreadful times they experienced many years ago that they decide to burn down the house in which he is staying.

Mister Jones must confront demons, monsters, and members of his family both living and dead to escape with his life and his sanity intact.
Visit Rukia Publishing To Read A Sample Of Each Book

Meet The Author ​Will Macmillan Jones

Will Macmillan Jones lives in Wales, a lovely green, verdant land with a rich cultural heritage. He does his best to support this heritage by drinking the local beer and shouting loud encouragement whenever International Rugby is on the TV. A just sixty lover of blues, rock and jazz he has just fulfilled a lifetime ambition by filling an entire wall of his home office with (full) bookcases. When not writing, he is usually lost with the help of a satnav on top of a large hill in the middle of nowhere.
He writes Dark Fantasy, fantasy he fantasises is funny, and books for children. Some of his pieces have won awards but he doesn’t like to talk about that as it draws attention to the fact that other pieces haven’t.
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Twitter: @macmillanjones