Fireside Chat With Johnson Nottidge from Belle Vue

Today we have part two of our C S Alleyne interview weekend and a Fireside Chat with Johnson Nottidge from her novel, Belle Vue.

Fireside Chat with Johnson Nottidge

“Welcome everyone, to another Fireside Chat. I’m Richard Dale, your host. Today, our guest is the Honorable Doctor Johnson Nottidge, of the Belle Vue Asylum.” Richard Dale holds out a hand in greeting.

Nottidge gazed at the outstretched hand with a slight moue of distaste. He brushed a non-existent speck from the lapel of his frock coat and, after carefully adjusting his straight legged trousers, seated himself.

Richard Dale takes his own seat, a slight scowl on his face. “Why don’t we begin with a bit of your life story, shall we?”

“Let’s not. I am here at the behest of a chum, who is Chairman of the Metropolitan Asylums’ Board solely to provide information about my role in capturing that murderess Mary Grady who dared to bring Belle Vue into disrepute. Her poor sister, an inmate at the asylum, who died in unspeakable pain. I knew immediately it was that shameful trollop and was more than happy to play a key part in revealing the culprit and her guilt and see justice done.”

“I see. Perhaps we’ll get to that later. For now,” Richard leans forward slightly, “describe your relationship with your father.”

“Distant. Which suits me. His lordship has a sense of noblesse oblige whereas I have none at all. Every man for himself. It used to worry him, he even threatened to disinherit me but my exposing the murderess has seemingly made him feel I can be in his words ‘saved’. The title and estates will be mine on his demise and I shall carry on as normal doing exactly what I want.” Nottidge gives a broad smile but his eyes remain cold.

“Interesting. What is your involvement with the Mephisto Club?”

“What is that?” Nottidge leaned forward his piercing gaze raking Richard’s face as though seeking any malicious intent. “I am of course a member of the best clubs in London but don’t recall one with that name. If it exists, perhaps it is some sort of secret society who doesn’t want all and sundry,” Nottidge’s mouth tipped upwards for a bare second, “poking their noses and causing undesirable consequences for themselves.”

The sound of clinking cups interrupts the tense conversation, as a distinguished gentleman enters the room carrying a tea tray.

Richard eyes his guest and says, “Ah, here’s Jenkins with refreshments” Richard turns to the butler. “What’s on the menu today, Jenkins?”

“I have a lovely Darjeeling tea today. And some scones fresh from the oven, as well as strawberry jam.” Jenkins sets the tray down and asks Nottidge, Would you care for a cup, sir?”

“No thank you.”

Richard adds. “My usual cup, please. And one scone.”

Jenkins pours one cup and serves Richard Dale, before retreating.

Nottidge takes out an impressive gold watch from his fob and opens it. He raises his eyebrow then puts it away. “Are we done yet?” Nottidge asks with not a smidgeon of enthusiasm.

Richard Dale takes a sip of his tea and asks, “Almost. We’ll continue with a more mundane question. Tell us about a fond childhood memory?”

“You’re assuming I had any. Or would speak about them to you. Your questions are very impertinent. The past is over and nothing can change it. The present and future are what interest me and how I can profit from and enjoy whatever it is I choose to do. That will create the memories I want to retain. Mary Grady’s hanging next week will be one for instance.

“A sad affair that. Of course, you got involved in that sordid mess through your work. How do you find your career at Belle Vue? Fulfilling?”

“Not fulfilling, rather the means to an end. The dregs of society are off-loaded in ever increasing numbers to the Belle Vue Lunatic Asylum. I study them. Study—and experiment—on them. On occasion that part of the work is fulfilling but mostly dealing with the imbeciles, cretins, drunks and worse from the rookeries and workhouses—and my responsibility is for the female inmates—can be extremely tiresome. They want so much attention and I am an extremely busy man who has far more important matters to deal with. But they have their uses…” Nottidge stopped there and this time the smile did reach his eyes.

Richard Dale’s eyes and lips narrow and his fingers tighten over the arm of his chair. “Let’s get a bit philosophical. What would you consider your perfect life?”

“I have it now. I do what I want, I have everything – and everyone - I want.  Little bothers me. I love the gambling tables as the element of risk is what excites me.  My only concern is that life becomes boring. So it’s about continually raising the stakes. Winner takes all.”

Richard Dale nods. “In your own opinion, what are your best features, and your worst habits?”

“My best is that I always win. Anything less is not acceptable. It may take a little while – as Mary Grady has found out to her cost – but I will not rest until I am the victor in whatever battle I choose. I think your definition of worst habits and mine would greatly differ. And I am not going to share them with you as doing such a thing creates vulnerability. That is a failing I despise. It is something I will never suffer from.”

“One last question. What does morality mean to you?” Richard Dale finishes his tea as he waits for an answer.

“Nothing I need worry about. That is for the lower orders. Like religion, it keeps them in their place.”

“Thank you, Doctor Nottidge, for joining us today.” Richard Dale doesn’t offer his hand to his guest, nor does he rise as the man sees himself out.

 

Check out Belle Vue on Amazon

You can read an excerpt of Belle Vue here: 

Prologue and first two chapters

Drabble Wednesday: Deception

Today on Drabble Wednesday, things may not be what they seem... Beware deceivers and tricksters.

The Forever Promise

Ashes and dust.

I leaned against the tree, unable to look back at the house, knowing what I had done. The consequence of what I set in motion.

I never expected to be happy here.

I sighed, and straightened my spine. None of it mattered now.

Soon everything will be over. My duty kept and my oath sealed to fate.

“Anora! There you are.”

The sweet voice of my husband. I turned and smiled. Always the deceiver.

He loves me. I love him. That will change soon. My curse will descend tonight and doom us both to a living hell.

~*~

Don’t Con the Wrong Guy

We made a big mistake

It was supposed to be a quick job. In and out. Scam the rich guy of some money and hightail it. My partner and I figured it for an easy job on an easy mark.

Like I said, we made a big mistake.

It started same as always, lay on the lies and watch the sucker fall for it. Only... he never quite showed the money. Always with the excuse.

He played us. Isn’t that funny?

Now my partner’s dead, and I’m being hunted.

Seems Loki doesn’t like it when you attempt to swindle him.

~*~

Upstanding Citizen

I straightened the plaque on the wall. An award I accepted at last night’s fund raiser dinner for a local charity. I smiled.

Humanitarian of the Year.

Another one for my collection. Throw some money at the right people and they reward you with shiny engraved metal fastened on a bit of polished wood. But they never look closely at who you really are.

They should. For I picked up something for my other collection last night as well. A pretty dark-eyed something called Sylvie. Only she’s not so pretty this morning.

The dead never are.

And Sylvie’s very dead.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Halloween Week: Killer Clowns?

Today, I welcome author Jim McDonald as a guest to talk a little Halloween, and to give a couple of quick shout outs to some charitable projects he’s involved in. Take it away Jim…

Over the last few weeks, the leaves have exposed their hidden colors and many have taken their quick trip to the ground to be blown to the wind. Others fight to hold onto their green color to soak up just a few more of the fleeting hours of sunlight.

I walk into the stores, and much like the trees, the shelves are shedding their aisles of horrors abound for ones laden in cheerful faces, colorful bobbles, and blinking lights. Which is the real nightmare?

Please, can’t we get through Halloween first?

Yes, I resist the urge to put devil horns on Santa, or a bloody dagger in the hand of an elf on the shelf. Mostly.

And what am I hearing the most about?

Nothing less than that beast of nightmares.

Am I speaking of vampires? Werewolves? Political pollsters?

No.

Clowns.

And no, no the variety running for office either.

I’ve never been a real big fan of clowns, but I’ve never been scared of them either. But I do know a lot of people who are. And I don’t just mean they don’t like clowns. A pure visceral reaction, worse than to spiders.

Being that I’m fascinated by people and behavior, I’ve often wondered about this. Granted, I’m the sick kind of person that will put up a picture of Pennywise from Stephen King’s IT with a note that says Happy Humpday.

Our culture often shows clowns as people to be feared. The Joker is a prime example.

And now?

We have a rash of clown sightings, not only in the US, but worldwide. Clowns hiding in the woods, allegedly attempting to kidnap people.

Is it a cultural meme whose time has taken hold? A PR stunt gone wrong?

No one seems to know, but now, many schools and localities have gone so far as to ban the clown costume.

Really?

So now we have taken to banning those things that scare us. Pass an ordinance, or a law.

Yep, that’s effective. How do we even really define “Clown?” Must we also ban the Joker?

But I digress.

Why do clowns scare us? Why is an image of something seemingly innocent so easily turned into something so terrifying, it should be banned?

Psychologists suggest it’s the twisting of the visual and verbal queues we rely on to communicate. A fixed and unchanging smile (or grimace). Oversized eyes. Bright and startling colors. It takes us back to our childhood, to a time when everything had the ability to scare us.

It’s also the power of having a mask. The clown makeup not only obscures the details of the person’s face, it allows the clown to step into a new identity, a new persona. We as people depend on understanding the people around us, especially the ones we don’t know. Instinctively, we see a person in a mask as someone having something to hide.

Clowns, under the guise of many names and many identities are one of the oldest and many ways most important functions in society. In tribal cultures, many of them have a clown-like figure who wears a mask to embody the fears of the tribe.  Court Jesters and harlequins served much the same purpose, but had even more power. They had the ability to mock and jeer the ruling elite, using humor and barbs to relieve the stress of the people and yet communicate with the ruling class in a mostly safe way. The comedians and political pundits of the day.

Even today, we have seen people don the guise for nefarious purposes (I’m looking at you, John Wayne Gacy).

But why do we seem to fear this costume over all others?

I think it’s all of the above.

Which is why it’s important.

Every culture of the world has a person or group that serves this purpose. We need to have that embodiment of our doubts and fears we can see and confront. That we can take out of the shadows. That wears a mask.

Halloween is the time of year every one of us is called to face our fears, and laugh at them. It’s why we dress up like the characters that frighten us. It gives us power.

So this Halloween, when you are debating between dressing like a princess, a politician, or a clown, pick the one that terrifies you.

But this year, I’d probably put some body armor underneath the clown costume while you hunt for the Great Pumpkin.

Or just go with a werewolf.  Clowns will always be in vogue.

Happy Halloween!

For others, this can be too much to handle. For those who have survived real horrors. I’ve been honored to contribute to the #HoldOnToTheLight campaign with over a hundred other authors writing about #MentalHealth, #PTSD, and #Depression. Please check out the web page

Also, just released, I was honored to be a contributor to We Are Not This: Carolina Writers for Equality. Please check out this charity anthology on Amazon



I want to thank Jim for appearing in my Halloween Week, and be sure to check out the website and his charity anthology.  You can also find out more about him and his books at his website. And come back tomorrow for a chat with Lizzie Borden.

Drabble Wednesday: Underneath the Surface

Today on Drabble Wednesday, come explore the darkness beneath the skin...

Warrior

They fear me.

My enemies. The quake at the fearsome sight of me and my blood-covered axe. They run from me on the battlefield. They tremble at the sound of my name, Gunnar the Bloody. I have slaughtered in the name of my tribe, I have slain thousands and stood on their corpses.

They fear me.

As do my fellow tribesmen. Because they know. They know I love killing. That I cannot quench my yearning for spilled blood.

They know one day I will turn on them.

That one day they will die at my hand.

They should fear me.

~*~

Secret Spot

“I have a secret place I go, a quiet spot on the ocean, past the island reef. Would you like to see it?”

I smile when he nods an enthusiastic yes. He caresses my arm, but I slink away, beckoning him to follow. We climb onto the boat and sail out into the beauty of serene waters and blue sky.

“Not much to see,” he scoffs.

I reply, “Close your eyes.”

He complies and I give a whistle.

A tentacle darts out and snatches him off the boat, dragging him under the sea.

I smile. I love feeding my pet.

~*~

Empire

I stare out the bedchamber window at my city, and beyond it my empire. One I was not born into, but inherited by marriage.

I remember my wedding day well. A lavish affair to Emperor Alphonse IV, Supreme Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a happy union. Both he and his lackeys think me weak, compliant. An Empress without teeth.

Fools.

I’ve been scheming for years, playing the simpering wife, while building allies. Now I will play my final piece for victory. My husband will be dead by nightfall and I will be the sole ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

 © A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved 

Drabble Wednesday: Fall

It’s time for another Drabble Wednesday, and today we fall from grace, the sky, and loneliness…

Choices

One step.

Down the dangerous path.

One step aside of normal.

Tumbling into that dark temptation, past self-preservation. Hoping you don’t get caught, but loving the adrenaline rush. That’s how it feels the first time. Your heart pounding, your breath seemingly frozen in your throat, right before you thrust the knife. There’s nothing better than watching someone bleed out, seeing that pool of red seep into ever widening circles. Knowing someone else’s fear. Knowing you ended a life. That you held all the power.

It just takes one small step.

So, what do you think? Are you ready to try?

~*~

From Heaven

Have you ever felt the delicate wisp of cloud vapour tickle your face?

I have. I’ve raced the migrating birds, and soared through sunbeams at the edge of the world. I’ve flown past snow-capped mountain peaks, and let the starlight touch my wings. Children of sorrow took shelter under those strong wings, and I flew far. To the heavens and back, and all the beauty in-between.

Sweet memories tucked away to warm my thoughts. To chase away regret, that one mistake. Sometimes I stare at the sky and pray, but I can’t go back.

Fallen angels don’t get second chances.

~*~

Ardency Perception

Free falling into sunlight, aloft on capricious summer winds. Every sense reworked, floating as downy feathers, each sundry care dispelled in dappled daydreams. You are plummeting from dizzying heights, surrounded by the perfumed scent of roses and honeysuckled jasmine. Pulse pounding, awash in heady Elysium.

There is no safety net.

You descend blissfully, tumbling against the currents of wisdom and fools. Each breath exhaled with transcendent exaltation, and nebulous joy tempered by trepidation. You want no pinions to sustain you, nothing to break your intoxication euphoria.

You are eager for more. You let go, engulfed. You are falling into…

Love.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

Halloween Week: The Wee Folk

Sometimes all you need is a little help...

The Wee Folk

Momma always placed a saucer of milk on the back porch every evening just before dusk.

“For the Wee Folk. You never know what lurks in the gloaming,” she said, “Best to leave an offering.” Then she’d smile and add, “’Sides, you never know when an offering will come in handy.”

I never failed to see her leave that saucer, even though it irritated my Daddy until the day he died. Once or twice she left other offerings out there too; don’t know if my Daddy ever knew about those. The way things turned out in the end, maybe he should have. He might’ve done things different.

And if he’d done things different, maybe I would’ve too. Maybe I wouldn’t have married Harry. Maybe if I had a better role model than a drunken good-for-nothing who beat on his wife, I might’ve aimed higher. But I didn’t, and I ended up with a part-time mechanic with a temper for a husband. I also ended up on the wrong end of his fists when he was drunk. Which happened fairly often. They do say girls marry men like their daddies. I sure did.

For a while I just took it. Kept my mouth shut, and pretended everything was fine. Daddy was still alive then, so going home wouldn’t have been better. And Harry wasn’t quite as bad as Daddy. He usually just gave me a few smacks and then stopped. Daddy used to beat Momma black and blue.

After Daddy died, I thought about leaving Harry and going home, but I waited too long. Momma put the house up for sale and hightailed it out of town. Came to me, suitcase in hand, kissed me on the cheek, and said goodbye. I haven’t seen her since. I thought I’d hate her for that, but I didn’t. I knew why she left, and I didn’t blame her.

‘Sides, by then I had met Sam.

He sidled into town one day, and got a job at the factory where I worked. Not in the same department as me, but we saw each other in the lunch room, and out back when we sneaked a smoke or two. We were both trying to quit, and failing miserably.

It didn’t take long before it went from friendly chat, to up close and personal smooching, and then quickies after work in his truck. It went on months, and maybe it was wrong to be cheating, but for the first time in forever I was happy. And hey, Harry didn’t have a clue.

Of course, that didn’t last. Things had to go and get more complicated.

It was in the back of the truck, just after, well you know. I’d pulled my clothes back on and was fixing to leave. And then Sam said it.

“I love you.”

I stared for a minute, and forgot to breathe. Before I could think, the answering words tumbled out.

“I love you, too.”

There, it was all out, and no taking it back. I didn’t leave the truck. I stayed and we talked. We made decisions. And then I went back home. To Harry.

I told Sam I’d leave my husband, but that I needed to tell him in person. But I was afraid, you see. Of what Harry would do. Truth was, my mind tumbled in on itself, and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to be with Sam, but Harry… no telling how he would react. He might come after us, do something terrible.

It was about then I started wishing Harry would die.

Maybe that’s why I got that revolver out of the drawer. For protection. Maybe I figured it would scare him, when I told him I was leaving.

It didn’t.

I stared him down, gun behind my back. Looked at his sneering face, and said, “I’m leaving you, Harry.”

He laughed, and backhanded me across the cheek. I fell. He stood over me. “You ain’t ever getting rid of me, bitch.”

Something in me snapped. I brandished the gun. He lunged, grabbed the weapon. Next thing I knew the gun went off and Harry was bleeding out over the hardwood floor.

“Help—help me.” He reached his hand towards me, but I backed away and scrambled to my feet.

I stood there, and watched him die.

Then I realized what happened.

Harry was dead, and I killed him.

Panic started creping in about then. Folks might believe I had no choice, knowing Harry’s temper, but some people knew about me and Sam. They might think I did it on purpose.

Maybe I did. I sure as hell wanted him dead. Maybe part of me provoked him, gave myself the excuse. And if I don’t know for sure, will other people believe I didn’t murder him?

I stared out the window, feeling lost and scared. The sun was starting to turn the sky all shades of pretty. Then it hit me. The Wee Folk.

Heck, it worked for Momma when she killed Daddy, maybe it’ll work for me.

Yeah, I didn’t mention that, did I? Murdering kind of runs in our family.

I dragged Harry’s body out to our back porch and covered it with a blanket. Took me a few minutes and I worked up a sweat. Then I went to the kitchen and poured a saucer of milk. I put that on the porch next to Harry’s head.

I fidgeted for a minute, shuffling my feet and clearing my throat. I felt a bit odd, but it was worth a shot. “I’d appreciate it, if you’d take this offering. I know it’s been a while, and I ain’t been good to you like Momma, but I need your help. I know what you did for Momma, helping her and others fix their problems, and I’m asking the same.  I promise, if you fix this for me, I’ll keep leaving things on the porch for you.”

I stared at the darkening woods. The leaves rustled, and I swear I heard whispering. I took a breath, let it out, and went inside to clean up the rest of the mess I’d made.

~*~

The next morning I stood for the longest time at the back door, afraid to go on the porch. What if they didn’t take him? What if Harry was still there? How would I explain what I’d done?

I could always tell them I left Harry for the wee folk. Go with an insanity defense.

I finally turned the knob and opened the door.

No Harry. The body was gone. Not even any blood.

The saucer was there though, empty. Not a drop of milk left. I picked it up.

Then I sighed, a rush of relief flooding though me, and closed the door.

On the way to the kitchen, I began thinking of ways to explain Harry not being here anymore. Figured I best plead ignorance. That he took off after a fight and never came back. Might pack a few of Harry’s things and leave them out on the porch tonight. Might help with the story, if it looks like Harry took his stuff with him. Good thing his truck got repossessed last week.

All I got to do is keep it simple. It ain’t like anybody’s ever going to find that body. The wee folk don’t ever give back what’s been offered.

My momma taught me that.

I put the saucer in the sink, staring at the woods through the window. I never liked to think on some of what Momma did when I was growing up, but I guess it sunk in anyway. I guess her and me are the more alike than I figured. You see, Daddy weren’t her first offering, and, well, I don’t think Harry’s going to be my last…

There’s a few more people in town I wouldn’t mind seeing dead.

Like Momma said, you never know when an offering will come in handy.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

And so ends today's Halloween fun.
Tomorrow I have even more horror fiction for your reading pleasure.

And remember, for a Halloween treat, both books in my Killers and Demons series

are free until midnight October 31^st on Smashwords. 

Check them out here:

Killers and Demons

Killers and Demons II: They Return

Book Spotlight: Blood Vengeance

Today we have another spotlight, shining bright on a debut novel Blood Vengeance by Michael Schutz-Ryan.

Blood Vengeance by Michael Schutz-Ryan

Sick of being bullied, seventeen-year-old Brennan Cooper packs up for San Francisco to start over. But before he can settle into his new home, Bren is drawn to the abandoned apartment downstairs. In its shabby rooms, he sees the grey and rotting ghosts of murdered girls claw each other in sick imitation of their deaths.
With his wild new friends, Brennan explores the seedy streets of the city. But the laughter and screams downstairs continue to both terrify and entrance him. After meeting Tara, his dream girl, he convinces her to explore the downstairs apartment with him. There they encounter not only the murdered victims but the raging spirit of the girls’ dead killer.
Bren and Tara’s ghost-hunt soon becomes a manhunt as they trace the history of the “San Francisco Ripper.” But retaliation for their meddling is quick and brutal. Now time is running out, not just for Brennan and his friends, but for the spirits of the girls trapped for all those years with their murderer.

You can find Blood Vengeance at:

Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QVNREEA

Publisher Website

http://www.permutedpress.com/books/blood-vengeance

Author Bio

Michael Schutz-Ryan was born and raised in the frozen tundra of Wisconsin. He attended the UW-Stevens Point and graduated with an English degree from the Madison campus. A lifelong diet of Ray Bradbury and Stephen King whet his appetite for the macabre. A lover of all things horror, he plumbs the depths of Netflix in search of scary movies. Blood Vengeance is his debut novel. His short fiction has been featured in the anthologies Ugly Babies, Cranial Leakage: Tales from the Grinning Skull, and Beyond the Nightlight. He lives in northern California with his husband and the enduring spirit of their cat, Catie.

Website: http://www.michaelschutzryan.com

And be sure and stop back around on Jan 30th, when I post an interview with Michael Schutz-Ryan.

Welcome to the Bloody Valentine Blog Hop

Greetings to all, and welcome to the second Bloody Valentine Blog Hop. 

A place where the red roses have died and the chocolates are poisoned.

So down with love, and on with the fun!

I have a variety of dark treats for you on this stop of the hop, plus as part of the celebration I'm holding a contest to win some books and some artwork.  And don't forget to check out the other hoppers when you're done here. There's a list at the bottom of this post. Just scroll way down to find it.

First up on the menu is a devilish assignation. This story features my character, the demon Balthazar, from Killers and Demons (and the upcoming sequel, Killers and Demons II: The Return). Here he's visiting an old romantic acquaintance:

Wicked Intentions

His thin hand lifted the wine to his lips and he sipped, savouring the flavour. A delicious vintage, a perfect complement to the company. Balthazar smiled at his companion, the attractive creature calling herself Mrs. Crocker.

“A lovely red, my dear.”

“A French vintage.” She returned his smile.

The pair sat in chairs facing each other, perched on the velvet upholstery of Mrs. Crocker’s parlour. The crystal decanter rested on the table between them, and a cozy fire crackled in the hearth.

“It’s been a long time, Balthazar. Not since that mess in Ireland. I’m looking forward to rekindling our acquaintance. The last time was quite… rigorous.” She laughed softly and licked her plump lips. “It was also quite memorable.”

“Yes, it was that.” An odd note of sentimentality crept into his voice, “I always had a weakness for you, Hala.” He stopped smiling and set down his half-empty wine glass.

“However, renewing our familiarity is not why I sought you out this evening.” He stood. “You know, I believe I may actually regret this. That will be a first for me.”

He could see the fear forming in her eyes; the grip on her glass tightened and she shivered.

“What’s going on, Balthazar?”

“He knows, our mutual employer knows. About your transgressions. And he sent me here to punish you.”

He snapped his fingers, and in a breath, demon fire engulfed her.

With horrific screams she burned, her body shuddering, flailing, sizzling, but for once Balthazar took no pleasure in a death. He simply watched stone-faced, until she became nothing more than ash scattered over the unsinged blue velvet of her chair and the parlour floor. Her wine glass fell, cracking, and left a red stain on the carpet.

With a sigh, Balthazar took his leave.

For the second course a small bite of a marriage ending in tragedy:

Recovery

Sally Benson prepared herself to die. She stretched out on the bottom of the lifeboat and closed her eyes. The water lapped against the side of the boat, the air passed over her with the faint scent of salt and fish. And in the distance, she heard the sound of a motor.

Two months later, she finally felt comfortable at home; a remarkable recovery from her ordeal everyone told her. Her rescue from the bobbing waves of the ocean by the Coast Guard had become a media sensation. She was heralded a hero, the lone survivor of the sinking of the yacht, and given deepest condolences on the tragic death of her husband.

Through her tears, Sally put on a good show with a brave smile. She answered the questions of the Coast Guard and the police, giving them the answers they wanted to hear, relieved when they ruled the sinking an accident.

Sally just wanted the truth to stay buried, submerged on the bottom of the ocean with her cheating, murderous rat of a husband. She didn't want anyone to know how her husband rigged the boat to sink, how he tried to kill her, tried to make her death look like an accident. She escaped though, even if the life raft she chose had a busted motor. Her bad luck she picked the wrong one.

And she needed one more truth to stay hidden. The truth she beat him at his own game of murder. The truth that a poisoned glass of champagne trumped a sabotaged boat.

And to finish, we end with some poetry:

Bittersweet Symphony

Bittersweet,

this taste on my tongue

as your fine chocolates

melt in my mouth.

I hear the strains of music,

something romantic,

a gift from you.

I breathe in the scent

of the soft, red roses

you gave me yesterday;

“My Valentine,” you said.

But, that was yesterday

when I believed,

when I lived the lie,

before this morning.

Before I watched you

kiss her.

Now I wait for you

with my bittersweet love

and my gun.

Black Rose

You gave me a rose

black as night, to match your heart

and I am alone

Here's the Contest:

Enter by the rafflecopter entry widget below for a chance to win a prize pack of four of my Smashwords ebooks, Fairy Tale Fusion, Reflections of Poetry, Killers and Demons and Gothic Cavalcade, plus some of my Bloody Valentine digital artwork, including the Black Rose poem seen above. 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Here's a list of participating bloggers and what the hop's all about.

Book Spotlight: The Irony of Vengeance

The Irony of Vengeance by Valeri Beatrix

Flowers by day, murders by night.

To those who know her, Mia Ozu is a nice, yet often distant flower shop owner whose greatest flaw might be the fact that she’d rather prune her precious bonsai than participate in a conversation.
What they don’t know, is that Mia is harboring a deadly secret.

Haunted by the vicious murder of her parents, Mia spent a lifetime hunting down anyone involved. But revenge is never as sweet as it seems and when one murder reveals a shocking betrayal and threatens to expose her true nature, she must decide if finding the truth is worth the risk.


The Irony of Vengeance is available at Amazon in Paperback and Kindle and at Barnes and Noble for Nook.



AUTHOR BIO:

Valeri Beatrix is a writer, singer, designer…and a bit indecisive as you can tell from her abbreviated list of attributes!

In her head, she's many other things, including a ninja, ballerina and linguist…that means she love languages. Did you know she can now say OMG, in 5 ways??? Awesome, right!

When she's not writing/reading, she's chasing her darling child and attempting to convince her favorite (and only!) husband, to try the results of her latest adventure in the kitchen.

Coffin Hop Begins: An Interview with Balthazar, Demon Bounty Hunter

It's official, the Coffin Hop Web Tour starts today!
As part of the Coffin Hop Web Tour, and in the spirit of Halloween, my demon character from the story Victorian Shadows (as seen in the ebook, Killers and Demons) has kindly consented to be interviewed.

Plus one lucky commentator will win a three ebook prize pack (via free Smashwords download coupons) of my books Once Upon a Dark and Eerie..., Killers and Demons, and Ruined City.
All you need to do for a chance to win is leave a comment!

Interview with Balthazar, Demon Bounty Hunter:

Welcome Balthazar. Could you tell us a little about yourself?

I would be delighted to regale your readers with a small sample of my life.
I am an ancient Hell-spawned demon living on Earth, engaged primarily in returning escaped fugitives to Hell where they belong. I occasionally do a few side jobs, such as soul reaping or corrupting innocents.
For enjoyment, I kill random people and read quality literature, or partake in a dinner of rare steak and a glass of fine red wine. I find very few creatures can live up to my standards, so I rarely socialize with you pitiable humans or my fellow, lesser demons.


Could you please describe your physical appearance for the readers?

In human form, I am tall and svelte, with dark eyes and straight black hair. I have a wicked smile and a lean build. I believe one should always look one’s best, and cut a dashing figure, so I don the latest styles, whatever the century. I prefer dressing in basic black, for the maximum intimidating effect. As a demon, I expect you would find me rather gruesome, all scales, fangs, claws and red eyes.


How did you end up as Hell’s bounty hunter?

The previous demon that held my position met an untimely end. It seems he was double-dealing favours to the escapees. When this was brought to the attention of the powers-that-be in Hell, he was removed from his post, in pieces. I was adroit enough to obtain his place.


There was a great deal of interest in Victorian Shadows, the story of your hunt of the thief Sally. Can you tell us a bit of the back-story?

No. I would prefer not to talk of that nasty, annoying woman. That little low-class waif gave me no end of trouble. If I could, I would roast her flesh over Hellfire on a spit.


Obviously some issues there, so on to the next question.  What would you consider your best feature?

There are so many, I would be hard-pressed to choose, but I suppose my exceptional intelligence would be my most astounding trait.


Interesting choice.  And what would be your worst feature?

I deem myself quite flawless, but some others have commented that I do have a temper. Personally I believe that’s an asset in my line of work.


Okay then.  Do you have any family?

I was one of several demons spawned by my father, but alas they were all killed in a rather nasty family feud. I personally dispatched six of them, and Father slaughtered the rest. Then I betrayed and murdered him, so I am now happily without family.


I can see how that might be preferable for you.  Do you have any hobbies?

I used to collect skulls, but I tired of that in the 1920’s. These days I tend to stick to hunting. There is a lovely array of humans living on the streets that make excellent prey.


Well, that's disturbing.  Are you afraid of anything?

My Master, the grand and feared ruler of Hell. But every denizen in Hell is afraid of Him.


You have lived a very long time. Care to relate any of your more exciting adventures?

My early life was spent mostly in Hell, and your readers might get a bit squeamish about my escapades there. I find humans don’t usually enjoy stories about brimstone, torture and damned souls. Your species is very odd that way.
After leaving Hell, I had many fascinating exploits. In between my duties as a bounty hunter, I have been a medieval assassin, worked for the Royal Court of Spain during the Inquisition, and I sailed the seas as a pirate. I enjoyed the pirate life; I once turned a double-crossing scoundrel of a shipmate into the ship’s figurehead. When the ship sunk in a storm a year later, he went down to the bottom with it. Such good memories.


Thank you Balthazar, for joining us today. Now I’ll leave the readers with a quick peek at your activities from Killers and Demons.

An excerpt of the story Victorian Shadows (from the book Killers and Demons):

He waited, hidden by familiar darkness. An hour had passed already, but he was patient. He sniffed the air and grinned. The unmistakable scent of his quarry wafted sweetly on the air.

Balthazar twisted the top of his cane, muscles tense, as footsteps grew closer. A shadow passed his vision, and in one strike he buried the knife housed in his cane deep in the back of a man. Balthazar stood quietly and watched his victim’s lifeblood slowly pool on the cobblestones.

He sighed. “Too easy. He didn’t even scream.”

Balthazar removed his knife, admiring the line of the steel. He brought the knife to his mouth.

“Now, to find out what I want.” He casually licked the blood off the blade, his tongue lapping every drop. As the warm liquid flowed down his throat, the memories of his victim slid into Balthazar’s mind, the blood feeding him the facts he needed.

Balthazar grinned. “I am coming for you, my darling Sally.”

He slid the knife into the cane and walked away, back into the night.


Now if you please, scroll way, way down to the end of my blog, find the Linky List, close your eyes, make a wish and click on a link to continue the Coffin Hop Web Tour.

You can also check out my side hop, a quiz about the TV show Supernatural, at my other blog, In the Spotlight.  

Tour with Killers and Demons

My book Killers and Demons is going on tour (and taking me with it) into the blogosphere for the next few weeks.  Come and join the party:


July 11th:
I'm swapping blogs to kick things off.
I'll be discussing writing voice over at Maggie Secara -Author and she'll be popping over to my blog to be a guest to talk about writing fantasy.


July 13th:
I have an interview with Marsha Moore at her blog.


July14th/15th:
I'm headed to Australia and author Angela Smith's site, Dandilyon Fluff, to share Confessions of a Surprising Horror Writer.


July 18th:
I'm chatting about villains at Write My World (this author is currently on her own blog tour that's worth checking out; she'll be stopping by here on July 8th for an interview).


July 21st:
A talk about the changing face of Indie publishing happens at The World According to Dave.


July 25th:
I’m chitchatting about writers and their readers at gathering leaves.  Also you can check out the gathering leaves review of Killers and Demons.

Also I'm participating in the Smashwords Summer Sale, so Killers and Demons will be free for the month of July if anyone wants to read it before, during or after the tour.