Blog Tour – Solomon’s Bell by Michelle Lowery Combs

Michelle Lowery Combs is an award-winning writer and blogger who studied business and English at Jacksonville State University. She lives in Alabama with her husband and their army of children. When not in the presence of throngs of toddlers, tweens, and teens, Michelle can be found among the rows of her family’s farm, neglecting her roots and dreaming up the next bestseller.

She is a member of the Alabama Writers’ Conclave and the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI). Check Michelle out at her website MichelleLoweryCombs.com

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07 Mar – Ash Stone Author
07 Mar – Indie Book Fairy
07 Mar – Stormy Nights
07 Mar – Teatime and Books
08 Mar – Romance Reviews Today
08 Mar – Tome Tender
08 Mar – Girl With Pen
09 Mar – Writing Dreams
13 Mar – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
13 Mar – Girl Who Reads

To save her family, Ginn uses her newfound genie powers to transport herself and her friends to 16th century Prague. Only one thing there remains the same as at home:  she can’t let anyone know what she really is.

The Emperor of Prague and those closest to him are obsessed with magic. In pursuit of it, they’ve waged war on the citizens of their city. In the citizens’ defense, someone has brought to life a golem, a dangerous being with connections to an artifact capable of summoning and commanding an entire army of genies.

Can Ginn escape the notice of the Emperor as she attempts to discover a way to defeat Prague’s golem in time to save her family from a similar creature?

Solomon’s Bell is the sequel to Heir to the Lamp and the second book of the Genie Chronicles series.

Grab your copy now!

Amazon     Barnes and Noble     iTunes     World Weaver Press

Haley Hardy blinks up at me, her big blue eyes made larger with surprise. Haley’s the newbie: a tiny ten-year-old my family has been fostering for the last few months. Mom and Dad want to adopt Haley, but she hasn’t decided on Charles and Molly Lawson and their chaotic brood of six children yet.

“What’s up, Haley?” I ask, trying to sound as though I don’t know she’s seen me appear from out of nowhere. I turn my back to her, retrieve the lamp from the ground, and stuff it into my pack.

“Sixty-four percent of people believe the Loch Ness monster really exists,” Haley says in her high voice. “Of course, you’d have to use a point zero one significance level to test that claim; the survey I saw was online.”

Half the time I have no idea what Haley is talking about. She’s insanely smart—a genius even. I can practically feel my IQ plummet whenever I try to have a conversation with her.

“Um, really?” I ask, trying to imagine where this is going. Haley half turns toward the open door of the small barn as if she’s about to leave. I sigh with relief, but Haley seems to think better of it and turns to face me again.

“Did you know that there’s an ongoing project to have collected evidence validated by science and the Sasquatch officially recognized as a species?”

What? “Haley, where do you come up with this stuff?” I sink onto the wooden bench behind me, peering into the bright eyes of the strangest kid I’ve ever met.

“I like to read,” she says, looking away. Between her right thumb and first two thin fingers, Haley rolls the fat glass marble she carries with her at all times. Mom says it’s a kind of security object, like how some kids develop attachments to stuffed toys or blankets from their babyhood. Mom also says the rest of us kids shouldn’t make a huge deal about it. Haley’s been in six foster homes in five years, and Mom figures the marble could be a keepsake from her life before all that, though Haley hasn’t said as much. She’s so intense sometimes; I don’t think anyone knows what to make of her. Mom says some of the other foster families exploited Haley; she’s been on a major talk show and even won twenty-five thousand dollars for one of her foster families on some game show before they abandoned her on the steps of the Children’s Methodist Home on their way to Las Vegas. Watching her with her marble, seeing how slowly she works the ball of glass flecked with every color of the rainbow, I can tell I’ve hurt her feelings.

“Reading’s cool,” I say, hoping to reassure her. Sure, I thought about divorcing my parents when I found out we were taking in another kid, even when in the beginning the arrangement was supposed to be only temporary, but I kind of like the little brainiac. Mostly because of the way she’s able to keep Eli and Jasper in line. The Twosome are crazy about our new foster sister. Part of me is starting to wonder if Haley’s stats on Bigfoot could have anything to do with the boys’ obsession with B-grade horror movies.

“I’d be satisfied with being half as smart as you, Haley. I’m having the worst time in algebra.”

“Mr. Lawson is teaching me trigonometry,” Haley says brightening. “Algebra was a breeze.” My parents are homeschooling Haley; they say it’s for the best. She’d be at least a junior at my high school otherwise. I can imagine all four and a half feet of her struggling on tip-toe to reach a locker—that is if her statistics about the Loch Ness Monster didn’t get her stuffed into it. “I’m happy to tutor you,” she tells me.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

I stand and watch Haley eye the backpack on my shoulder. She looks from my face to the pack a few times. I think she’s about to say something about what she’s seen or thinks she’s seen with the lamp when Jasper bursts through the barn door.

“Hay-wee!” he exclaims. “We need wou, quick! I fink we found a chupacabwa!”

“It’s highly unlikely that a goat sucker or el chupacabra would be found this far north of Latin America, Jasper,” Haley says. She corrects my seven-year-old brother even as she allows him to tug her excitedly from the barn.

 

 

Blog Tour – Meddlers of Moonshine by A.E. Decker

A.E. Decker hails from Pennsylvania. A former doll-maker and ESL tutor, she earned a master’s degree in history, where she developed a love of turning old stories upside-down to see what fell out of them.

This led in turn to the writing of her YA novel, The Falling of the Moon. A graduate of Odyssey 2011, her short fiction has appeared in such venues as Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Fireside Magazine, and in World Weaver Press’s own Specter Spectacular.

Like all writers, she is owned by three cats. Come visit her, her cats, and her fur Daleks at wordsmeetworld.com.

Twitter     Goodreads

Something is rotten in the town of Widget, and Rags-n-Bones knows it’s all his fault. Ever since he snitched that avocado from Miss Ascot’s pack, things have been going wrong. Armed with a handful of memories he never realized he had, Rags-n-Bones searches for a way to put right whatever he did to Widget in the past. If only he knew what it was! Unfortunately, the only person who seems to have answers is a half-mad youth that only Rags can see.

Widget is also suffering from a ghost infestation that has the townsfolk almost as spooked of outsiders as they are of actual spooks. While Rags-n-Bones seeks answers in the past, Ascot offers the town leaders her service as an exorcist, only to be handed an ultimatum: banish the ghosts or be banished herself!

Who’s meddling with Widget? To catch the culprit, Ascot and Rags-n-Bones must match wits with a shifty sorcerer, a prissy ex-governess, and a troublingly attractive captain before the town consigns itself to the graveyard of history.

Buy your copy here

Amazon      Barnes & Noble      Kobo     iTunes      World Weaver Press

 

24 Oct – Book, Dreams, Life
25 Oct – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
25 Oct – Girl With Pen
26 Oct – Savvy Authors
27 Oct – Romance Reviews Today
27 Oct – Ash Stone Author
27 Oct – Stephanie’s Book Reviews
28 Oct – Writing Dreams
28 Oct – Romancing the Book
28 Oct – Indie Book Fairy
28 Oct  – Reading In Sarah’s Corner
29 Oct – Stormy Nights
30 Oct – Shelli Rosewarne
30 Oct – Cynthia Bloggs
30 Oct – Making It Happen
03 Oct  – Dana’s YA Book Pile

There was a hand in the forest, and it held an avocado.

“Miss Ascot bought it for me,” said Rags-n-Bones, clutching it to his chest as he ran. The dead leaves crunched softly underfoot, thick and bouncy as a crispy cloud. “That means it’s not stealing.”

On his shoulder, Nipper squeaked. Being a rat, Nipper was hazy on the concept of “stealing.” Generally, he felt if you could get something in your mouth, it was yours.

Rags-n-Bones wished he were a rat. It would make dealing with guilt much easier. I should never have rummaged through Miss Ascot’s pack, he thought, ducking around a birch. His thumb caressed the avocado’s soft, pebbly skin. If I’d waited, she, or the Captain, or Sir Dmitri, or the Mighty Terror from the Deepest Shadows would’ve awakened and given it to me. He leaped over a log, mouth watering in anticipation of the avocado’s rich, buttery flavor. I should go back right now and—

Squeak? Nipper stuck his nose in Rags-n-Bones’ ear impatiently.

Rags-n-Bones gave up. He’d take whatever punishment arrived later. Right now, the torment of not eating the avocado was too great to bear. “There’s a grove up ahead,” he replied. “Around that cone-shaped boulder. We’ll eat it there.” Avocados required privacy for proper consumption.

How could you possibly know there’s a grove ahead? asked a small part of his brain not drunk on avocado-lust. You’ve never been here before.

He shrugged. Ahead just seemed like a convenient place for a grove. A small circle of beech trees, with an old oak smack in the center, its gnarled, moss-covered roots gripping the hummock it sat atop like an old man clutching a tea cake.

A foot skidded out from under him as he rounded the boulder, kicking up a trail of wet leaves and the smell of tannin. That’s a lot of detail for a mere hunch. Why, you can visualize the oak, can’t you? That thick, knobby trunk. Those bare, crooked branches. And carved into the bark—

Six feet into the grove, Rags-n-Bones stumbled to a halt and stared vacantly at a patch of earth. Something was very wrong. Was he being watched?

He whimpered. He was being watched. A disapproving stare pressed almost tangibly on the top of his bowed head. Branches swayed creakily overhead. He watched the wind skitter a fallen acorn across the carpet of leaves.

Squeak? Nipper scrabbled at his cheek.

I have to do it. Slowly, Rags-n-Bones lifted his gaze to meet the watcher’s.

The avocado hit the leaves with a soft crunch as his fingers abruptly slackened. Punishment had arrived sooner than expected.

Blog Tour – My Father Didn’t Kill Himself by Russell Nohelty

Russell Nohelty is a writer, publisher, and consultant. He is the publisher of Wannabe Press and its main author. Russell likes to write genre fiction with deep character studies.

He’s sadistic with his characters, putting them in the worst situations and watching them claw their way back up, just to kick them back into the abyss again. Russell started his career writing comics, and now writes novels and children’s books as well.

@russellnohelty (twitter/Instagram)
www.facebook.com/russellnohelty

How would you cope is somebody you love committed suicide?

Delilah’s father is the greatest man she has ever known. When he commits suicide her world is shattered. She can’t eat. She can’t sleep. Her bubbly personality becomes ascorbic. All she wants is to be left alone.

When his insurance policy refuses to pay out, Delilah sets out to prove what she’s known all along: that his suicide was in fact a murder.

A story of getting over grief and learning those you idolize aren’t perfect, told in blog posts through Delilah and her best friend.

On the surface My Father Didn’t Kill Himself is a mystery book, but right below the surface is a story of how people get over grief. And not just how Delilah gets over her grief of losing the person she idolizes most in the world. Also about how a wife gets over the grief of her husband, a husband that was supposed to provide for her, but instead left her alone and destitute.

Mixed with that is the loss felt by Alex, Delilah’s best friend, in losing her best friend to the anguish of grief, watching her slip away and pull back from the world, feeling helpless.

Buy your copy HERE

YA Mystery. This book deals with death, loss, and grief. There are difficult concepts to deal with and uncomfortable situations.

13 May – Room with Books
16 May – Dana’s YA Book Pile
17 May – Indy Book Fairy
18 May – After This Page
19 May – Books on Fire
19 May – Night Owl Reviews
19 May – Torie James
20 May – Writing Dreams
21 May – Savvy Authors
21 May – Books & More
21 May – Stormy Nights
22 May – Shelli Rosewarne
22 May – Cynthia Bloggs
25 May – Celtic Lady
25 May – Tome Tender

DROWNING

Posted by Delilah Clark × December 15 at 9:31 pm.

Here is what The Suicide Handbook says about drowning.

Drowning in cold water is supposed to be like going to sleep. For me, it was a nightmare.

Shivering, freezing, I sat for a minute until my body

Adjusted to the cold. Then I sunk down under the water. The cold washed over me, but my lungs were on fire. Before I could pass out my natural instincts kicked in. I couldn’t fight them. I kicked and screamed

until half the water was gone. I gasped for air. It was frightful.

I performed my experiment much like J. I laid down in the tub until my body adjusted to the temperature. Once I was acclimated, I sunk below the water. I breathed out until there were no bubbles. And I waited. It didn’t take long for the fire in my lungs to start. Soon, it was unbearable. My body thrashed around for a moment before I shot out of the water and gasped for precious air.

I wholeheartedly endorse every word J said.

On top of that I realized something.

If I died in this tub, my bowels would empty, and I would be sitting in feces-filled water until somebody found me. That is not a dignified way to die—my bowel excretion muddying the water and coating me in a fine mist of poop. They’d be scrubbing for days to get me ready for the casket.

No thank you.

CEMETERY

Posted by Delilah Clark × December 16 at 7:22 pm.

Before every session with Dr. Bennett, Susie drives me to the cemetery and tries to coerce me into visiting my father’s grave.

I’d never been to his grave before; not since the funeral. It didn’t seem important to me.

It’s not like he’s in there anyway. Maybe his body, but not him. If he’s anywhere, he’s by my side as I try to fulfill his last wishes, not hanging out in a cemetery.

But Susie always insists on driving to the cemetery anyway. The cemetery is a weird place full of weird people. There’s this tall undertaker who seems a little too into the dead people’s families. He’s like overeager for them to buy something. His smile creeps me out.

There’s a grave digger who has to be high on something because he moves slower than molasses. Sometimes I catch the funeral director yelling at him, as if that’s going to motivate somebody that digs graves for a living to pick up the pace. Shocker, it never worked.

They’re not weird in a bad way though. Some of them I could like if I didn’t hate everybody on principle. There’s this guy who is always reading comic books. He introduced himself to me one day as “Roscoe. Roscoe Fay.” Like he’s James Bond or something. He just sits under this tall oak tree overlooking the cemetery and silently reads comics. I would watch him read sometimes, letting my eye catch a cool image every once and a while.

I would usually just sit there, looking out at the cemetery, until Susie gave up and drove us away. But today was different. Today, I felt a twinge in my stomach, a pang, not quite a stress baby, but maybe a stress zygote, or an unfertilized egg.

I needed to see his grave. I needed to talk to him.

Susie was ready to fight, but before she could open her big mouth I pushed out of the door and walked over to his grave.

It was weird.

For all my research on death, I had no idea how to act in a cemetery. I saw a few people crying over graves and placing flowers on them as they rehashed their day.

That isn’t me. I’m cried out.

His gravestone was simple and to the point.

Tim Clark. Devoted husband and father.

I read it over and over again. Have you ever noticed that any word you say over and over again sounds super weird? Just try saying neck two hundred times and tell me that’s not a silly word by the end?

By the eight millionth silent loop, my dad’s name sounded like an alien language. Maybe Zorgblopple, which I just made up.

“Hey dad,” I finally said. “How are you doing? Probably not so bad, right? I mean worms might be eating your insides, but at least you can’t feel how cold it is, right?”

I paused, waiting for a response from him. I felt like an idiot.

“It’s been snowing here a lot. Remember when Mom went out of town for the weekend and it rained? You always said that God was crying because he missed her. I thought that was silly, but I always think about that when it rains or snows now.”

I liked it. I liked it so much I skipped therapy and sat there most of the day. I really can’t tell you how much better than therapy it is.

Blog Tour – The Italian Word for Kisses by Matthew J. Metzger

 

Matthew J. Metzger is a British author currently living, working and writing near Bristol in the south-west of England. He is both asexual and transgender, and seeks out the loud characters, rough stories, and quirky personalities that explore the rich diversity of the QUILTBAG world. He writes both adult and young adult novels, covering topics from mental illness to ill-advised crushes, and particularly enjoys writing about universal issues from the QUILTBAG perspective. Matthew can be found on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest and Tsu, or at his website.

When not writing (which is rare), Matthew is usually found crunching numbers at his day job, working out to inappropriately chirpy pop songs, or being owned by his cat. It is important to note that the man does not, naturally, own the cat.

It’s no secret that Tav and Luca are going out. After the accident, it’s also no secret that new kid Jack Collins has a raging case of homophobia, and is not best pleased about having given the kiss of life to a gay guy. Either Luca quits swimming, or Jack is going to make him.

Tav favours the tried-and-true method of knocking Jack’s teeth down his neck, only he can’t really afford another school suspension. Luca favours just ignoring him, only ignoring a penknife being held to your throat at New Year’s Eve is downright stupid.

Thing is, Luca suspects that Jack is a victim of something himself. And time is running out for Luca to get through to Jack, before Jack gets rid of him.

Buy your copy here

16 Dec – Romancing the Book
21 Dec – YA Outside the Lines
23 Dec – Pamaceeve
25 Dec – Room with Books
25 Dec – Romance Junkies
26 Dec – Books & More
28 Dec – Dana’s YA Book Pile
29 Dec – Savvy Authors
29 Dec – Romance Reviews Today
29 Dec – Indy Book Fairy
30 Dec – Night Owl Reviews
31 Dec – Foreplay & Fangs
31 Dec – Books on Fire

“Alright, Collins.”

The bang of the changing room door and the amiable greeting from one of the other boys caught Luca’s attention, but the sudden, sharp silence made his blood run cold. All at once, Luca was both afraid, and angry with himself for being afraid. So he squared his shoulders and turned on his heel, folding his arms over his chest and meeting Jack’s scowl with a glower of his own.

“What.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jack snarled.

“Fuckin’ swimming. What about you?”

“I told you not to come.”

It was like the rest of the team didn’t exist. Luca didn’t dare break eye contact, and Jack ― although he tossed his bag onto a bench and unzipped his jacket, was zeroed in on Luca in a way that made the hairs on Luca’s arms stand on end.

“Dunno what kinky shit you’re into, Collins, but I don’t follow your orders.” Being both an older and a younger brother had made Luca able to bluff with ease, and despite the impotent anger, the tart tang of shame around the edges of his brain that this moron had somehow gotten one over him and seized some power in this stupid fucking game, his voice sounded ― even to him ― arrogant and bored.

“Go.”

“You what?”

“I said go,” Jack repeated. The other boys hovered uncertainly, but Aaron and David had both closed ranks to Luca’s shoulders, and Luca took a fortified breath. Aaron looked steely. David looked a little more confused, but determinedly hostile all the same.

“Like hell I’m going,” Luca said. “You got a problem with a pouf on the team, you need to fuck off and get your head out your arse. I’m here to swim. I’m not going nowhere.”

“What the fuck is going on?” David asked.

“Jack, mate, leave it,” one of the other boys said. “It’s just Jensen, Jensen’s sound―”

“He’s a fucking faggot, and I won’t have his kind here ― I warned you, I fucking told you, and you’re still fucking here!”

“What’s your problem, mate, he’s taken up wi’ that Chris in Jan Krawczyk’s tutor group…”

“Yeah, Jack, lay off already, who d’you reckon you are anyway, you’re new―”

“I know there’s a fucking faggot on this fucking team and I―”

“Don’t fucking call him a faggot, twat,” one of the other boys ― a lad  called Ryan that Luca had never so much as spoken to outside of the club, and was in the year below them anyway ― sneered, and he shot out a hand to shove at Jack’s shoulder.

“I told you to stay away!” Jack bellowed, and his hand vanished into his unzipped jacket. “I told you, I fucking told you―”

The changing room erupted; the flick-knife flashed under the sickly halogen lights, and Luca’s back slammed into the wall of locker doors as Aaron and David shoved him back as one. Both doors ― one to the foyer and one to the pool ― banged loudly, and the bolshy kid, Ryan, lashed out with a fist, smashing into Jack’s jaw from the side. A couple of men came rampaging over from the showers in their wet trunks, all the noise bouncing off the walls until it was dizzying. Coach arrived with a shrill shriek of the whistle, and the knife had gone somewhere but Luca couldn’t tell where in the ruckus, and then Aaron’s hand was on his shoulder and he was being steered off into one corner of the changing room, and―

A flush of hot, furious shame boiled up Luca’s stomach and into his guts, and he twisted away from Aaron’s hands and grabbed for his kit bag. He didn’t need Aaron to fucking protect him. He didn’t need anyone to protect him, he wasn’t some pathetic little kid who needed their hand holding. He shouldn’t need defending, he was a Jensen! He should be able to defend himself.

He grabbed his bag and bolted. As he fled up the stairs, a burly security guard and Coach were wrestling the knife out of Jack’s hands in the corridor, both shouting at him, and Jack shouting back, face red and voice hoarse and shrill with fury.

“You fucking steer clear of me, Jensen!” he bellowed after Luca, who didn’t dare look back. “F’you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of here, you fucking queer!”

Luca reached the top of the stairs, and ran.

Blog Tour: The Jock and the Fat Chick by Nicole Winters

Born into a literary family.

Could write before speaking.

Spent childhood in sunshiny green meadows devouring highbrow literary works.

Untrue!

More like she was told that C-average, learning disabled students couldn’t possibly grow up to be writers.  Nicole proved them wrong.  She has an English B.A. from the University of Toronto and loves cats, books, horror films, globe hopping and home-baked cookies.  She has even – once – been spotted wearing a sundress.

Her previous book, TT Full Throttle, is all cool dudes and motorcycles and she is currently working on her third book, The Conjurer, which involves magic!

The Jock And The Fat Chick is her first foray into romance.

Website     Twitter     Book on Facebook     Facebook Author Page

No one ever said high school was easy. In this hilarious and heartwarming debut, one high school senior has to ask himself how much he’s willing to give up in order to fit in.

Kevin seems to have it all: he’s popular, good looking, and on his way to scoring a college hockey scholarship. However, he’s keeping two big secrets. The first is that he failed an assignment and is now forced to take the most embarrassing course ever–domestic tech. The second is that he is falling for his domestic tech classmate, Claire.

As far as Kevin is concerned, Claire does have it all: she’s funny, smart, beautiful, and confident. But she’s off-limits. Because Kevin knows what happens when someone in his group dares to date a girl who isn’t a cheerleader, and there’s no way he is going to put himself—or Claire—through that.

But steering clear of the girl of his dreams is a lot harder than Kevin thought…especially when a cooking project they are paired together for provides the perfect opportunity for things to heat up between them outside the classroom….

HarperCollins     Amazon     iTunes     Barnes and Noble     Chapters/Indigo

15 Oct – Coffee Time Romance
16 Oct – Torie James
16 Oct – Savvy Authors
16 Oct – Room with Books
16 Oct – Romance Junkies
16 Oct – Indy Book Fairy
16 Oct – Night Owl Reviews
17 Oct – Books & More
18 Oct – Up All Night, Read All Day
19 Oct – BookGirl Knitting
20 Oct – Shelli Rosewarne
21 Oct – Pamaceeve
22 Oct – Books on Fire
23 Oct – Undercover Book Reviews

I raise an eyebrow, letting her know I’m listening, but I’m not sure where she’s going with this.

“I tell you what to do and say around Mrs. A, and that way I keep my A and you can pass this class.”

I consider Claire’s offer. On the one hand, I don’t like her calling me a dumb jock. On the other, she’s amazingly good at cooking and needs to keep her grades high, which means if I do what she says, I’ll pass too. I’ve got nothing to lose, so I nod.

“Okay,” I say.

She gives me this big warm smile, like I’ve made her day.

“Good.” She motions to the fish. “Keep flaking.”

I respond with a “Yes, Coach,” as a lighthearted way of sealing our deal.

When I’m done flaking, Claire adds the fish to the thick rice mixture and then stirs, making my mouth water. It looks and smells incredible. There must be a million grams of carbs in there. If I ate all that, I’d slip into a carb coma.

Claire pulls a large wooden spoon from the drawer and then offers it to me. “Want to taste?”

She’s surprised when I shake my head, like I have no clue what I’ve turned down.

“Ugh,” she says. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those carb-counting gym rats.”

I make a face. “I hate the term ‘gym rat’; it makes me sound greasy.”

“True.” Claire sizes me up and then adds, “And you’re definitely not greasy.”

Hey, did she just check me out?

“Okay, how’s ‘don’t tell me you’re one of those carb-counting fitness bunnies’?”

I grunt, amused.

“I bet you work out twice a day,” she goes on, stirring the risotto, “and you eat nothing but skinless chicken and steamed broccoli.”

I shrug.

She bobs her head, like she’s confirming something. “Yeah, you look like a guy who denies himself pleasure….”

An unexpected rush of heat spreads across my face. “Well, if you want six-pack abs, there’s got to be sacrifices.”

Claire glances at my stomach, and even though she can’t see anything under my shirt and apron, she turns her gaze away and smiles, big.

That was definitely a check-me-out move.

Blog Tours – Shadowgirl by Kate Ristau

It’s impossible not to love Kate Ristau.  She’s dynamic, talented and has a wicked sense of humour.  She’s also a hardworking author who loves promoting her stunning new book.  It makes my job much simpler!  This June, I have the privilege of promoting her online and I can’t wait to share her with you all.

16 June – Savvy Authors

17 June – Pamaceeve

18 June – Lindsay & Jane’s Views & Reviews

19 June – Room with Books

19 June – Dorine White

19 June – YA Outside the Lines

20 June – Sheri Velarde

30 June – Dana’s YA Bookpile

—oOo—

Áine lives in the light, but she is haunted by darkness, and when her fey powers blaze out of control, she escapes into the Shadowlands.

But she cannot outrun her past. Fire fey and a rising darkness threaten the light, burning a path across the veil. Her fiery dreams come to life, and with the help of Hennessy, an uninhibited Irish girl, Áine dives into the flames to discover who she truly is. Her mother burned to keep her secret safe, and now Áine wields the deadly Eta.

She must learn to fight in the shadows — or die in the flames.

This is not a fairy tale.

Buy links:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

Extract

Chapter One

Áine’s foot crossed the threshold and darkness consumed her. She put her hands out, afraid she’d fall face-first into the void. But the shadows tricked her, and she stumbled onto solid ground.

She laughed and pushed herself back up, wiping the dust off her cloak. Her voice echoed in the dark, spitting her laugh back at her, and then disappeared into the eerie silence.

She straightened up and stood there a moment, squinting hard into the blackened tunnel, but nothing stared back at her. In fact, it just seemed darker than before. She took a deep breath to clear her head.

It didn’t work. Everything became even more jumbled. Confused. Why was she here in the first place? And why was it so dark? The Crossing. She was crossing into the Shadowlands. Was she already through? She couldn’t tell. It felt like the ground was shifting even though she was standing still. She reached forward, searching for something to hold onto.

Her hand grazed the inside of the tree, the rough bark catching underneath her fingernails. A splinter of pain shot through her hand and she pulled her finger back and sucked on it.

Of course, with everything she had been through, everything it took to get here, she would hurt herself on a stupid tree. If Ciaran saw this, he’d never let her live it down. Baby, he would call her. Thumbsucker. She’d never hear the end of it.

Even now, she couldn’t get him out of her head.

“Come back soon,” he had said. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

“I will.” Áine smiled.

“You’ll make me wait?”

“No, I’ll be back soon.”

“Good.” He pulled her face up to meet his own. “Safe travels.”

“I’ll see you in the Fairerlands.”

So much between them remained unsaid, and so much more had already been whispered. She didn’t know what came next.

The darkness closed in and her smile faded. Maybe he wouldn’t be making fun of her right there—in the middle of the Crossing. Even smiling felt wrong in the emptiness. It was the type of place where even Ciaran would swallow his jokes.

Áine took another step, hoping it would get easier, hoping her eyes would adjust, but the darkness grew deeper, and her chest started to tighten. She rubbed her hand along her ribs and tried to take a deeper breath, but the air was heavy and sharp. It scraped at her lungs, sending shivers up and down her arms. She shuddered and jerked her legs forward. She had to keep moving.

She took another step, then gasped as her stomach twisted and cramped. She staggered forward, reaching her hands out toward the wall, and collapsed against it, falling to her knees and shaking violently as waves of pain crashed through her.

—oOo—

Kate Ristau is an author and folklorist. She writes young adult and middle grade fiction, along with grammar primers that won’t make you cringe. In her ideal world, magic and myth combine to create memorable stories with unforgettable characters.

Until she finds that world, she’ll live in Portland, Oregon with her husband, her son, and her dog. If you can’t find her there, you can find her at kateristau.com