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Wednesday, June 15, 2022

Vampire Musings Cover Reveal

 Vampire Musings


Join 16 vampire fans and writers from around the world for their musings on vampire music, movies, fun facts, and even mesmerizing short stories. This book will make you feel like you are in a room with friends discussing the various vampires that each of you love spanning from aristocratic vampires, to primal monsters, to the Twilight vamps. So, sit down in your comfy chair, turn on the vampire music provided in this book, pick up that Bloody Mary, and escape to a world full of vampires.


There is a recount of the life of Anne Rice, reviews of books, movies, and television shows, a look at vampires as religious figures, romantic stories, and traditional stories of the vampire.

Each of these stories holds intrigue for fans of creatures of the night.

Contributors include: Audrey A’Cladh, Azurdee Garland, Bitten Twice, Bertena Varney, Carrie Rogers, Isabella Gibbons, Jacqueline Gibbons, Kathryne LeFevre, Kyle Germann, Mary Jackson, Matthew Banks, Phaedra Walker, Roxanne Rhoads, Selah Janel, Simon Bacon, and Stavros Cockrell.

These contributors range from a 12-year-old actress, to college professors, librarians, paranormal romance authors, and even those that live the life of a vampire.

The cover art was created by Stavros while showcasing the model Xamie wearing fangs from Kaos Kustom Fangs, LLC. The model is both alluring but dangerous. She is a great representation of the book and the various stories that are told within.

Amazon https://amzn.to/3aIUIHh
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#VampireMusings #Vampires #VampireFiction #DiscussingVampires #LetsTalkVampires #Fangs #VampireLore #VampireFiction #VampireMovies #VampireMusic






Thursday, June 2, 2022

THE INDIGO Heather Siegel

 


THE INDIGO
Heather Siegel 

Genre: YA magical realism, fantasy, paranormal mystery
Publisher: Stone Tiger Press 
Date of publication: 6-1-2022
ISBN: 979-8-9858240-2-5
ASIN: 979-8-9858240
Pages: 250
Word count: 68,000
Cover Artist: Rob Carter

Tagline: Stay connected

Book Description: 

Jett, a 16-year-old girl librarian from New Jersey, does not believe the neurosurgeons that her mother is brain dead. For one, her mother’s comatose body seems like an empty shell, as though she has left the premises of the hospital room. For another, there was that split-second weird time Jett swore she lifted out from her own body and travelled to an indigo-colored, starry space, where she felt the presence of her mother.  

The bad news is that only her friend Farold believes her. The good news is that he is a quantum physicist in training and has some ideas about how to help Jett get back “up there.” Also, did someone say handsome quantum physicist who may or may not give off a more-than-friends vibe?

As Jett's caretaking Aunt threatens to pull the life support plug on her mother, Jett must find this mysterious indigo place again and return her mother to her body before it’s too late, while staying connected to her own “empty shell” below-- a feat made more difficult when antagonistic otherworldly forces intervene. 

Offering astral projection cosmology with lifecords, parallel universes, and wormholes, THE INDIGO is a wild trip through one person's consciousness "above," their interconnected reality "below," and the psychological and fatal dangers of being disconnected from both.

The book is a clean read with light romance recommended for ages 13-16, and for anyone who enjoys magical realism and paranormal mystery. 


Excerpt Quantum Meeting:

Day 787. I sponge Mom’s stringy arms and pronate her elbows. Suction saliva from her white gums, careful not to disturb the psst-psst of the breathing tube. I attach cotton-ball-size muscle-stimulation pads, all forty of them, to her biceps and triceps, her deltoids and extensors, her flexors and hamstrings. As the pads pulse against muscle atrophy, I crayon Chapstick on her lips, rub cream down her pointed nose and waxen cheek skin, brush her dark hair splayed over the starched pillow. I leave the waste bags for the nurses but check the connections out of habit — the tubes to the catheter and colostomy bag, the one to her nutrients. Then I sit, holding her hand, pretending to talk to her for the sake of passersby, even though I know she’s not listening.

Not even in the room.

Her body is an empty vessel. A coat on a hanger waiting for her arms to slip in. A mollusk on the beach, abandoned by its host. An empty carton of milk I’m here to make sure they don’t throw out.  

Because when I find her — and bring her back — she will need her container.

They’ve told me it’s dangerous to think this way. Psychologically damaging, Aunt Margaret has claimed. A byproduct of grief, the therapists have said. Denial is a natural defense mechanism, Dr. Horn has counseled. “But we can’t ignore the reality of what the scans tell us.”

He means the X-rays of Mom’s gray folded matter. The regions of her brain that still incite spontaneous reflexes — causing her arm to jerk here, her leg to twitch there. “All seemingly normal manifestations of brainstem function,” he’s told me repeatedly. “But should not be confused with actual brainstem function. Without which she has little chance of waking up.”

I can’t fault him for thinking this way. The guy’s a neurologist — his business is brains.
But I know there has to be more to us than our bodies and brains.
Call it what you want — a consciousness, a soul, a spirit, a light being. It’s the thing countless comatose patients swear gave them the ability to live whole other lives while on respirators. The thing that philosophers and spiritualists spent their lives writing about. The thing that makes us who we are. And maybe even fuels the brainstem.

And Mom’s brainstem went missing two years ago the moment she crashed her car.

An accident, Aunt Margaret had said on the phone. Black ice. A telephone pole. Coming to pick up you up in five. . . .

I flew down the stairs of our apartment and rushed into intensive care, still in my red plaid pajama bottoms, dried toothpaste stuck to my cheek. Mom lay behind a wall of glass, and I heard fragments: Her chest had banged into the steering wheel. Glass shards had lodged in her cheeks. She’s lucky to have made it out alive.

But define “alive.”

For a week, I watched machines automate her breathing, feed her, monitor her. I felt numbed, stunned, dazed. Most of all, empty. Like something in my chest cavity had gone missing, its hollowness threatening to suck my heart and lungs deeper inward.

I thought it was coming from me.

Then one night, following Dr. Horn’s delivery of yet another brain spiel — this one replete with pictures of axon and dendrites that looked like tree branches — they let us through the glass wall.

I plunked into the pink pleather chair and held Mom’s limp hand in mine; ran my thumb over her beige polish, chipped from washing beer glasses at Sharkie’s Bar and Grill. The emptiness opened like a black hole, and I yearned for my best-friend sister-like Mom, just 17 years older than me. The woman who wore my jeans and tried on my life, from basketball tryouts to friendship blips. The woman who let me inhabit her dreams of traveling the world.

“How much tragedy can one family take?” Grandma Eloise was saying. “First, I lose one daughter, and now another?”

“I know, Mom, I know.” Aunt Margaret sniffled.

They were speaking of Grandma Eloise’s oldest daughter, who had died as a teenager — Mom’s oldest sister. And I had sat there, unsure of what to say. Not only because there seemed to be some kind of dark cloud hanging over us, but because they barely noticed I was in the room.

So, when they decided to go to the cafeteria, I said, “I’ll stay here, then.”  

Aunt Margaret turned, her yellow, roller-set waves bouncing like in a retro TV commercial. “Jett, I’m sorry. Did you want to come with us?”

“It’s OK. I’m good,” I said, because I knew they were just trying to salve their own pain, even though you couldn’t have paid me a million dollars to eat a bite of food in that moment.

So off they went, leaving me and Mom and my emptiness, and because everything felt so empty, I climbed into bed with Mom, spooned to her side — admittedly feeling sorry for myself in this new orphaned state — and blubbered away into her bony shoulder.

Her respirator lulled me into a sleepy state, and my mind drifted, thinking about her running off as a teenager at 17 — just a year older than me now — to marry a guy outside the enclave of this small town. Then that got me thinking about my dad, the man I barely got to know, but whose hands for some reason I could see peeking out from his electrician’s coveralls: coppery skin freckled like mine with wispy red hair, as he meticulously spliced the wire of a lamp cord. Cut before the damage. Splice by twisting. See his hand twisting a lightbulb in, electricity zipping through its filament. We can travel as fast as this . . . in our sleep. . . . We can meet in Hawaii, where the sand is black, and the rocks are as large as grapefruits.

 I must have drifted off then, Mom’s empty container against mine, the respirator wheezing rhythmically, everything hazy and meshing and sucking me under.

Just think of where you want to go, my dad said, still coming to me in snapshots. His freckled hands on a tabletop. Suntanned face. Fiery hair. A woman beside him laid down cards splattered with ink. Palm trees swayed outside, and contentment purred in my chest like a vibration.

Deeper and deeper I drifted under, as darkness surrounded my eyelids and tunneled around me, churning into a black liquid — the way dreams work — until it ended in a circle of purple-blue light large enough to fit through.

I poked my head through and found the air was watery, indigo-colored, and pocked with millions of crystalline white stars. I wanted to climb through the hole and swim out into the starry space. But when I looked up, I saw rectangles hanging in the sky.

They were outlined in what looked like glitter — the kind I recognized from my childhood drawings, when I’d outlined geometric shapes with glue and glitter and blown the excess off. And inside were movielike images:

Palm trees in one.

The stairwell to Mom’s and my old apartment in the other.

Where do you want to go? My father’s voice sounded again, only this time my chest tightened and pulled, as though there was a rope attached to the center, and I suddenly got scared feeling . . . wondering . . . knowing. . . .

This wasn’t a dream.

I was somewhere outside of myself.

Definitely not in my body.

And Mom . . . she wasn’t in bed at the hospital. She was behind that rectangle . . . that door.

I could sense her, alert and awake, black hair not splayed on a pillow, but tucked behind her ears and parted down the middle, revealing a white line of scalp; cheeks not waxen and pale, but flushed from moving around the kitchen . . . pulling me to her.

But because it all felt so real, and because I didn’t know what would happen if I did dive through that hole, I jerked my head back. And the next thing I knew, I was yanked backwards and my whole body stung as though I were a human rubber band snapping back.

Just in time to find Aunt Margaret back from the cafeteria, shaking my shoulders.

“Jett, Jett, wake up,” she called.

“Should I call someone?” Grandma Eloise asked.  

My eyes popped open, and they gasped.

“You scared us, you were in such a deep sleep,” Aunt Margaret scolded. “You’re not supposed to be in bed with her.”

“I went to find her,” I tried to explain. “Mom isn’t here. . . .”

“What? Nonsense.” Aunt Margaret said. “You were having a bad dream.”

“Honey, we are all under tremendous stress,” Grandma Eloise said.

“But there are doorways up there,” I insisted. “We have to find her and bring her back. . . Look, there’s no one inside.”

“Honey, we don’t know what you are saying,” Grandma Eloise said.

“Jett, this is hard enough on all of us.” Aunt Margaret’s tone steeled.

My mistake, I’ve come to realize, was continuing to insist, back at Aunt Margaret’s, and for months afterward, describing all I could remember, and lugging home research and stories from the library about people leaving their bodies: about the idea that a person could ostensibly be in two separate places at once.

“That is absolutely enough. I will not have that kind of nonsense talk in my house,” Aunt Margaret snapped finally, and the next thing I knew I was seeing Dr. Karr, a grief counselor, and being asked to review more charts from Dr. Horn. And when a year later, I still wouldn’t relent about the purple hole and the doorway to Mom, and the fact that anyone can tell she is simply not in this room, the grief counselor suggested medications, and eventually whispered to Aunt Margaret terms like “grief delusions” and “detached from reality.” This led me to understand two things:  

Not only can I not convince people to open their minds, as a minor in the State of New Jersey, 10 minutes from the state’s largest psych ward, I need to watch it, or I might never find Mom.


About the Author: 

Heather Siegel is an award-winning writer and creative with interests in the arts and animal welfare. She teaches academic and creative writing, holds an MFA from The New School University, and lives with her family in Southern Florida.








Tuesday, May 17, 2022

Penumbra AngelSong Book One Kevin A. Davis

 


Penumbra
AngelSong 
Book One
Kevin A. Davis

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Inkd Publishing LLC
Date of Publication: 2/9/22 
ISBN: 978-1737391432
ASIN: B09S6SDHCB
Number of pages: 265 ebook, 300 paper
Word Count: ~67K
Cover Artist: Warren Designs

Tagline: The Next Rave Might Be Haddie’s Last.

Book Description:

Will Haddie’s power be enough?

Haddie has a power she doesn’t understand – the bizarre ability to move objects back in time – unfortunately not in one piece.
 
With all that she has going on, Haddie ignores Liz’s call. Later, when she listens to the message, the panic in Liz’s voice is unmistakable, the words threatening to be her friend’s last. Overcome with guilt, Haddie puts everything on the line to find Liz.

Someone, or something disturbing is hiding amid the colorful lights and music of Portland’s raves. Nothing could prepare Haddie for the supernatural creatures she uncovers in the search for Liz in the secret underground raves. Haddie races time to track down Liz before she becomes another victim.

The next rave might be Haddie’s last.


Excerpt:

Haddie swore. No wonder Dad had been calling. “Tell her I'm fine. Just looking for Liz.”

“And Dr. Aaron?” Terry sounded relieved that she didn't go off on him.

“How do you know him?”

He swallowed audibly. “Well, I mean, he's been a constant in these demon groups. A bit of a fanatic. But I got worried, and asked if anyone had seen a friend of mine around this sighting. He messaged me immediately and started demanding that I put him in touch with you. Said he knew you from last winter. That was the ski trip, right?”

Terry had posted a description of her in the forums. It didn't matter. The fight outside the hotel had to have attracted some attention, though she'd had pink hair part of the time. She opened her mouth, about to ask Terry if he'd heard anything about the fight outside the hotel, and stopped.
Wilkins would be after her shortly. The FBI wouldn't just let something like this go. She'd killed someone, no matter the circumstances.

“Haddie?”

“Huh?” She stared at the building where the rave would be happening. She needed to find Liz.

Get past those guards.

“What about Dr. Aaron? Do you want me to give him your number?”

She did want to know about the demons. He'd been suspicious of her and her powers, and had disappeared right after the fight. “Yes.”

He paused and she could hear him typing. “So what's going on? Still haven't found Liz? I mean, this could be serious. The more I look, the worse it gets. Missing people, on top of the suicides. One mom swears her son is in a mental hospital because of these raves.”

That sounded about right. Whatever the song did, she could imagine it driving her crazy. “I'm about to go into the rave now. I'm hoping to get Liz out. I'll let you know.”

“You're alone?”

“Yes.” She'd rather have Dad with her.

She peered at the building where the rave would be. If the guards were looking for her, likely considering the attack at the hotel, then she'd have to scout for a back way in. Before, she'd planned on walking in as if going to the rave, then scoop up Liz — and Matt.

“Maybe you should just call the police.”

She thought of a swat team facing down demons or the fanatical yellow-hazed men, with Liz in the middle. “Not yet.” This needed to be quiet. She looked into the mirror at the spray of pinkish brown covering the right side of her hair and leaving a shock of white down the left side of her face. Not very stealthy, Haddie. Maybe she had a hoodie in the back from last winter.



About the Author:

Kevin A Davis writes fantasy, especially urban and contemporary. His urban fantasy series, AngelSong, can be found on Amazon, Audible, and Ingram. There might even be a few paperback copies in the rural bookstore that he and his wife own. His Khimmer Chronicles series will be available starting late 2022.

Visit his website and sign up for his newsletter at 



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Monday, May 16, 2022

Wild Creek Whispers Reese Golden Mysteries Book One Cindy Keen Reynders

 


Wild Creek Whispers
Reese Golden Mysteries 
Book One
Cindy Keen Reynders

Genre: Mystery
Publisher: Camel Press
Date of Publication: April 12, 2022
ISBN: 9781942078524
Number of pages: 256
Word Count: 70,302

Tagline: A little girl is missing; stolen in the night. Reese Golden, Wyoming PI, will search far into the backcountry wilderness to find the truth.

Book Description: 

After being shot on duty, former Denver Police officer, Reese Golden, starts a private investigator firm in her hometown of Meadowlark Valley, Wyoming. Easier cases like skip tracing individuals and performing background checks pay Reese’s bills, and keep her from becoming too emotionally involved. 

Skylar Ellington calls Reese one day, pleading for Reese’s help in locating her 4-year old daughter Daisy. Law enforcement and any other PIs Skylar has hired haven’t located the child’s whereabouts.

Reese feels compelled to accept the case. The next day, she drives up to Wild Creek Ranch near Sage, Wyoming to meet her new client. 

Skylar’s brother Chance and her mother Leyla dislike Reese’s arrival. They fear Skylar is wasting her money by hiring another PI; that she’s setting herself up for more disappointment.

Reese wonders if Chance and Leyla have something to hide. Also, could Daisy’s absent father be the kidnapper? Local townspeople suspect Skylar of doing something with her child in order to resume her single, party girl lifestyle. 

As Reese investigates potential leads and talks with the locals, she realizes she’s being followed. It’s obvious she’s being targeted by someone who doesn’t want the truth about Daisy to be discovered. 

Despite attempts to keep her emotions in check, Reese becomes entangled in the case. Her attempts to remain focused on her goals are interrupted by several close calls where she is nearly killed, and her growing attraction to Chance. The handsome cowboy touches her heart, yet leaves her suspecting his motives.

Amazon

Excerpt:

“Miss Golden, my daughter was kidnapped in back in June, and it’s killing me not knowing what happened to her,” Skylar said. “The police, the FBI and everyone else haven’t come up with anything. And I’d do anything to find her.”

“I read about the case in the newspaper,” Reese said recalling the article in the Meadowlark Valley Chronicle. “I’m so sorry.”

 “Daisy’s only four,” Skylar said, her voice trembling. “She must be confused and upset. She’s all I can think about night and day. Pl-please help me. Don’t turn me down. Otherwise, I think…I think I’ll go insane.”

Reese closed her eyes as Skylar’s plea plucked at her heart strings. Right now, she didn’t feel confident enough to take on a case of this magnitude. Yet, how could she turn away such a desperate plea?

About the Author:

Born in Portland, Oregon, Cindy has lived all over the United States and spent five years in Misawa, Japan. She has visited Canada, the Philippines, Samoa, Hawaii, both the western and eastern Caribbean and New Zealand.

Currently, she lives in Cheyenne, Wyoming, where Cheyenne Frontier Days is held each year. CFD’s well-known rodeo is often referred to as the “Daddy of ‘em all.”

Over the years, she has won or placed in various writing contests. She has also written for and edited numerous newsletters. Her non-fiction magazine articles have been featured in “True West” and “Wild West.” She was a book critic for Storyteller Alley and is a freelance editor.

Although retired from Laramie County School District 1’s Community Relations office, she still contributes articles for the district’s Public Schools’ Chronicle, which has a circulation of approximately 46,000 readers.

In April of 2022, Camel Press released her seventh published novel, “Wild Creek Whispers,” which is the first book in the Reese Golden mystery series about a Wyoming private investigator. From baby alligators to glow worms, Cindy has seen a variety of life’s wonders.

Website: http://www.cindykeenreynders.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/littlewing1959

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/cindykeenreynders

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cindy.k.reynders




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Monday, May 9, 2022

Wrath Kendra Spark Series Book Five by S. Peters-Davis

 


Wrath
Kendra Spark Series 
Book Five
S. Peters-Davis

Genre: Suspense, paranormal, romance
Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
Date of Publication: April 2022
ISBN EPub: 9780228621263 
ISBN Kindle: 9780228621270 
ISBNWeb: 9780228621287
ISBN Print: 9780228621294
Number of pages: 157
Word Count: 54,800
Cover Artist: Michelle Lee

Series Tagline: Kendra sees ghosts, and then her BFF, Jenna, becomes one. The two friends and FBI agent Derek Knight form a team that fights for the victims of heinous, supernatural crimes.

Book Tagline: The FBI-VCU-SI team deals with the ultimate test of good vs. evil when the powerful, evil entity Chaos joins forces with the dark side.

Book Description: 

Kendra Sparks’ vacation gets cut short when Sassy Blaze, the captured voodoo priestess of the dark arts, hangs herself in prison, and a string of curious deaths follows. 

Attempting to stop Sassy costs lives, relationships, and creates unexpected complications, especially for Derek and Kendra. 

Who will defeat the voodoo, dark witch when she can possess whoever she wants?

The FBI-VCU-SI team must deal with the ultimate test of good vs. evil and it’s not looking promising, especially when the powerful, evil entity Chaos joins forces with the dark side.


Excerpt: Kendra’s Point of View

“Thank you for your assistance,” Derek acknowledged the man who guided us to the morgue.

“Now, I’d like this entire room cleared for at least an hour. Your morgue director can verify that order.” Derek nodded, and as he turned toward me, our guide moved away to the two working coroners, escorting them out of the room.

“Dang, this place reminds me of places in the dark plane.” Jenna stood in the center of the room and spun a slow circle. “It’s almost like I can feel Bertellia’s presence, even though I know that woman is gone forever.”  

Once everyone cleared the room, I went to work crushing and mixing up the concoction of herbs in a small burning pot. “I can see the film that cocoons the body you mentioned.” I lit the herbs, allowing a quick flame. Then I blew out the little fire and left the blended ingredients smoldering. As I waved the pot over the body, I said the ritual words. Jenna and Derek joined in the mantra, repeating it with me two more times to break the bond holding Mr. Mead’s soul.

A massive pop, deep enough to shake the floor, startled me. Jenna screamed. Derek jumped in front of me, pushing my body back. “Grab your blades. Mine’s vibrating as if it wants to act on its own.” He grabbed his dagger (the one that NaNa Rosa had given to everyone on our team for protection and guidance against evil spirits from the dark plane) out of the sheath tucked into the back of his pants.

Jenna slipped hers from the sheath strapped to her thigh.

The film surrounding Mr. Mead had disappeared, and the oozing, dark entity that rose out of him charged the air with a distinct acrid odor that immediately gagged me.

I grabbed a wastebasket and threw up.

“Wow, you actually tossed your cookies, Sparky.” Jenna stared at me. “Are you sick?” She stood next to me, dagger in her hand. “Come on, woman, we need you now.”

“Rotten eggs, Kendra. Do you have your dagger in your hand?” Derek’s full attention remained on the grizzly form of leaking pustule bumps and dripping saliva.

I puked again, and my stomach continued to buck and roll. My protection sigil burned, telling me this guy came from the dark plane and would love to feed off our energy. I had tucked the blade in my bag with the herbs. Right now, that satchel lay on the floor about three feet to my right. Gagging and swallowing, I inched toward the bag to hold off the inevitable next wave of nausea.

The entity pulled itself entirely out of Mead’s body, red eyes gawking at us. It caught my movement, and a wretched toothy smile spread across its disgusting thick, slimy lips. The horrendous monster stood on the opposite side of Mead and stepped toward me through the gurney and Mead’s body as if wading through water.

“Sparky, get your dagger!” Jenna readied to throw.

“You look tasty, you’re first,” it rasped and stretched a claw at me, snapping its sharp nails.

Derek and Jenna threw their blades, hitting the evil creeper in the heart and slowing its progress toward me.

I dove for my bag, and the hilt of my dagger snugged into my hand. I yanked it out and flung it with a snap of my wrist. The blade found its mark and sunk into the entity’s heart beside the other two daggers. A vicious scream howled out, dropping Derek and me to our knees with hands covering our ears. I watched as it burned from the inside out and turned into white ash that disappeared, leaving Mr. Mead’s spirit staring at us.

“Where the hell am I?” He looked from Derek to me to Jenna and back at Derek. Then his gaze wandered around the room. “Am I inside a morgue?” His mouth dropped open when he saw his body on the gurney. “Am I dead?”

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, but yes, you died. We don’t know how. Can you remember anything that happened?” I didn’t want to force him, but his anxious shaking took a drastic turn as he stared at our daggers lying beside his feet.

“Did you guys kill me?” His image faltered into momentary static, but then he restabilized into a vivid body, appearing alive. “I want answers.” His lips pinched together, and then his eyes wandered to his dead body on the gurney. He slumped and looked at Derek. “What will my husband do?”

I glanced at Derek and watched his eyes widen.

“Let us know who your significant other is, and we’ll inform him of your passing.” Jenna stepped closer to him.

Mr. Mead huffed. “What would you say? Even I don’t know how I died.”

“We believe it had something to do with Sassy Blaze.” Derek moved beside Jenna, and I followed.

“All I remember is heading to the prison wing to check on the prisoners there. I noticed one guard sleeping beside the door, totally against protocol, so I kicked his foot to awaken him. Then I noticed a green powdery substance around his nose and wondered if he was on drugs. That’s all I recall, other than getting slammed against the wall and hearing the iron door slide open. That normally happened for my prisoner check, but I don’t remember anything after that. I blacked out.” His eyes went wide. “Did anyone look at surveillance?”

“The monitors recorded static in that cell block. That’s why I’m asking you.” Derek took a couple steps to stand directly in front of Mr. Mead. “Sassy Blaze hung herself in her cell. That got caught on surveillance and then her body disappeared. Do you know anything about that?”

“Sassy is dead?” His spine went erect, and he shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. That lunatic wants to murder the FBI Task Force team that imprisoned her. There’s no way she would kill herself.” He glared at Derek, and Derek stared back at him. “Wait a minute. You think I had something to do with Sassy hanging herself?”

“Did you?” Derek’s body went rigid.


About the Author:

S. Peters-Davis writes multi-genre stories but loves penning a good page-turning paranormal or supernatural suspense-thriller, especially when it’s a ghost story and a romance. When she’s not writing, editing, or reading, she’s hiking, RV’ing, fishing, playing with grandchildren, or enjoying time with her favorite muse (her husband) in Southwest Michigan. 

She writes Adult and NA paranormal, supernatural, suspense romance novels.

For a current listing of her book links, check her author or publisher homepage below. She’s listed as: Davis, S. Peters

       
BWL PUblishing: http://bwlpublishing.ca







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War of the Sea - Kickstarter Olympian Wars Book One Dana Claire

  War of the Sea - Kickstarter Olympian Wars Book One Dana Claire Genre: Fantasy Romance Publisher: Chamberlain Publishing House ISBN: 97989...