Sunday 31 May 2015

Book Spotlight - Zephaniah: A Horror Novella

Today I'm spotlighting a tale of paranormal horror with the novella Zephaniah by Adam McVeigh. There's also a short excerpt so read on and enjoy...

Zephaniah: A Horror Novella by Adam McVeigh

Christmas nineteen ninety-five: a physics teacher takes his family on holiday to the snow-covered village of Gwennal, in Cornwall. When his five-year-old daughter tells him that she has seen Santa Claus, unwelcome and chilling events begin to plague the family’s stay at their seventeenth-century cottage. His choice of accommodation is further brought into question when his wife suffers a series of mind-bending paranormal horrors. Firmly believing scientific explanation, he suspects that she has relapsed to her abuse of prescription painkillers. Until, that is, the comfort blanket of science becomes an instrument of torture when staff at a local museum reveal more than he can bare to discover.

You can find Zephaniah at:

Book Excerpt: 

   From behind Sarah, the worn-leather boots of Zephaniah had crushed the frost and ice beneath them as he marched past, just inches from her paralysed body.
He stopped beside the slaughtered flesh.
   With only moonlight to guide her eyes through the shadows that swamped the world around her, Sarah recognised his long, thick woollen cloak and his unkempt beard that fell to his chest as though he vomited worms; she recognised his movements, his steps and the dread that seeped from his very presence.
   He snatched at the feet of the corpse. A gloved fist locked around each ankle as though trying to choke the last desperate screams of life from them. He then raised the legs and dragged with the ease of a man wheeling a barrow.
The blooded torso thudded and slapped on the sculptured stone of Chapel Cottage’s front step, before being swallowed inside the darkness of the doorway.
Sarah looked on. She could do nothing else. The illuminated cottage in front of her began to fade under a pitch-black darkness. It was washing over the street, indiscriminately covering everything under the crashing black wave as the moon’s light died.
   She stood in complete darkness. There was no breeze to pull her hair. Her feet were no longer stuck to cobbles laced with ice, they were resting on the hard wooden surface of floorboards, cushioned by a layer of dust and grime.

Author Bio: 

Adam McVeigh lives in South Lincolnshire, England. His first book, Keep Off The Grass, a narrative non fiction account of his time as a community and political campaigner, was released as an independently published paperback in January 2015. His fictional works are primarily psychological and paranormal horrors that are inspired by real life events and scenarios, including recent titles: Polly, and The Hanging Bridge. Both are short, quick read stories that form a ten volume collection due for publication in 2016.

Author Website:

Wednesday 27 May 2015

Drabble Wednesday: Creepy Time

Today on Drabble Wednesday I serve up some creepy tales…


The carved wooden face held a pitiful expression, its eyeless sockets staring, as it swung from its strings suspended from the ceiling of the puppeteer’s workroom. Its hand curled around the weathered head of another puppet, almost cradling the manmade cranium. The other puppet’s body lay smashed it pieces, twisted in the workshop vice.
On the window sill a music box played, the tinny notes drifting across the gloom and dust of the shop. Under the sound of the music, a tiny voice whispered. “I’m sorry Poppa. I couldn’t save you. But I will try my best to avenge you.”

The Ferryman

The teal water carried the stillness of death, and the turbid air draped itself through the dingy sky. It was always thus; his surroundings never changed. His gaunt hand brushed across the olive wood of his pole before it dipped into the water, breaking the surface. The echo of this act sounded like thunder.
A peace settled into his bones, as his boat moved gently towards the shore. He loved this time alone. He glimpsed a figure; there would be work tonight. His passenger boarded with a coin and he turned the boat back, sailing another soul to their fate.

The Circus on the Hill

On certain cimmerian nights, when the stars align, a circus comes to a long forgotten hill. Faint music heralds its arrival, the treble trill of the calliope, mixed with mellow fiddles. The tune is familiar, yet ancient, comforting, but daunting.
Radiance follows, a warm amber glow that bathes the hill. It pulls the gaze, and you see the tents, all crimson stripes and buff canvas, flags and banners, and silhouettes milling all around. Then you hear laughter, the soft chime of bells, and the voices. Oh, those voices.
Sweetly they beckon, call your name, but whatever you do, don’t listen.

Wednesday 20 May 2015

Drabble Wednesday: Portal Power

Today on Drabble Wednesday we’re off to lands bizarre and places strange via the ever handy magic portal. I've dug deep into my vault, and produced three more stories for your enjoyment.

Adventures in Comic-Con World

This is not why I went to Comic-Con!
I thought it would be fun, I’d check out the panel discussions, get some autographs, maybe dress in costume as a superhero. Then I run across this odd booth. Next thing I know weird guys in glasses are doing a sparkly wham bang on me, I’m a foot tall and whisked through some dimensional portal gizmo.
Now I’m stuck in this stupid comic book world as some low-rent version of Antman, with a miniature sidekick named Scarlett L'Amour, and Dr. Catastrophe as an arch enemy bent on world domination.
Stupid, fraking portals!

Falling Through

I’m staring down a snarling dingo, holding a pudding in one hand and a doubloon in the other, wishing I had a shotgun loaded with buckshot instead.
The day started innocently, with a walk by a stream, and then, bam, I’m tumbling through the underground like Indiana Jones. I landed hard in some room housing a chest of coins, a fridge full of pudding and “Property of the Pilfering Pudding Plotters” scrawled on the wall.
Maybe I should have heeded, kept my hands off the goods, but how could I know there was a guard dog? I am so screwed.

Through the Gotham Looking Glass?

Holy Willie Nelson, Batman!
This isn't a dream—as much as I’d like it to be—and I’m in major trouble.
I’m standing on a road made of Corn Flakes in a strange version of Gotham City—I swear the Joker just ran past me. Strains of “On the Road Again” float to my ears, strummed by the country music banjo band cavorting on the Cheerios sidewalk.
Oh, why did I indulge my curiosity and investigate that wizard’s bubbling pink portal? What was I thinking? I should have known better than fool around with wizards, especially one named Lewis Carroll.

Tuesday 19 May 2015

Book Spotlight: Breath

I have a book spotlight today, for the dark fantasy romance Breath by Jean Lowe Carlson, the first book in the Three Days of Oblenite series. Plus there's an excerpt, so enjoy...

Breath by Jean Lowe Carlson
Three Days of Oblenite - Book 1

Gryffine Toulunnet is cursed. She lives for one day a year, the heady festival of Rollows, where the dead dance their bones back to life. Born to a pious mother and miserable because of her curse, Gryffine sneaks out upon Rollows-eve to dance and drink with the Beast and his demons, and set herself free. Until she encounters dashing Gypsun barman Jessup Rohalle in his masque of the Immaculate Lust, and Gryffine’s strange curse marks them both in a single night of passion. Six years later, Jessup and Gryffine meet again, tempting fate with Gyrffine's curse, a kiss that steals the very breath of life from any lover. But Gryffine is linked to another besides Jessup, a tortured soul with a dark gift of his own, bitterly cursed just like she. And as the lamplit streets of Julis darken into winter, the curse comes to claim its own.

You can find Breath on:

ABOUT THE SERIES - Three Days of Oblenite (3 novels) 

The City of Julis in the Onvittaine is rife with superstition, piety, and the devious nature of the mystic. Three lives collide, swept up in the torturous undercurrents of three desperate curses, from which there is no escape. Desire, lust, power, obsession, addiction, fervor, desperation, and death flow in the darkness of Julis and in the seedy Gypsun Quarter at the edge of the Saints Commons. And not even the blessings of Saint Sommes herself can save those who become lost in the mystery, depravity, darkness, and permission of the Quarter. They can only save themselves.

The three books take place in a fictional, dark version of Paris in the late-Victorian era, and feature three characters cursed with the gifts of a miracle-working saint who died five hundred years prior. The first novel, Breath, is about a young woman cursed to celibacy because her breath when she kisses draws the vitality of any living thing, all except one night a year. The second novel, Tears, is about a young man cursed to feel bliss when he suffers physical pain from the lash, and the religious conflict he feels about his curse as he finds himself in a new M-M relationship with the man who brings him release. The third novel, Blood, is about a brilliant surgeon cursed with blood that heals. His life falls apart as he descends into the desperate underworld of Julis, gradually becoming addicted to using his blood to work miracles among the whores and the diseased.

Excerpt From Breath:

Jessup chewed his lip a moment. “Some of the old stories are true, Gryffine. And I think yours is one of them. Though I admit… it’s a very strange version of what I traditionally hear.”
Gryffine frowned. “What have you heard?”
“The tale of the Boy and the Bones. It’s the traditional story of Rollows. A young boy touches some bones and is cursed with the Kiss of Death, with which he kills his own mother. It’s where the Rollows toast comes from.”
“I’ve heard the story.”
Jessup looked at her oddly. “You have?”
Gryffine nodded. “The evening we first met. I was with my mother at the Gypsun market that afternoon, and I heard an old raglady telling it to a group of youths at one of the bonfires.”
“So you know how it goes.”
She nodded again. “But I’m a woman. And my curse didn’t start from touching some old bones.”
He shrugged. “Other than that… don’t you think the story describes your situation perfectly?”
Gryffine lifted an eyebrow.
“Come on.” Jessup pinched out the incense and stood. “Let’s have dinner in the Gypsun Quarter. I’ll take you to Aeshe and then we can find Rennet and talk to him about your manse.”
Gryffine took his proffered hand and stood, then made for the outer door of the sepulcher. “This way. I’ll show you the backyard before we go.”
They pushed through the heavy stone door and into the sunlight, flooding down on what was turning out to be a perfect spring afternoon. The air was moist and refreshing after the dry musk of the sepulcher, and Gryffine’s mood lifted to the radiant sun and the bright-tempered man at her side. They shoved the stone door shut and traipsed the gravel walk through the verge to the back porch. She was already tripping up the steps with a much lighter heart when a small pull came at her hand from Jessup.
“Hold on a tic. What’s that?”
“What?” Gryffine glanced over, then followed his gaze to a small fenced-off area with a wrought-iron railing that contained a fixture of the manse she had come to accept as one of its many oddities. Inside the railing, upon an extra side-swath of the stone back porch, sat an ancient wrought-iron coffin, its vellum gone and the bones inside long turned to dust under the protection of the gables and eaves. But as Gryffine glanced at it, she, too, noticed something about the coffin that made the hair of her neck stand on end.
Within the confines of the wrought-iron, right where a corpse’s chest would once have been, grew a single, perfect yellow day-flower, nodding its sunburst head to the light spring breeze.
Gryffine blinked.
Jessup grinned at her. “Should I sneak through the bars of the railing and go touch it?”
But a rush of alarm went through Gryffine just then, and she hastily gripped Jessup’s arm, drawing him back. “No! Leave it alone.”
“It’s just a day-flower. They probably grow there every spring.”
Gryffine shook her head. “There have never been any flowers there. Mother tried every spring to grow some. She hated the coffin but was too superstitious to move it. She sprinkled lenou-seeds in the bone-dust, flush-horn seeds, pennybright. Everything she could think of. Nothing ever grew.”
“Huh. Must have sprinkled day-flower seeds at some point and one finally took.” But even Gryffine could tell that Jessup’s teasing tone had gone to one of wary caution. “I’ll speak to Rennet about getting that whole thing off the porch and putting it in the sepulcher where it belongs.”
Gryffine swallowed and nodded. “That would be best, I think.” She tore her eyes away from the nodding yellow flower and tugged him up the porch, trying to put it from her mind.


Author Bio:

Jean Lowe Carlson is a Naturopathic Doctor and writer of both fiction and non-fiction, and holds a B.A. in Biology and B.Mus. in Opera from Oberlin College and a medical doctorate from Bastyr University. A keen observer of nature and human behavior, Jean writes genre-bending epic, romantic erotic, and dystopian fantasy fiction, and maintains a blog on Esoteric Buddhism (Tantric Practice). As a medical doctor and practitioner of Tantra, yoga, pranayama, Reiki, Craniosacral Therapy, and Emotional Freedom Technique, Jean pulls from her deep knowledge of psychology and energy interactions to paint vivid scenes and emotionally complex interactions between her characters.

Mixing a keen and often gritty blend of erotic and romantic content into her epic, dystopian, and dark fantasy, Jean creates sensual, raw worlds that remind one of Jacqueline Carey, Clive Barker's Imajica, Anne Rice, and Robin Hobb. Jean's characters are human and complex, their interactions set amidst the broader scope of nations in turmoil or societies with riveting secrets. Not afraid of exploring all kinds of relationships, including LGBTQ and BDSM, excitement and passion combine in Jean’s novels to create rich, lush worlds where death and life are always precariously balanced. Jean Lowe Carlson lives with her delicious husband Matt in Redmond, Washington, and desperately wants a cat.

For more on the author and her books check out these sites:

Sunday 17 May 2015

The Movie Inspiration for Reconquest: Mother Earth - A Guest Post

Today a guest drops by the blog, author Carl Alves, to chat about the cinematic inspiration for his sci-fi book, Reconquest: Mother Earth.  Enjoy.

The Movie Inspiration for Reconquest: Mother Earth

I like to describe my novel Reconquest: Mother Earth as a combination of the movies Independence Day, Red Dawn, and Gladiator.  Admittedly, that’s a strange combination.  In this post, I discuss how these three movies relate to my novel. 

Independence Day

I remember when Independence Day came out, the trailers and promotion for the movie were tremendous.  The buildup of the movie was so great that instead of releasing the movie on July 3, 1996, they released it a day earlier, which coincided with when the movie starts.  The buzz was huge, and the movie became one of the all-time biggest blockbusters. 
            It’s not the deepest, most thoughtful movie ever made, and you had to suspend your disbelief in many places, but it was a lot of fun.  I enjoyed the portrayal of human spirit that the movie displayed, when against all odds, in an impossible situation, the humans used intelligence and ingenuity against a far more powerful enemy. 
            Those are elements that I adopt in my novel Reconquest: Mother Earth.  In my novel, I incorporate a very different kind of large scale invasion that the movie uses, but that is a small part of the novel.  The much larger part of the novel is the response by former Navy SEAL Mitch Grace, who wakes up from a coma five years after the initial invasion.  He personifies that same never-say-die attitude that even though the humans are badly overmatched, they can still find a way to defeat the alien conquerors.  Mitch must do so in a planet conquered by the aliens, where humans are used as slaves in mine, but much like in Independence Day, he will not stop fighting the aliens as long as he is still breathing.

Red Dawn

            I was in the fourth grade when Red Dawn came out in theaters.  As a kid, this was an amazingly cool concept for a movie, and I was psyched to see it.  I didn’t get to watch too many movies in the theater when I was a kid, so it was a few years later by the time I finally watched it.  Despite some of the silliness in the movie, I thoroughly enjoyed it. 
            Admittedly, the execution in this movie didn’t always work.  There are many aspects of it that aren’t particularly believable, and there were many testosterone filled scenes in the movie, but as long as you don’t delve too deep, it’s a fun and enjoyable film.  It fit the attitude of the time well, but it doesn’t particularly hold up many years later.
            My novel, Reconquest: Mother Earth, shares some elements with Red Dawn.  In my novel, aliens take the place of the Soviets, and they have now overrun the planet.  Mitch Grace is devastated to find that most the world’s population has been decimated, and humans have been thrust into slavery in mines working for the aliens.  He can’t accept this and gathers followers to start his own guerilla war against the aliens.  They have vastly superior technology and weaponry and he must go into hiding, but much of that never say die feeling is captured in the novel. 


            Gladiator is simply put one of the best movies I have ever seen.  It is epic in scope, the story of Roman general Maximus Meridius, played by Russell Crowe.  Maximus is loyal to the emperor, but is thrust into slavery when Commodus, expertly played by Joaquin Phoenix in one of the greatest acting roles I have ever witnessed, kills his father and seizes the throne.  Through his incomparable skills as a warrior, Maximus becomes a renowned gladiator with one thing on his mind – vengeance. 
            When I first came up with the concept of my novel Reconquest: Mother Earth, before I even started writing it, I had an image in my head of my main protagonist, former Navy SEAL Mitch Grace, in an arena battling it out with aliens.  I didn’t know how I was going to incorporate this into my book, but one thing was certain, somehow, someway it was going to be part of it. 
            In my novel, Mitch Grace, during his guerilla campaign, is captured and enslaved much like Maximus.  He becomes an intergalactic warrior, even taking the moniker of “The Gladiator”.  He becomes an intergalactic sensation, a human that can kill aliens in single combat.  Much like Maximus, he is single-minded in his focus, which is to reconquer the planet.

Reconquest: Mother Earth by Carl Alves

SEAL Mitch Grace was among the first humans to see the aliens when they landed at the naval base in Coronado, California.  Like the other humans, he was powerless to stop them.  
Five years later, he awakens from his coma under the care of an alien physician to find that the aliens now control the planet.  After Mitch heals himself physically and mentally, he starts a resistance movement to take the planet back from the alien conquerors.  After his capture by the aliens he is forced to become an intergalactic gladiator, fighting for the human species and the redemption of Mother Earth.

You can find Reconquest: Mother Earth at: Amazon

Saturday 16 May 2015

Interview With Author Briane Pagel

Today I have an interview with talented author Briane Pagel. He stops by to chat about his books, including his newest, the sci-fi thriller Codes, and his writing. Enjoy...

Interview With Author Briane Pagel

Why don’t you begin by sharing a little about yourself.

Here is my biggest, and possibly only, regret in life: that I never became a pole vaulter. I wanted so much in high school to be a pole vaulter on the track team. Being seriously overweight and unathletic was a big impediment to that; when I tried out for the team, they put me into shot put and discus, where I failed to excel. I do still remember (kind of) how to shot put, but that hasn't been terribly helpful and isn't awe-inspiring the way it would be if I could say “Oh, yeah, I was a pole vaulter.” 
Other than that, my life has progressed more or less exactly the way I have intended: I spend most of my time being a consumer protection litigator, and the time I don’t do that I spend with my family (5 kids, ages 8-27, and a grandkid already, too!). My hobbies (aside from writing) are pizza (You read that right. Just: pizza), music (I play guitar and piano but haven’t done either in a while) and trying to learn to draw.

Can you tell us a bit about your latest book, the sci-fi novel, Codes?

Codes is easily the best book I have ever written, and I’m not just saying that because it’s true.  Codes is a thriller with enough twists and turns in it to make it as a carnival ride.  Set in the near future, it focuses on Robbie, who has a run-in with a beautiful blonde woman that results in a murder (or is it?) outside his apartment. Suddenly everyone seems to be after him, and he keep seeing posters and website with mysterious code-phrases, and having strange encounters. Eventually he learns that both a corporation that has learned how to clone humans and imprint them with computerized personalities, and a group trying to stop that, are all looking for him. None of them are sure why Robbie’s so important, but they all know he is important, and whoever figures it out first is certain they’re going to have the upper edge in this fight.

You've also written several other books. Care to share any tidbits about them?

My favorite book, after Codes, is Eclipse. Also scifi, it’s the story of Claudius, an astronaut who wanted to go into space, but might have gone mad instead.  It’s the literary equivalent of a hall of mirrors, and I enjoy people guessing in their reviews as to what really happened.  (I won’t tell.)
Also, I really like the After, which is about a woman named Saoirse who dies in a plane crash, then finds herself in a strange sort of afterlife where William Howard Taft asks her to help him find a way out.  It sounds like a silly setup, but the way it works out it’s surprisingly touching. 
I've also written some humorous scifi, and a collection of horror stories, as well as one well-received literary novel.

As well as novels, you write short stories. Do you prefer writing short fiction to penning novels, or do you find they have equal merits?

I like writing both, and I never really set out to write one or the other. I start writing a story, and it’s over when it’s over.  Codes, for example, I meant to be a short story originally, or at least I thought it would be. I started writing it, figuring it’d end up being about 10-15 pages.  At page 50 I thought Well this just kept on going.
I think a story needs to be as long as it ought to be, and no more. If there’s a lot to tell, tell it. But I have begun experimenting with writing short short stories, too, as a way to practice writing.

When did you realize you wanted to start writing professionally?

I wrote some short stories in college in the 90s, but then didn't do much writing for about 10 years while I finished law school and got going on my career.  When I went back to writing, it was as a hobby and I posted stories on blogs.  I sent some stories to publishers from time to time, but got tired of rejections.  Once indie publishing came along, with the Kindle and Lulu, I decided to try to sell my books myself.  I've been doing that for a few years now, but when I wrote Codes I thought it deserved wider dissemination than I've been able to get for my own books, and so I decided to find a more traditional publisher for it.  Golden Fleece seemed a perfect fit for me. 
I know that doesn't answer the question very well. I guess to shorten it up: Codes is the first thing I've written that I think engages my own interests in unique storytelling, and yet has commercial potential. Before I wrote Codes, I never gave much thought to selling books. But Codes seemed like it might be the breakthrough. So I would say: I first began thinking I might do this as a profession about as I finished the first draft of Codes.

Has anything surprised you about the process of writing your books? Any characters or plots that took unexpected turns?

EVERYTHING has.  I usually start out with a slim idea for a story, sometimes just a quick thought or a line I found catchy, and then start writing and see where it goes.  Or I will take a theme and write a bunch of stories about that, like 10 short stories in a row about robots, or the time I wrote a series of shorts each based on a different noble gas in the periodic table of elements. 
I like writing that way: I never really know where a story will end up or where it will go.  I just pick up an idea and begin spreading it out in every direction, mulling over all the interesting parts of it. Writing, to me, feels like exploring.

What is your greatest challenge as a writer?

Focusing on one thing at a time. I have so many ideas that I’d like to try, but I have to be disciplined and finish them.  So I've developed a system: each day, I work about 30 minutes or so on my current project, and then if I have more time (I usually do my writing from about 8-9 at night) I might tinker away at a side project. That lets me finish one project while still messing around with writing short stories or coming up with new novel ideas, or blog posts or the like.

Having now published both as an indie and with a more traditional publishing company, do you have any advice for writers looking to be published?

Persistence.  And rewrites. When I finished the first draft of Codes, I decided that I would send it to a minimum of fifty publishers before putting it out myself.  While I was going through the process of sending it out – one a day, usually--  I was editing and rewriting the book. So by the time I got to Golden Fleece Press, the book was already well into a second round of (re)writing, which was at the time unusual for me, as I hate editing and rewriting. What was different here was that, , like I said, this was a book I really believed in and knew could be very well-received, but it needed that extra push. So the extra push came from within, through the rewriting, and from without, through help from Golden Fleece Press. 
In the end, I didn't even get halfway to fifty, because Golden Fleece was pretty quick to say yes. (So quick that I got a few rejections from people who were slow to respond, after Golden Fleece Press had already accepted it. It stings less to get a rejection for a book you know has already been published.) They helped me re-edit and make the book even better, which I found an excellent tool to improve the story even more. 
Having indie published some books before going the traditional route, too, I knew what I was looking for from a publisher. My goal wasn't just “get this book on the shelves,” since I knew I could do that on my own. Instead, I wanted help reaching a broader audience and improving the quality of my book.  Those are tough things for a solo writer to do. 
Knowing those were my goals, I was able to focus on looking for publishers and agents who could help me further those. By going with Golden Fleece Press, I got an editor and publisher who were invested in making my book the best, and helping to sell it. I don’t think I would've gotten that at one of the bigger publishers, where I’d be dumped into a pile of other small authors to die on some bookshelf somewhere.

What’s next for you?

I've begun working on a sequel to Codes, tentatively titled The Watson Protocol; like most sequels, it expands on the first by adding more villains and changing the main characters a bit, as well as building on the events of the first. I won’t say who’s in it, because that might spoil what happens in Codes. Codes can still be read as a stand-alone, but I figured there was more to tell, in that world.
I've also got a collection of short stories, written over the course of a year, one per day. Each story is one word shorter than the one prior, so the first was 365 words, the second 364, and so on. 
There’s a lot of other ideas I've had, but those two will take up the bulk of that first 30 minutes of writing each night.
Then, who knows? Maybe I’ll see if there are any adult pole-vaulting clubs around Middleton, Wisconsin.

For more about Briane Pagel and his books you can check out these sites:

His Blog - Thinking The Lions:

You can find Codes at:

Thursday 14 May 2015

Book Spotlight: The Secrets Of Yashire

A book spotlight on the blog today, the YA fantasy novel, The Secrets of Yashire: Emerging From the Shadows by Diamante Lavendar. Enjoy!

The Secrets of Yashire: Emerging From the Shadows by Diamante Lavendar

The Secrets of Yashire: Emerging From the Shadows is a young adult fantasy adventure that occurs within the framework of a young girl’s subconscious mind. The main character, Brianna, finds herself thrown into a world called Yashire where she is forced to deal with circumstances that are threatening Yashire’s existence. Against her will, she is sent on a journey to restore unconditional love back to the land while also contending with the evil force in the land, Zolan. Brianna is sent on her mission by Libban, Keeper of the Land. Along the way, Brianna travels with the mystical tiger, Angelos; a huge, whitish-tan tiger with thick black stripes who sings only the purest songs of love, and the wondrous little one-eyed bird named Abiba. During the journey, Brianna is also preparing to meet her soulmate—the one she longs to be with and the one who will bring complete healing back into her life. Together they travel through fantastic lands filled with magical creatures that could only exist in the wildest of imaginations. Through her treacherous brushes with danger and heartwarming experiences of love and acceptance, Brianna discovers many things. It is here, amidst the powers and phantasms of the mind that Brianna receives life lessons and virtues to help her. Will one of her greatest triumphs be achieved as she learns to believe in herself? For only then can she truly see all of the wondrous things that life has to offer.

The Secrets of Yashire: Emerging From the Shadows  is available at Amazon

Author Bio

Diamante Lavendar has been in love with reading since she was a child. She spent many hours listening to her mother read to her when she was young. As she grew older, she enjoyed reading novels of all genres: horror, fantasy and some romance to name a few.
She began writing in college and published some poetry in anthologies over the years. After her kids were older, she wrote as a form of self expression and decided she wanted to share her stories with others.
Most of her writing is very personal and stems from her own experiences and those of her family and friends. She writes to encourage hope and possibility to those who read her stories.
Diamante believes that everyone should try to leave their own positive mark in the world, to make it a better place for all. Writing is the way that she is attempting to leave her mark—one story at a time.

Wednesday 13 May 2015

Drabble Wednesday: Lost Cities

Today on Drabble Wednesday we visit the abandoned and the desolate, the lost places…

Dragon City

War came without warning.
At least for people like me, the ordinary, the underprivileged. Perhaps the ruling class knew, perhaps they ignored it, or were responsible. I’ll never know and now, as I flee, it doesn’t matter.
The only thing that matters is getting out alive.
I keep my focus, shoving through the panicked crowds, hugging the hastily packed bundle of my possessions, and pushing onward, past the city gates.
I look back over my shoulder as I continue to run. One last look at the home I have forsaken. Above my city they are circling, the invaders.
The dragons.

The Towers

The steel and glass towers ascended from the ice, their spiral turrets reaching towards the grey clouds in the darkening sky. They stood as abandoned sentinels, haunted beacons luring weary travellers and seekers of arcane knowledge.
Travellers such as the one arriving this night.
She was young, and ambitious. She craved powerful magic, willing to risk great danger to achieve her goals. It was the reason she had sought out the Towers, for a ancient whisper, a promise of magic.
As she approached, the doors opened, beckoning her.
She smiled never realising the trap, the curse.
She died still smiling.


Rows of buildings lined his route, fencing the road with tiers of decaying apartments and walkways that rose into hazy firmament. He skirted his way around debris as he walked, his footsteps and his breathing—a harsh noise through the mask of his air filter—shattering the morning silence.
He entered a building to scavenge, his gloved hand pushing the damaged door aside. Passing though an empty lobby, he climbed a stairway and eventually passed into a dim hall. He took a few steps, The air resounded with a crunching sound, as he walked over the bones of the dead.

Tuesday 12 May 2015

Cover Reveal: The Sky-Child and Other Stories

Today I'm participating in the big cover reveal for the young adult book, The Sky Child and Other Stories by Danielle E. Shipley. This book is the latest addition to The Wilderhark Tales Collection, and will be released July 7, 2015. There's also a delightful excerpt from the book, so read on and enjoy...

The Sky-Child and Other Stories (The Wilderhark Tales #6.5)
by Danielle E. Shipley

Born into a world his heart knows as beneath him, an extraordinary boy becomes a man of music, hopeful that someday he’ll find a way higher.
As the first day dawns, a world comes awake, order and disorder striking a dangerous balance.
Under the stars, a princess and tailor trade age-old lore, little dreaming of the future that could trap them in the past.
All of it in, around, and far above the timeless trees of Wilderhark, the forest whose secrets reveal themselves slowly, if ever at all.
Tales of beginnings. Tales of quests for belonging. Most of all, tales of true love.
Once upon a time, you knew something of Wilderhark’s tales. Now for the stories that fall in between.

The Sky-Child and Other Stories
A Wilderhark Tales Collection

You can find The Sky-Child and Other Stories on Goodreads


A farmer’s life was irreconcilably different from that of a traveling entertainer. It was the sort of life where years were marked in seasons, not in miles; a life of sameness where, rising morning after morning on the same piece of land, one got to know that piece of land as well as one’s own self. …Assuming, that is, that one could be induced to take any part in the never-ending tilling and sowing and growing and reaping – all tasks in which Jackillen took no interest whatsoever.
For the most part, his adoptive father would let him alone. Not so at harvest time. During the late summer and autumn months, virtually every creature breathing was called upon to do its share. And though Jackillen may have been able to get by well enough with little food and sleep, breathing was an essential he was unprepared to go without.
Jeromey first assigned Jackillen the simple task of helping to dig up the ripe root vegetables, but soon observed with dismay that the youth appeared to wilt a little more with every row.
“It’s this business of rooting about in the dirt,” Jackillen said droopily, when questioned. “Everything focused down, down, and farther down… It’s torment. I don’t want to burrow deeper into the earth, I want to be free of it – I want to fly!” He tipped back his head to stare with longing at the vivid blue expanse above him. “What I wouldn’t give to reach the sky…”
In all truth, Jeromey Gant understood his son as little as Jackillen did him, and was at a loss in trying to comprehend how such a lively, sturdy body and personality could coexist with such a strangely sensitive spirit. Whatever the reason, it was at least clear that this particular aspect of the harvest did not at all suit the lad, so Jackillen was reassigned to the barn, under instruction to thresh the freshly harvested grains.
Hours later, Jeromey thought he had better go see whether the boy found his new chore to be more to his liking, or if he considered the dust of the beaten wheat or the confinement of the barn to be killing him by inches. He got as far as poking his head around the door. Then he froze, mouth agape, eyes blinking repeatedly as they attempted to make sense of the sight before him.
Everything in the barn was in motion. The grain swirled through the air in a golden cyclone. Twirling in the center of it all, smiling and laughing with delight, was Jackillen, a stout wooden staff a whirring blur in his hands. The spinning staff stirred the air, holding the grains aloft, and rapidly rapped out again and again, beating the wheat as it whirled past.
The late afternoon sunlight slowly waned as the implausible scene continued until, upon some variation of Jackillen’s extraordinary dance, the wheat rode the air into the harvest sieve, the edible grain separating from the unwanted chaff. Then at last, his work completed, Jackillen let the air go still and lowered himself to one knee, visibly fatigued, but just as visibly pleased.
He gave no sign as to whether Jeromey’s presence was a surprise or had been long since noted, only announcing cheerfully, “Threshing’s done.”
Jeromey stared at the boy in silence for another moment before remarking, “Most people can’t do that, you know.”
Jackillen grinned, the color of his eyes brighter and more erratic than ever. “Oh, yes, I never doubted that. But I am not most people: I’m Jackillen Gant.” He leapt to his feet and breezed through the doors past his father, turning to add in casual afterthought, “I can do anything, you know.”
No, Jeromey hadn’t known. And “anything” was a big enough word that he wasn’t prepared to admit he knew any such thing even now. However, he thought it reasonable to assume, if ever there were someone capable of anything, that one would most likely be Jackillen Gant.


About the Author:

Danielle E. Shipley’s first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself. …Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof. When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: Packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She’s also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who home schooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble. When she’s not living the highs and lows of writing, publishing, and all that authorial jazz, she’s probably blogging about it.

Writing credits include: “Inspired” (a novel); short stories in paranormal, fantasy, and Steampunk anthologies via Xchyler Publishing; and, of course, her series of fairytale retelling mash-ups, “The Wilderhark Tales”.

You can find and contact Danielle here:

This cover reveal is organized by Lola's Blog Tours

Saturday 9 May 2015

Book Spotlight: Grave Touched

A bit of science fantasy today, with spotlight for the novel, Grave Touched by Erin Zarro, the second book in the Fey Touched series. Enjoy!

Grave Touched by Erin Zarro
Book 2 of the Fey Touched series. 

Fey Touched – humans, genetically engineered for immortality and flight, tasked with protecting the rest of the world from rogue Fey...

Grave Touched – dead souls in search of living bodies to possess, especially those who've had a brush with death...

When Fey Touched Hunter Emily wakes up in a hospital, she doesn’t know that she was in fact dead. Nor does she know that her lover, Nick, broke all kinds of rules to bring her back. But the grave touched do.
Fey Touched Healer Asha does know that her mate, Joe, saved her when her abilities nearly killed her. And she knows the voices in her head are the grave touched trying to stake their claim. Asha needs Joe’s help again, but unfortunately she’s the only one who believes the grave touched exist.
The grave touched are plotting to take over the corporeal world, and they’re gaining strength. Only Emily and Asha stand in their way – and both are about to be possessed.

Grave Touched. 

Please note that this book contains explicit sex, explicit language, and violence and is not suitable for those under 18.

You can find Grave Touched at:


Fey Touched, book 1, is ON SALE for $.99 for a limited time!

Fey Touched on Amazon

Author Bio:

Erin Zarro is an indie novelist and poet living in Michigan. She's married to her Prince Charming, and she has a feline child named Hailey who she's convinced is part vampire. She loves all things scary and spooky, and is on a mission to scare herself, as nothing lately has scared her. She writes in the genres of sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. Her first published novel, Fey Touched, is a blend of sci-fi and fantasy. She is currently working on Book 3, Ever Touched, and is trying to stay out of trouble. Mostly.
Her website is at

Friday 8 May 2015

Book Spotlight: The Black Swans

I have a book spotlight today for the fantasy novel The Black Swans by N.W. Moors, a book based on one of my favourite Irish myths, The Children of Lir. Enjoy!

The Black Swans by N.W. Moors

Taisie MacDonnell loves Celtic music and when a traditional Irish group moves to her small town of Antrim, Maine, she's thrilled. She has no idea that becoming involved with Conn McLaren, the handsome pipe player will enmesh her in magic, a centuries-old enchantment and pursuit by the Fae.
This is a modern retelling of the Irish story "The Children of Lir".

The Black Swans is available from Amazon

Author Bio

N.W. Moors lives in Portland, Maine, land of lobster and pine trees. She's a voracious reader and avid traveler - she loves to visit Great Britain and Ireland. Researching trips meant that she tries to learn as much about the area as possible.

Wednesday 6 May 2015

The Return of Drabble Wednesday

After being preempted by National Poetry Month in April, Drabble Wednesday is back! And I've dug into the vault for four humorous stories- two strange ghost tales, and two adventures of Oscar the private detective fairy.  Enjoy.


Welcome to Ghostsville.
Just in time for Halloween, this real life haunted theme park opens to the public.
For the first time in recorded history, actual spirits have been captured and are now housed for your amusement.
Come and thrill at the wonder of the ghost of Anne Boleyn.  She gives new meaning to the phrase “talking head”!  Shake in fright as the spectre of Lizzie Borden tells what really happened to her parents!
We have phantoms for all ages, for great family chills or dark terror for those horror fans!
Ghostsville, where everyone is dying to be.

Take the Deal

I stood in my new home, smiling and passing out cookies to the neighbours. Thanks to Itty-Bitty Realtors I owned a pale pink painted house overlooking the bay. I didn’t care that the house looked strange, tall and upright, with a door overhang resembling a duck bill, or that it came with an unexpected feature, namely the ghost of the former owner. Ralph was nice actually, and helpful; he’s the one that baked the cookies. His presence also knocked the price down by half and this place sure beats living in a double-wide trailer in the middle of a swamp.


“It is I, Orville the Enchanted Hamster!”
I looked up from my beer to see a furry rodent wearing an odd hat standing on the table. “Good for you. I’m Oscar the Fairy. We’re introduced, now buzz off.”
“So rude my friend. Do not be that way. Not when I am here to offer you the opportunity of a lifetime. For only $49.95 you can have a front row seat to the greatest –”
I twitched in my seat, as the annoying hamster disappeared into the maw of Felix the Enchanted Cat. “I love a good sales rodent,” he purred.

It’s No Joke

A priest, a rabbi and a lady snake charmer walk into a bar. Sounds like the first line to bad joke, but there was nothing funny about this trio. And they were looking for me, with a vengeance.
Who am I? I’m Oscar, supernatural fairy by nature and private investigator by trade, and I made one heck of a mess for those three. Didn't mean to, a spell went awry and they got caught in the crossfire. And accidentally doing a mind-switch between a priest, a rabbi and a lady snake charmer can cause some problems, let me tell you.

Tuesday 5 May 2015

Book Spotlight: The Three Sisters

Today I have a treat, a spotlight on the fantasy novel, The Three Sisters by Rebecca Locksley (the pen name of award winning author Jane Routley). Plus, there's the prologue excerpt from the book. Enjoy!

The Three Sisters by Jane Routley (writing as Rebecca Locksley)

Three sisters, estranged from the Society they are destined to save. Elena, more beautiful than any man can resist, is kidnapped, her destiny controlled by the men who desire her. Yani, warrior woman, brave, strong, able to pass as a man, who will do anything to find Elena. Marigoth, powerful female mage, determined never to grow up, equally committed to finding their missing sister. In a country oppressed and cruelly ruled, the fate of many people lies in the unsuspecting hands of these three women.

You can find The Three Sisters at

Excerpt from The Three Sisters


Mathinna’s Story

Three children born of life force,
A bridge from death to life,
from imbalance to harmony.
The warbird flies at their command
to rein in the people of the dragon.
A demon fire that burns toward Ermora
Yields to their quenching
A melded child of their making
is born to rule the dragon
To bring harmony in clasped hands.

Pushing aside the fallen stones of Asgor’s fortress with bloody hands, Mathinna pulled herself out of the smok­ing rubble. She felt . . . shaken, devastated—no, those words ­were too lukewarm for what had happened. Mathinna had killed Asgor and in killing him had, like all her people, been forced to share his experience of death. She felt as if her own heart had stopped and her own skin had been blistered with agonizing fire, even though she was well and mostly ­whole.
Ah, but it had been worth the pain!
Mathinna looked over at the charred body of the dead demonmaster and felt a shamefully unclean glow of plea­sure. To kill must always be wrong, but she was still glad she had done it.
You are avenged, my son!’ she thought.
Yet in her moment of triumph she knew how small the gain was. Asgor’s death could not bring back Garroway. The demonmaster had fed her son’s life spirit to a demon and it had gone into the Abyss, ripped from the Circle of Life, never more to be part of the conscious world. Unlike Asgor, whose life spirit could still meld with the Circle, Garroway was utterly destroyed.
Her triumph turned dark. At first she had longed to feed Asgor to his own demon, but to do anything to feed the Abyss . . . the life spirit forbade such revenge. Revenge would not bring Garroway back. Her body drooped, then she shook herself. At least Asgor was dead and his evil had died with him. Her own grief was personal—no one’s burden but her own.
With difficulty she crawled forward. I must leave this place, she thought. Asgor had drawn on the power of his demon servant; it had been a hard fight to overcome them both. And he had created all manner of vile creatures. She could sense that they ­were still lurking about.
Mathinna was astonished to see that there was still light outside. The demonmaster’s fortress stood on a headland above the city of Olbia. On the opposite headland was the Tower of Olbia where even now Gorice, High Chieftain of the united Seagani tribes, may his name be cursed forever—cowered with his court. It was he who had called for Tari assistance against Asgor, and he who had trapped the three unsuspecting Tari mages and handed them over to his supposed enemy. Now that she had defeated Asgor, someone would come to take Gorice to Ermora, where he would be submitted to the judgment of the life spirit. There in the Spirit Cave he would be made to live through all the wrongs he had done as if he had been the victim himself. Mathinna could not begin to imagine the horror of it.
Her limbs ­were shaking. She sat down upon a huge tumbled stone block to catch her breath and recover. That was when she noticed two figures farther along on the same headland as herself. Two Tari figures.
Had those snail brains in the council already sent someone? Amazing! The figures looked familiar. Who . . . ?
Sweet life, it was her son’s wife, Shara. This was no place for a grieving widow, especially not a pregnant one. Mathinna strained to get to her feet to hurry down to her, but she was so exhausted she could barely hobble.
Who was that with her? He should have stopped her coming. Ah, Jagamar! Shara’s horrible brother, who’d never done a useful thing in his life. But he hated the outlanders. What was he doing . . . ? As she watched, Jagamar squeezed Shara’s shoulder as if to make a point. Shara nodded once, raised her clasped hands and pointed them at the Tower of Olbia on the opposite headland. Mathinna felt, rather than saw, the bolt of magic that came from between those hands.
The bolt hit the headland beneath the tower with a deep thud. There was a cracking noise and small rocks fell. With a horrible, groaning slowness, the tower and the ­houses and the rock beneath them began to slide.
No!” screamed Mathinna. She tried to summon the power to stop the collapse, but she had no more strength than a newborn baby.
The entire cliff face and the tower plunged into the sea with a roaring crash. A monster wave was thrown up, smashing against the remaining headland and washing over the beach beneath, pounding boats and little huts to kindling, then crashing over Olbia’s walls.
Mathinna was frozen with horror. She could feel the screaming terror of the people within the tower, within the ­houses below and in the little boats. She could feel the balance of nature tipping as if a jagged piece of night had suddenly ripped through the curtain of day. It made her so sick that she fell sideways to the ground.
The moment her sickness passed she thought of Shara. What had she done? What would happen to her now?—and to Garroway’s baby within her womb? Mathinna dragged herself upright and staggered toward the others. Shara was convulsing on the ground. Jagamar, that worthless man, stood uselessly over her, hands on his face. The baby! The last reminder of her son Garroway—what if it ­were lost? Mathinna threw herself down beside Shara.
The young woman was choking and clawing at the air. Suddenly, with a last terrified gasp, she went limp.
What’s happening?” cried Jagamar, horrified.
You fool!” screamed Mathinna, punching at Jagamar. She gathered Shara in her arms. She could feel the tiny ­half-­formed child within her writhing in distress.
Shara’s eyes had flown open again. Once more she was convulsed, struggling and pawing at the air. There was nothing Mathinna could do for her but let things run their course. But the baby . . . Mathinna put her hand firmly on Shara’s belly and, using what felt like the last of her strength, tried to calm the unborn child and bind it safe within.
What’s happening?” cried Jagamar, grabbing Mathinna’s arm.
Let me go, you fool. What did you think you ­were doing ­here? What possessed you? Now she must suffer every death she caused.”
It wasn’t enough to put Gorice in the Spirit Cave. He killed three Tari, the dirty outlander,” shouted Jagamar. “Death is the only thing enough for—”
Can’t you see that the judgment of the life spirit would have been worse than death? To live on with the knowledge of your own wrongdoing?” Mathinna was so angry she resorted to violence, hitting him on the shin. “How can you understand so little of the life spirit? He would have suffered as she will suffer now. She will experience every single death she caused one by one.”
It was difficult to calm the unborn child when she herself was so furious.
“ ‘One by one,’ ” echoed Jagamar in a horrified voice. “We didn’t realize it would be one by one.”
Your ignorance never ceases to amaze me,” Mathinna snarled between clenched teeth. “How could you even contemplate causing so much destruction? The two of you must have killed over one hundred people! Oh, my little child,” she crooned to the baby in Shara’s womb. “Be calm!”
They deserved to die. They stood by while . . .”
What? . . . Servants, children, fisherfolk? Prisoners in the dungeons? Are you insane? What say did they have in the madness of their leader? Of what horror is your mind made, Jagamar? What kind of Tari are you?” Shara collapsed limply again, leaving Mathinna free to look up.
As she did so she saw something glittering on the ground beside Shara. She snatched it up. It was a big blue lump of cut crystal—a Mirayan power crystal. She had seen such things on a visit to Mirayan Ishtak.
What is this, Jagamar? This is yours, isn’t it? One of those Mirayan trinkets you bought back from Ishtak. What is this for?”
Shara wanted it to focus her power.”
Oh did she?” cried Mathinna. “Why? She never had any interest in those evil little trinkets before. All she could think of was my son and babies. This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
She asked me for the crystal and I gave it to her.”
And came along to see that she went through with it. You vicious horror! You’re the one who hates outlanders, not her. This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
Jagamar looked scared. “No! I just came along to support her. You saw. She’s the one who did it. I did nothing wrong. How could I have stopped her? You know I’ve got very little power.”
Mathinna waved the power crystal at him. “She could never have forged such destruction without this thing.”
Shara began to struggle and choke again. Mathinna turned back to her. Jagamar hovered over them.
I did nothing. I’m too weak to bring that cliff down and you know it. I did nothing!”
You disgust me!” snarled Mathinna. “Don’t just stand there justifying yourself. Go and get help, murderer! Can’t you see your sister has a terrible time before her, and she may lose her child?”
Jagamar lunged forward and grabbed the power crystal out of Mathinna’s hand. She was too caught up with Shara’s child to stop him.
Then he was gone, running away over the headland to where the Circle of Power could take him back to Ermora, leaving Mathinna to struggle with Shara’s continuing death and her unborn child.
Help did come in the form of other Tari, although Jagamar played no part in sending them. Mathinna and Shara ­were taken back to Ermora, and although Shara continued to die for a day and a night—over 150 deaths—she did not lose her child.
Afterward she could do little more than sit and stare into empty space, as one does when the mind is numbed by horror. Mathinna struggled to suppress her own grief so that she might help her son’s widow, but it came as a relief when the Guardians came and told Shara that she might enjoy the relief of unbeing in the Spirit Cave without the fear of being punished further. Shara was glad to go. She had never been ­strong-­minded and she could not bear the knowledge of all the suffering she had caused.
Friends urged Mathinna to seek the relief of unbeing as well, but Mathinna wanted to grieve. She felt her son deserved such a sacrifice, and indeed she found some comfort in making it.
Jagamar was noticeably absent from his sister’s side during this time, yet Shara refused to bear witness against him. An inquiry into the destruction of Olbia was held, but the council was dominated by Jagamar and Shara’s father, a man who served po­liti­cal necessity rather than the life spirit. Jagamar was exonerated of any blame; and Shara’s actions ­were pronounced justified madness. It was a pop­u­lar verdict even though many ­were shocked by it. For violence can never be justified to those who truly love the life spirit, even in the case of revenge. If it had been, then surely Shara would not have suffered so.
Mathinna paid little attention to the debate that followed when many Tari cried out that the lands outside Ermora ­were too full of demons for it to be safe for Tari to travel, that the outlanders had shown themselves to be unworthy of being helped.
Normally Mathinna would have been one of the most powerful advocates in favor of traveling outside Ermora, for she was widely respected and one of the se­nior members of the Society of Travelers. She had always felt passionately that for their own good, energetic young Tari needed to leave the wonderful easy life of Ermora and contend with the less perfect world of the outlands. It was the Tari’s duty to repay the care of the life spirit by bringing its balance and love to the people there. As for the danger of demons . . . that was ridiculous. Mathinna had traveled all over the Archipelago and knew that most outlanders would have fought to the death to protect the Tari from demonmasters like Asgor.
Yet in those bleak days she cared for little but to sit in her bower and look over her son’s things. When the council took the decision to disband the Society of Travelers and forbid outland travel, she spoke out against them, but by then it was too late. She let herself be ruled by the will of the majority as was proper for a Tari, and took the vow to abide by the decision.
Then Shara came back from the Spirit Cave. She had been gone some months by then and was now enormously pregnant. The darkness had gone from her face and in its place was a joyful light. She and Mathinna spent a few happy days talking over old times.
She told Mathinna that she had come to her for help with her labor. She seemed convinced that she would give birth soon, despite the fact that seven months was far too early. Mathinna wanted to examine her. Tari women do not give birth easily or safely, but Shara said the life spirit wished for things to follow their proper course.
It was only when Shara told Mathinna she did not, under any circumstances, want Jagamar to raise her daughters that Mathinna had any inkling that Shara did not expect to survive.
By then her labor had begun despite the earliness of the time, and only now did she allow Mathinna to use magic to look into her heaving belly. To her horror Mathinna discovered not one but three children within. Triplets! No Tari woman had ever given birth to triplets before! Where had the extra children come from?
She could feel the life spirit blazing in them with a power she had never felt in any being before. It was as if they ­were twice as alive.
The life spirit made the one into . . . three,” said Shara through her pain.
It is to replace the gap . . . in the great circle that was left . . . when Garroway and the other two ­were consumed. They asked me if I would undertake this task and . . . and I was glad to make some restitution for what I did at Olbia. . . .
Mathinna could feel her heart faltering under the strain. “Hold on,” she begged Shara with tears in her eyes. “You can make it through.”
Don’t be sad,” gasped Shara. “The life spirit . . . has gifted our . . . daughters greatly. And I am . . . not sorry to . . . die.”
It was the last thing she ever said.
By the time her family had arrived, her father, sister and that worm Jagamar, poor Shara was dead and three baby girls wailed lustily in their ­moss-­lined cots.
Three sisters.
Elena, Yanimena and Marigoth. 


Author Bio:

Two times Aurealis award winner Jane Routley lives in Melbourne.
She has published short stories, articles and a blog about working on a railway station.
She has published 3 books as under her own name – Mage Heart and the Aurealis award winners Fire Angels and Aramaya, and one book as Rebecca Locksley.
The Three Sisters is her fourth published novel available for the first time in Australia


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