- 20th Century
- Activity Books
- Adaptations
- Alphabet
- Animals
- Author
- Aviation & Nautical
- Beth Byers
- Biography & Autobiography
- Blythe Baker
- Britt Lind
- Bublish
- Children's Books/Ages 9-12 Fiction
- Children's Books/All Ages
- Christmas
- Christmas fiction
- Christmas stories
- Chronological Period/1800-1850
- Chronological Period/1900-1919
- Chronological Period/19th Century
- Chronological Period/20th Century
- Classics / Criticism
- Concepts
- Contemporary
- Country & Ethnic
- Createspace Independent Publishing Platform
- Crime
- Crystal Moon Press
- Cullen's Celtic Cabaret
- Cultural Region/British
- Cultural Region/Ireland
- Curiouser Editing
- Dani Haendiges
- Death/ Grief/ Loss
- Demographic Orientation/Rural
- Demographic Orientation/Small Town
- Denise Grover Swank
- Dershie McDevitt
- DGS
- Disabilities & Special Needs
- Djh Inc
- Domestic fiction
- Don Pugnetti Jr.
- Donald J. Dj Humphrey II
- Drug traffic
- Emotions
- England
- Entangled with Fae
- Epic
- Espionage
- Espionage - 18th century
- Espionage / Thriller
- Fairy Tales & Folklore
- Fairy Tales/ Folk Tales/ Legends & Mythology
- Family Life
- Fantasy
- Fiction
- Friendship
- Gay
- Generational Orientation/Elderly/Aged
- Gold Harp Media Ltd
- Grades 1-3
- Grades 4-6
- Grades 6-8
- Hamilton Press Limited
- Happiness
- Hard-Boiled
- Henrietta and Inspector Howard Novel
- High School
- Historical
- Holiday
- Holiday Fiction
- holiday romance
- Holiday/Christmas
- Holidays
- Holidays & Celebration
- Holidays & Celebrations
- Horses
- Inc.
- Independently Published
- Ireland
- J. M. Dalgliesh
- Jack Noble
- Jack Noble Series
- Jean Grainger
- Jennifer Fyfe
- Jenny Hickman
- Juvenile Fiction
- Juvenile Nonfiction
- Kathleen Flanagan Rollins
- Kay Correll
- Keith Yocum
- Kit Sergeant
- L. T. Ryan
- Legacy House Press
- LGBTQ+
- Liquid Mind Media
- Literary
- Literature
- LLC
- M. L. Gardner
- Man-woman relationships
- Marci Bolden
- Marissa Finch
- Marriage & Divorce
- Matter of Class
- Michelle Cox
- Military
- Mimi Matthews
- Murder - Investigation
- Mystery & Detective
- Myths of Airren
- Nicole Asherah
- Nicole Ellis
- Paperback
- Parish Orphans of Devon
- Parish Orphans of Devon Series
- Perfectly Proper Press
- Personal Growth
- Pink Citrus Books
- Pink Sand Press
- Poetry
- Police Procedural
- Prophecy of the Forgotten Fae
- Psychological
- Psychological Suspense
- Psychology
- PUB201304
- PUB201312
- PUB201604
- PUB201708
- PUB201709
- PUB201712
- PUB201806
- PUB201807
- PUB201811
- PUB201812
- PUB201901
- PUB201903
- PUB201905
- PUB201908
- PUB201909
- PUB201910
- PUB201911
- PUB202001
- PUB202002
- PUB202008
- PUB202009
- PUB202010
- PUB202012
- PUB202104
- PUB202105
- PUB202106
- PUB202108
- PUB202111
- PUB202202
- PUB202203
- PUB202206
- PUB202211
- PUB202301
- PUB202306
- PUB202311
- PUB202312
- PUB202402
- PUB202404
- PUB202407
- Romance
- Rose Beckingham Murder Mystery
- Sagas
- Sally Britton
- Secrecy
- Self-Help
- Sex & Gender/Feminine
- Sex & Gender/Gay
- She Writes Press
- Shina Reynolds
- Small Town & Rural
- Social Themes
- Somerset Stories
- Suanne Laqueur
- Subjects & Themes
- Survival
- Susie Murphy
- Suspense
- Suspense Thriller
- Tessonja Odette
- The Thatchery
- Thriller
- Thrillers
- Topical/Family
- Topical/Friendship
- Topical/LGBTQ+
- Traditional
- Venery
- Violet Carlyle Mysteries
- Virginia K. White
- War & Military
- Widows
- Wink Road Press
- Wizards & Witches
- Women
- Women Sleuths
- Women Spies
- World Literature
- World War II
- Woven Ember Press
- Young Adult
- Young Adult Fiction
- Zura Lu Publishing LLC
1664 products
Dire
Dirty Liar: A Gripping Psychological Thriller
I don't see the hole until it's too late. Then I'm at the bottom of it, staring up at the ground twelve feet above me. A stupid accident.
Or was it?
Because soon, someone's bringing me food and water. Someone who doesn't want me to see his face.
Someone who knows what I did.
Out there, someone wants revenge. And down here, at the bottom of a hole, a lifetime of lies is about to unravel...
A fresh and original thriller, Dirty Liar asks how well we ever truly know the people we love. Guaranteed to keep you turning pages long into the night
Divided House
DI Nathaniel Caslin's life is a mess. He works the minimum, abuses substances to survive the day and drinks his nights away. A once-promising career is in freefall.
Investigating the death of an ex-serviceman in police custody, reveals the disappearance of a young family. No-one noticed. No-one seems to care. In the grip of a bitter, Yorkshire winter, a family home reluctantly offers up its grisly secrets. Out on the moors, a murder scene of horrific brutality demands Caslin's focused attention. In the search for answers, is anyone who they claim to be?
Haunted by the ghosts of the past, Caslin is pushed to his limits. Will this case break him or be his path to redemption?
Dark, terrifying and complex, Divided House is the first novel in the #1 international best selling Dark Yorkshire Series.About the Author
Dalgliesh, J. M.: - Jason Dalgliesh was born on the south coast of England and grew up in Hampshire, UK. He has worked in the power transmission industry, the retail sector, call centres and as a night-owl in a bakery. He has a degree in history. Following on from the worldwide bestselling Dark Yorkshire crime series, he also writes the Hidden Norfolk books, introducing Detective Tom Janssen. The fifth book in the series, Hear No Evil, was shortlisted for Amazon's prestigious Kindle Storyteller Award in 2020. The two series are set in England, Yorkshire and Norfolk respectively. The medieval City of York is DI Caslin's home town and the wind swept coast of north Norfolk is home to DI Janssen and his team. The plot lines take in some of the UK's most rugged and beautiful landscapes. Penned in the style of crime thrillers with a touch of Scandinavian noir, readers who enjoy dark atmospheric mysteries will find both series a must read. Having spent time abroad, Jason has lived and worked in various parts of England as well as the Scottish Highlands. He currently lives in Norfolk with his wife and two young children.
Divided Sky
Divine's Choice: Life After the Windsors is ALL BLACK
Princess Divine, the sole heir to the English throne, wants to marry a guileless All Black rugby player and farmer from Proud (New Zealand).
Fearing a royal scandal, the scheming Queen Liliana and maniacal King Filip plot to marry Divine off to an English aristocrat. Divine flees with her lover, Joshua, in 2022, to Proud.
Led by the King to bring Divine home, English and Australian soldiers fight an epic battle at a Maori pa (fortress) against fierce Māori gang warriors, elderly mercenaries, Afghan refugees, and even a replica of the extinct moa.
Divine returns to marry and become Queen, but disaster strikes when Divine cannot produce an heir to continue the House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha's grip on the monarchy after the decades-old reign of the Windsor dynasty.
Will Divine abdicate? Who would replace her? Why is the British Commonwealth collapsing all around them? What dark rituals do All Blacks follow? Does Australia want to conquer Proud? Divine and Joshua are innocent pawns in an international power play between the Queen and her subjects.
Divine's Choice is a humorous, contemporary (2022) romantic adventure, a family saga with more twists and turns than the Hampton Court maze. It parodies the unique pressures facing the English monarchy and its rugby equivalent, the New Zealand All Blacks, in today's cruel social media age.
Do Good While Doing Well Official Workbook
ÒWith Do Good While Doing Well Official Workbook, Marcia has done a tremendous service to both seasoned investors and those new to the field. She demystifies angel investing and shows it as a viable tool for societal change, providing readers with the knowledge and confidence to take action. ItÕs a compelling workbook that will undoubtedly inspire many to invest with intention.Ó ÑDr. Marshall Goldsmith, Thinkers50 #1 Executive Coach and New York Times bestselling author of The Earned Life, Triggers, and What Got You Here WonÕt Get You There
ÒAn inspiring and insightful guide that challenges and changes the way we think about investments. This workbook is a powerful tool for anyone wanting to leverage their financial resources for social good.Ó ÑDorie Clark, Wall Street Journal bestselling author of The Long Game and executive education faculty, Columbia Business School
ÒIf you aspire to accelerate positive change, Do Good While Doing Well Official Workbook will open your eyes to powerful new pathways to make a meaningful difference. By collectively investing our time, talent, and treasure, we can empower more purpose-driven founders to overcome barriers to success. Under MarciaÕs mentorship, IÕve benefited from her practical and inspiring guidance. Now you can too!Ó ÑSue Bevan Baggott, former global innovation leader at Procter & Gamble, founder of Power Within Consulting, angel investor and start-up advisor
Have you ever wondered how you can make a real difference?
Discover your impact potential with the Do Good While Doing Well Official Workbook
Embark on a transformative journey with the Do Good While Doing Well Official Workbook, a practical, interactive guide designed to complement the stories and insights from the main book. This workbook provides a structured path for self-reflection to help you identify your passions, align your financial goals, and understand the importance of angel investing as a tool for creating meaningful change.
In the first section, evaluate your current involvement in creating change, whether it's extensive or minimal. This part of the workbook helps you identify what matters most to you and where you might want to focus your time or money to drive change, even if you are unsure how to start.
The second section explores the criteria for selecting start-up companies that align with your values and objectives. YouÕll gain practical strategies and tools to evaluate potential early-stage investments and ensure they resonate with your vision for positive change.
Finally, in the third section, finalize your plans to take action. Whether you begin by exploring start-up activity in your local area, mentoring an entrepreneur, or joining an angel group, youÕll be equipped with numerous options. From exploring equity crowdfunding platforms and creating a mock portfolio to investing with philanthropic dollars or retirement accounts, youÕll uncover many avenues for making a meaningful impact while pursuing potential financial returns.
Don't Go Down There
Spencer Edwards has a beautiful wife, two perfect children, and a sinister secret locked in his basement...
When Andi Edwards discovers her husband isn't where he's supposed to be and isn't answering her calls or texts, a flurry of scenarios races through her mind.
Is he hurt?
Is he cheating?
Is he dead?
The truth, she soon finds out, is so much worse than she could've imagined.
As she struggles to make sense of her new and chilling reality, she must decide whether to stand by the man she loves and help protect him or walk away and let him pay for his sins.
With time running out, the secret in the basement becomes more dangerous, and the spine-chilling truth becomes clear: if she makes the wrong decision, she stands to lose much more than her marriage.
When their best laid plans come back to haunt them, what will Spencer and Andi be willing to sacrifice to survive?
Don't Lie to Me
When twelve-year-old Sophie Williams went on a Girl Scout summer camp, she never returned home.
Three months later, her body is found inside her sleeping bag in the most frequented area of Cocoa Beach, and the town is outraged.
The girl isn't just any child. She's the town's most beloved surf idol, and it was believed that she could be the next Kelly Slater.
As another child, the son of a well-known senator is kidnapped, and the parents receive a disturbing video, FBI profiler Eva Rae Thomas - who has just returned to her hometown, divorced and out of a job - plunges into the investigation, breaking her promise to her children not to do police work again.
Local law enforcement, with her old flame Matt Miller in charge, are the ones who ask for her help in a case so unsettling that only she can solve it. But the deeper they dig, the deadlier it becomes for Matt and Eva Rae. Soon, everyone she holds dear is in grave danger as this case hits a little too close to home.
DON'T LIE TO ME is the first book in the Eva Rae Thomas Mystery Series and can be read as a standalone.
Scroll up and grab a heart-pounding mystery today.
Don't Say a Word
“Powerful and absorbing … Sheer hold-your-breath suspense.” —NY Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly bestselling author, Karen Robards
12 weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List!
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Barbara Freethy comes an award winning tale of romance and suspense.
Everything she's been told about her past is a lie...
Julie De Marco is planning a perfect San Francisco wedding when she comes face-to-face with a famous photograph, the startling image of a little girl behind the iron gate of a foreign orphanage—a girl who looks exactly like her. But Julia isn't an orphan. She isn't adopted. And she's never been out of the country. She knows who she is—or does she?
Haunted by uncertainty, Julia sets off on a dangerous search for her true identity—her only clues a swan necklace and an old Russian doll, her only ally daring, sexy photographer Alex Manning. Suddenly nothing is as it seems. The people Julia loved and trusted become suspicious strangers. The relationships she believed in—with her mother, her sister, and her fiancé—are shaken by new revelations. The only person she can trust is Alex, but he has secrets of his own. Each step brings her closer to a mysterious past that began a world away—a past that still has the power to threaten her life...and change her future forever.
More Reviews:
"A page-turner that engages your mind while it tugs at your heartstrings...Don't Say a Word had made me a Barbara Freethy fan for life!" —NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Diane Chamberlain
"An absorbing story of two people determined to unravel the secrets, betrayals, and questions about their past. The story builds to an explosive conclusion that will leave readers eagerly awaiting Barbara Freethy's next book." —NY Times bestselling author Carla Neggars
"Dark, hidden secrets and stunning betrayal boil together in a potent and moving suspense. Freethy's story-telling ability is top-notch." —Romantic Times Magazine Top Pick of the Month
“What drew me to Don't Say a Word was the fear of the unknown. Everybody has questions about who they are and where they came from,, but to come face to face with the answers is scary. Ms. Freethy created a world full of suspense that is as thrilling as it is tragic. Julie serves as a beacon that from some of life's darkest moment can rise many of the brightest.” —I Love Romance Blog
Author Bio:
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home.
Donors: An Agent Jade Monroe FBI Thriller
About the Author
C.M. Sutter is a crime fiction writer who resides in the Midwest, although she is originally from California. She is a member of numerous writers' organizations including, Writers-Online, Fiction for All, Fiction Factor, and Writers etc. Other than writing crime thrillers, she enjoys spending time with her family and dog. She is an art enthusiast and loves to paint and make hand-made soap. Gardening, hiking, bicycling, and traveling are a few of her favorite pastimes. Be the first to be notified of new releases and promotions at: http: //cmsutter.com.
Downburst
Seeking answers to her father's death.
Hatch finds herself in a small town outside of Las Cruses, New Mexico.
Controlled by a vicious street gang.
A family caught in the crossfire.
Hatch sets out to make things right.
Dragon School: Ancient Allies
Dragon School: Ascendant Light
Dragon School: Bright Hopes
Dragon School: Dark Night
Dragon School: Dire Quest
Dragon School: Dragon Piper
Dragon School: Dusk Covenant
Dragon School: Dust of Death
Dragon School: First Message
Dragon School: Initiate
Dragon School: Mark of Loyalty
Dragon School: Pipe of Wings
Dragon School: Prince of Dragons
Dragon School: Starie Night
Dragon School: Sworn
Dragon School: The Dark Prince
Dragon School: The Ruby Isles
Dragon School: Troubled War
Dragon School: Warring Promises
Draven Doogle and the Corona Witch
Draven Doogle is a typical kid starting third grade. That is, typical until a new neighbor and a worldwide pandemic change everything. From his bedroom window Draven witnesses an unsettling event across the street at Mrs. McBecky's house. A girl walks into the house with Mrs. McBecky, but only an Octopus Monster walks out making Draven very suspicious.
Draven's world is turned even further upside down when he learns that Mrs. McBecky is a new teacher at his school He spends the school year trying to avoid Mrs. McBecky while still observing her terrible actions. Then even more horrific, the coronavirus causes a worldwide pandemic, the closing of Draven's school, and even stranger activity at Mrs. McBecky's house. When Draven's dad becomes sick with the coronavirus, Draven must find the courage to sneak onto Mrs. McBecky's porch to steal one of her coronavirus potions. When he fails this mission, Draven must face the terrifying witch head on. He is willing to do anything to save his dad, even if that means facing the dreaded Mrs. McBecky.
Draven Doogle and the Masked Bully
Draven Doogle is going back to school-and he's so excited to see his friends. After a long wait, the restrictions are lifting, and school is finally back in session. Fourth grade is going to be epic. Even if it's the "hybrid version" of real school, Draven will take it.
Unfortunately, Draven soon realizes that he goes to school on opposite days as his best friends, and his spirits start to deflate. But when a new student, Ryan, moves in with Mrs. McBecky, a.k.a. the Corona Witch, Draven is suspicious of this new kid. Suddenly, Ryan is ruining Draven's life. He's taking Draven's friends and, of course, he so happens to be the new star player on the soccer team. How can Draven get rid of Ryan and make everyone see that Ryan's nothing but a MASKED BULLY?
Drawpoint
If you're going to take aim at Blake Brier, you better not miss.
New from Wall Street Journal bestselling author L.T. Ryan, with Gregory Scott!
Returning to Rhode Island, Blake finds a Dear John letter and his house empty. Haeli is gone. Is it history repeating itself? Or is this something different?A search for answers about a past operation has come back to haunt her. Haeli finds she's in for more than she bargained for. Her past is on a collision course with her future. Will Blake be collateral damage?
Caught in the crosshairs, Blake is forced into action. A heart-pounding race-against-all-odds thriller awaits.
"You'll hold your breath until the very last page."
Dreams of the Damned
The third book in the exhilarating treasure-hunting adventure series, the Atlantis Legacy.
An ancient enemy has Earth in its sights, and there's only one hope for humanity...
Cora and Peri have finally merged, making their minds one, but it's not all smooth sailing. Cora is having a difficult time reconciling her current, reclusive gamer identity with the badass warrior she was in lifetimes past. Before she can get a grip on her new reality, an old enemy resurfaces, endangering Earth and everyone residing there--including the last remnants of the Olympians.
With the help of her nearest and dearest, including the two men--one Olympian, one human--now vying for her heart, Cora must lead the team on a quest off-world to save the planet from certain destruction. Until some dire information surfaces, leading Cora to wonder if fighting is futile, and the only way to survive, is to run.
Dreams of the Damned is the third book in the captivating sci-fi adventure series, the Atlantis Legacy. If you like ancient mysteries, Greek mythology, treasure-hunting adventurers, and alien conspiracies, then you'll love this exhilarating adventure!
Drift
THEY KILLED THE WRONG GIRL. RACHEL HATCH WILL MAKE THEM PAY.
USA TODAY & Amazon 2-million copy bestselling author L.T. RYAN has teamed up with police detective Brian Shea for this debut novel in the gripping Rachel Hatch mystery thriller series. Ex-Army criminal investigator Rachel Hatch is a drifter. No home. No commitments. Until her sister's drowning drags her back to the town she left fifteen years ago. Convinced her sister's death was no accident, Hatch partners with the local sheriff, Dalton Savage to uncover the truth. Every answer unlocks another question, and as the investigation begins to unravel, Hatch and Savage find their lives on the line. Hatch is forced to use her special set of skills - forged on the field of combat - to learn the truth about her sister and bring those responsible to justice. The first novel in one of the most highly-anticipated collaborative series this decade, DRIFT is a tightly woven story, with deeply-developed and endearing characters that will have you rooting for them at every turn, set at an exhilarating pace that will keep you turning pages late into the night.Drifted
Drifter: Book Four
Duet for Three Hands
“I stayed up the entire night reading Duet for Three Hands…[it] was the epitome of unputdownable.” —The Bookish Owl
A standalone historical romance from USA Today bestselling author Tess Thompson that teaches a valuable lesson about life's most important choice: embracing the power of love or being consumed by the power of hate.
Nathaniel Fye's marriage into the wealthy Bellmont family is one of convenience, and the brilliant concert pianist soon discovers he has no idea who his wife really is. Then tragedy leaves Nathaniel with nothing more than memories of his fame and fortune, and a single protege—the widow Lydia Tyler—to continue teaching.
Jeselle Thorton's heart has always belonged to one man, who, fortunately for Jeselle, has always reciprocated her love. But because of the color of their skin, the couple can never have more than their dreams of a future together.
Four lives brought together by circumstance will be forced to combat prejudice and risk everything in this deep and complex family saga of forbidden love and flawed humanity in America's Depression-era South.
SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!
Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly forty published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on Hometowns and Heartstrings.
Book Excerpt:
Part 1
From Jeselle Thorton’s journal.
June 10, 1928
When I came into the kitchen this morning, Mrs. Bellmont handed me a package wrapped in shiny gold paper, a gift for my thirteenth birthday. A book, I thought, happy. But it wasn’t a book to read. It was a book to write in: a leather-bound journal. Inches of blank pages, waiting for my words.
Mrs. Bellmont beamed at me, seemingly pleased with my delight over the journal. “You write whatever ideas and observations come to you, Jeselle. Don’t censor yourself. Women, especially, can only learn to write by telling the truth about themselves and those around them.”
I put my nose in the middle of all those empty pages and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the clean smell of new paper. Behind us Mama poured hotcake batter into a frying pan. The room filled with the aroma of those sweet cakes and sizzling oil. Whitmore came in holding a string of fish he’d caught in the lake, the screen door slamming behind him.
“Tell me why it matters that you write?” asked Mrs. Bellmont in her soft teacher voice.
“I cannot say exactly, Mrs. Bellmont.” Too shy to say the words out loud, I shrugged to hide my feelings. But I know exactly. I write to know I exist, to know there is more to me than flesh and muscle being primed for a life of humility, servitude, obedience. I write, seeking clarity. I write because I love. I write, searching for the light.
Mrs. Bellmont understood. This is the way between us. She squeezed my hand, her skin cream over my coffee.
Tonight, for my birthday present, Whit captured lightning bugs in a glass jar, knowing how I love them. We set the jar on the veranda, astonished at the immensity of their combined glow. “Enough light in there to write by,” I said, thinking of my journal now tucked in my apron pocket.
“They spark to attract a mate,” he said, almost mournfully.
“They light up to find love?” I asked, astonished.
He nodded. “Isn’t it something?”
We watched those bugs for a good while until Whit pushed his blond curls back from his forehead like he does when he worries.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“They shouldn’t be trapped in this jar when they’re meant to fly free, to look for love.”
He unscrewed the lid, and those flickers of life drifted out into the sultry air until they intermingled with other fireflies, liberated to attract the love they so desperately sought. I moved closer to him. He took my hand as we watched and watched, not wanting the moment to end but knowing it must, as all moments do, both good and bad, light and dark, leaving only love behind to be savored in our memories.
Chapter 1: Nathaniel
On a hot and humid day in the middle of June, Nathaniel Fye rehearsed for a concert he was to give that night at the Howard Theatre with the Atlanta Orchestra. It was late afternoon when he emerged from the cool darkness of the theatre into the glaring afternoon heat and noise of Peachtree Street. He walked toward the large W that hung over the Hotel Winecoff, where he planned to eat a late afternoon meal and then head up to his room for a rest and a bath before dressing for the evening concert. Thick, humid air and gasoline fumes from passing automobiles made him hot even in his white linen summer suit. Across to Singapore, starring Joan Crawford, was displayed on the Loew’s Theatre marquee. What sort of people went to the moving pictures, he wondered? Ordinary people who had lives filled with fun and love and friendship instead of traveling from town to town for concerts and nothing but practice in between. All the travel had been tolerable, even exciting, when he was younger, but now, as his age crept into the early thirties, he found himself wanting companionship and love, especially from a woman. Lately, he daydreamed frequently of a wife and children, a home. The idea filled him with longing, the kind that even the accolades and enthusiastic audiences could not assuage. But he was hopeless with women. Tongue-tied, stammering, sweating, all described his interactions with any woman but his mother. His manager, Walt, was good with people. He could talk to anyone. But Nathaniel? He could never think of one thing to say to anyone—his preferred way of communication was music. When his hands were on the keys it was as if his soul were set free to love and be loved, everything inside him released to the world. He would never think of taking the astonishing opportunities his talent had afforded him for granted, especially after the sacrifices his parents had made for him to study with the finest teachers in the world. Even so, he was lonely. The disciplined life and his natural reticence afforded little opportunity for connection.
A young woman stood near the entrance of the Winecoff, one foot perched saucily on the wall while balancing on the other, reading a magazine. She wore a cream-colored dress, and her curly, white-blonde hair bobbed under a cloche hat of fine-woven pink straw with a brim just wide enough to cover her face. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the door’s glass window, suddenly conscious of his own appearance. Tall, with a slight slump at his shoulders from years at the piano, dark hair under his hat, high cheekbones and sensitive brown eyes from his father but a delicate nose and stern mouth from his mother. Handsome? He suspected not. Just because you wish something didn’t make it so, he thought. As his hand touched the door to go in, the young woman looked up and stared into his eyes. “Good afternoon. How do you do?”
Porcelain skin, gray eyes, perfect petite features, all combined to make a beautiful, exquisite, but completely foreign creature. A beautiful woman. Right here, in front of him. What to do? His heart flipped inside his chest and started beating hard and fast. Could she tell? Was it visible? He covered his chest with his hand, hot and embarrassed. “Yes.” He lifted his hat. Oh, horrors: his forehead was slick with sweat. Yes? Had he just said yes? What had she asked him? He moved his gaze to a spot on the window. A fly landed on the glass and went still, looking at him with bulging eyes.
Her voice, like a string attached to his ear, drew his gaze back to her. “It’s unbearably hot. I could sure use a Coca-Cola.” With a flirtatious cock of her head, she smiled. She had the same thick Georgian accent as all the women in Atlanta, but there was a reckless, breathless quality in the way she oozed the words.
“Quite. Yes. Well, goodbye, then.” He somehow managed to open the door and slip inside.
The hotel was quiet. Several women lounged in the lobby, talking quietly over glasses of sweet tea. A man in a suit sat at one of the small desks provided for guests, writing into a ledger. A maid scurried through with an armful of towels. He wanted nothing more than to be swallowed by the wall. What was the matter with him? How was it possible to hold the attention of hundreds during a concert, yet be unable to utter a single intelligible thing to one lone woman?
He stumbled over to the café counter and ordered a sandwich and a glass of Coca-Cola. He allowed himself one glass whenever he performed in Atlanta during the summer. The heat, as the young woman had said, made a person long for a Coca-Cola. But only one, no more or he might never stop, and next thing he knew he’d have one every day and then twice a day and so forth. Sweet drinks were an indulgence, a dangerous way to live for a man who must have complete discipline to remain a virtuoso. If he allowed himself anything or everything he wanted, where might it lead? He could not be like other people, even if he wanted to be.
Waiting for his drink, he heard, rather than saw, the door open, and then the blonde woman sat beside him, swinging her legs ever so slightly as she perched on the round bar stool. “Hello again.” She placed her hands, which were half the size of his and so white as to appear almost translucent, upon the counter. She interlaced her fingers, rather primly and in a way that seemed to belie the general forwardness of sitting next to a man she didn’t know at an otherwise empty counter. He nodded at her, catching a whiff of gardenia he supposed came from her smooth, white neck.
“Would you like to buy me a Coca-Cola?” She peered up at him from under her lashes. Her eyes were the color of storm clouds.
What was this? She wanted him to buy her a drink? Had she hinted at that outside? What a ninny he was. Of course. Any imbecile could have picked up on that. Walt would have had her in here with a soda in her hand before the door closed behind them. He tried to respond, but his voice caught in the back of his throat. Instead he nodded to the man in the white apron behind the fountain, who, in turn, also in silence, pulled the knob of the fountain spray with a beefy arm.
“I’ve just come from the Crawford picture. It was simply too marvelous for words. I do so love the moving pictures. What’s your name?” She pressed a handkerchief to the nape of her neck where soft curls lay, damp with perspiration. What would it feel like to wrap his finger in one of the curls?
“Nathaniel.”
“I’m Frances Bellmont. You from up north?”
“Maine originally. I live in New York City now.”
Her gray eyes flickered, and an eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “I see. A Yankee.” He thought he detected an excitement as she said it, as if to sit by him were an act of rebellion.
“As north as you can get and still be an American,” he said. At last. Words!
“’Round here we’re not sure any of y’all are true Americans.” She took a dainty sip from her soda and peered at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Now wait a minute. Are you Nathaniel Fye, the piano player?”
“Right.”
“Oh my.” She turned her full gaze upon him. “That is interesting.” She had full lips that looked almost swollen. “My mother and I happen to be attending that very concert tonight. I don’t enjoy such serious music, but my mother simply adores it. We’re staying overnight here at the Winecoff. We live all the way across town, and mother thought it would be nice to stay overnight. Together.” She rolled her eyes.
Before he knew what he was saying, a lie stumbled from his mouth. “Party. Later. In my suite. You could come. Your mother, too.”
“A party? I’d love to attend. Do I have to bring my mother?” She sipped her soda while looking up at him through her lashes.
“I, I don’t know.” He stuttered. “Isn’t that how it’s done?”
She slid off her seat, touching the sleeve of his jacket like a caress. “I’m just teasing. We wouldn’t think of missing it. I’ll see you then.” And then she was out the door, leaving only the smell of her perfume behind, as if it had taken up permanent residence in his nostrils.
Later that night, before the concert, he stood at the full-length mirror in the greenroom of the Howard Theatre, brushing lint from his black tuxedo jacket. Walt sat across from him in one of the soft chairs, scouring the arts section of the New York Times and occasionally making notations in a small notebook.
“I’d like to have a small group up to my room. After the concert tonight.”
“What did you say?” Walt, a few years younger than Nathaniel, possessed light blue eyes that were constantly on the move, shifting and scanning, like a predator looking for his next meal. He was once an amateur violinist who had played in his small town of Montevallo, Alabama, at church and town dances before he went to New York City. “Played the fiddle, but I didn’t have the talent to go all the way,” he told Nathaniel years ago, during their first interview. “But the music, it gets in a person’s blood, and I aim to make a life out of it however I can.”
Walt closed the newspaper without making a sound, like he was trying not to spook a wild horse. He stood, folding the newspaper under his arm. He had a slim build and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Receding light brown hair made his forehead appear more prominent than it once was. Despite his ordinary appearance, women flushed and giggled when he spoke to them. “Never, in five years, have you had folks up to your room. Much as I’ve asked you to.”
“I know,” Nathaniel said, shrugging as if it were nothing important. “You know I can never think of anything to say to people.”
Walt’s eyes were already at the door. “You want me to bring the music promoter I was telling you about? He’s keen to get after you with some ideas.”
“Fine.”
Walt rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I’ll make sure no one stays too late. We leave for the West tomorrow on the early train.” He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “Why the sudden interest in sociability?” He raised an eyebrow and punched him on the shoulder. “Could it be the young lady I saw you with earlier?”
Nathaniel straightened his bow tie. “How did you know that?”
“I was checking into the hotel when I happened to see the two of you at the bar. I saw her again at the restaurant tonight. Dining with her mother, if I make my guess. They’re almost identical.”
Nathaniel wanted to ask more but kept quiet. He took his pocket watch out of his trousers and set it on the table. His pockets must be empty when he played. He stretched his fingers.
“You do know who they are, don’t you?” Walt’s forehead glistened. He took off his glasses and waved them in the air. Nathaniel couldn’t decide if he only imagined the movement was in the shape of a dollar sign.
“Last name’s Bellmont.”
“Yeah, that’s Frances Bellmont you bought a soda for, my friend. The Bellmont family’s old money. Used to own half of Georgia. He’s a vice president over at Coca-Cola.”
“I see.”
Walt waggled his fingers, teasing. “I know you don’t care about such things.”
“Just be at my room at ten,” Nathaniel said, chuckling. “Before anyone else arrives. I’ll need you to do the talking.”
“My mama always said I was a good talker,” said Walt.
“One of us has to be.”
“I’ll get hold of some champagne. From what I hear, Frances Bellmont likes her champagne.” He slapped Nathaniel on the back.
“What do you mean?” A dart of something, almost like fear, pierced the bottom of his stomach.
“Just rumors. Nothing to worry over.”
“Tell me.”
“She likes parties. That’s all.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s my job to know these kinds of things.” Walt put up his hand, like a command. “Stop. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you interested in a woman. Don’t ruin it by talking yourself out of it.” He left through the greenroom door, calling out behind him, “Good luck tonight.”
After the concert, Nathaniel went back to his suite and bathed the perspiration from his body, using a scrub brush and soap he imagined smelled like a woman’s inner wrist. He washed his thick, dark hair and flicked it back with pomade so that the waves that sometimes fell over his forehead were tamed. Using a straight blade to shave his face, he scrutinized his looks. Would he ever be appealing to a girl like Frances Bellmont? His eyes were brown and on the small side, if he were truthful. And his lips were thin, now that he really looked at them, although he had straight, white teeth. That was something. People were always telling Walt that Nathaniel came across as intense, and sometimes even the word frightening had been used. I’ll smile, he assured himself. Easy and fun, like Walt.
He hung his tuxedo in the closet and smoothed the bed cover from where he’d rumpled it during his earlier nap. Then he straightened the sitting room, disposing of a newspaper and moving several music sheets marked with his latest composition to the other room. Would people sit, he wondered? Or stand? He looked about the room. He hadn’t noticed much about it upon his arrival. All hotels began to look the same after a while. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, cascading like fallen tears and casting subdued light across a dark green couch with scalloped legs. A round table stood between two straight-backed chairs with cushions decorated in a complicated red floral design. Would there be enough room for everyone? How many did Walt invite? He should have asked. Despite his recent bath, he began to perspire.
Just then there was a knock on the door. It was Walt, looking newly shaven and dapper in a tan linen suit with a blue tie. With him was a man about Walt’s age, whom he introduced as Ralph Landry. “How do you know Walt?” Nathaniel asked him, feigning interest, trying to keep his gaze from wandering to the door.
“Knew one another growing up in Montevallo, Alabama.” Ralph’s accent sounded like a foreign language to Nathaniel: slow, elongated vowels, twice as many, it seemed, than words usually had, and no “r” sounds. “Moved out to New York together for college, and I went on to med school. Now I’m headed back to Montevallo to start my own practice.” Ralph’s face, pink and fleshy, looked like the underbelly of a sow, and he had a particularly thick neck that seemed about to pop open his bow tie.
“Best of luck to you.” Nathaniel cleared his throat and glanced over at Walt, who was taking bottles of champagne out of an apple crate. He forced himself to look back to his companion.
“How’s your younger brother doing?” Walt asked.
“Half-brother,” Ralph corrected him. “He calls himself Mick now.” Ralph’s face turned serious. “He’s at loose ends since graduating from high school.”
“Send him out to California,” said Walt. “Didn’t you tell me he lives for moving pictures? He could get a job out there.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Ralph.
“We can thank Ralphie here for the illegal suds,” Walt said, slapping is friend on the back.
Ralph took a big sip. “Well, let’s just say being able to stitch folks up after a gunshot wound in the middle of the night provides some benefits.” He laughed and took another gulp of champagne. “Have to get a little wop blood on my hands sometimes, but it’s worth it.”
Nathaniel felt a blast of revulsion, knowing Ralph meant the New York underworld of organized crime. One of the head crime bosses had asked Nathaniel to play at his daughter’s birthday party several years ago. He booked an overseas tour to get out of it, fearing his hands might be crushed if he refused.
“You want a drink, Nathaniel?” asked Walt.
Nathaniel shook his head, no.
“Don’t drink, Mr. Fye?” asked Ralph.
“I do not,” said Nathaniel, stifling a sigh. This was a mistake. Frances probably wouldn’t even show, and he’d be trapped here all night while these derelicts went through the half-case of champagne.
“Nathaniel here is looking for sainthood after his death,” said Walt. “All he does is work. So you and I’ll have to drink his share.”
Before Walt could answer, there was another knock on the door. It was John Wainwright, the music promoter, and his wife. Walt had told Nathaniel the wife’s name, but he couldn’t remember it. The palms of his hands were damp. His throat tightened. The pulse at his neck was rapid, yet his breathing felt shallow, like he couldn’t get enough air. He caught a glimpse of the bed in the other room and felt a sudden, intense longing for the feel of the cool sheets on his skin.
To his relief, John Wainwright came over to him and held out his hand, introducing himself. Mr. Wainwright had the kind of face no one would remember in the morning and a limp, clammy handshake, like a faded, damp cloth on a clothesline. His wife wore a black evening gown that clung to her wide hips and large breasts. Her copper red hair was cut in an unflattering blunt bob above the ears. She stared at Nathaniel with eyes rimmed in charcoal-colored liner, grasping in her gloved hands the program from tonight’s concert. “Autograph for me?” She blushed, the fat of her upper arms straining against the elastic of her long white gloves.
He did so, avoiding her gaze. My God, the room was stifling. He reached inside his jacket for his handkerchief and wiped the palms of his hands and then mopped his brow.
“I’m just absolutely thrilled to meet you.” Mrs. Wainwright’s highpitched voice reminded Nathaniel of one of those yappy lapdogs he saw with wealthy New York socialites. “Oh, the excitement in the theatre tonight when your hands hovered over the keyboard before those last notes. I thought the woman next to me might faint. How do you do it?” Her eyes bulged as she leaned forward, so close to his face that he caught a whiff of onions on her breath.
“It’s just my job.” His voice sounded like a rusty gate. He tried to smile, feeling as if his lips were caught against his teeth. “Same as anyone.”
Another knock on the door. Walt, setting down his glass of champagne, moved to answer it. Nathaniel held his breath. He wanted it to be her. And he didn’t want it to be her.
Walt opened the door, and there stood Frances Bellmont. She wore a pale blue gown with rows of fringe all the way up the skirt, which reminded him of the spikes of sea anemones. Fair hair curled around her face, and her stormy eyes were made up with black mascara. They sparkled even from across the room and were, for an instant, the only things Nathaniel could see. He tore his eyes away from her. Yes, he thought, that’s what it felt like to turn away, like a ripping away from something life-giving. Her mother was equally lovely, and Walt was correct, they looked remarkably alike, except Mrs. Bellmont was several inches shorter and wore her hair in longer curls.
The room had gone silent, like an enchanted breeze had woven its way among everyone, rendering them speechless. Walt recovered first, taking the Bellmont ladies’ hands in turn and introducing himself. Nathaniel could do nothing but stare at his shoes and wish for a piano where he could play and hide. And then, like walking in a strong wind, he came forward and put his hand out to Mrs. Bellmont. She took it, and he brought her gloved hand up to his lips in the way he’d seen Walt do many times to young ladies after concerts.
“Mr. Fye, I’m pleased to meet you.” Mrs. Bellmont’s eyes were identical to Frances’s, except without any makeup. She was virtually unlined, but her face was thinner than her daughter’s, showing evidence of her age. He imagined, for a brief, insane moment, that he saw his future, but then her lovely resonant voice, like a stringed instrument, brought him back to the present. “The concert was simply lovely. What a privilege to meet you in person.”
“Mr. Fye, good to see you again.” Frances tugged at her gloves as her eyes shifted about the room. “Are more guests expected?”
“I’m not sure. Walt arranged this.” Frances’s gloves were off now, dangling in her left hand like discarded snakeskins. “Oh, I do hope so. It’s wonderful to be out. You must have such a glamorous life in New York City.” She held out her left hand.
He took the offered hand, but instead of kissing it properly as he intended, his shaking hand seemed incapable of bringing it to his mouth; instead of making contact with her soft skin, he kissed the air just above her knuckles, resulting in a smacking from his lips that sounded like a baby suckling. He felt his ears turn red.
Frances smiled at him and removed her hand, which was the texture of a rose petal. Dazzling, that’s the only way he could think to describe her smile. It reached him someplace deep inside, stirring feelings he didn’t know he had. Was it possible that a man like him could get a woman like Frances Bellmont to love him? If only he were less awkward, less confused.
She stuffed her gloves into the small, black purse she carried. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you have a glamorous life in New York City? I imagine you know actresses and singers. Think of that, Mother.” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, her eyes bright, “I suppose there are hundreds of parties?”
“I’m unsure. I travel much of the time. In fact, I leave for the West tomorrow. I’ll be gone eight weeks.”
“The West? Do you mean California?” asked Frances.
“Yes. All the western cities, including San Francisco and Los Angeles.”
“Hollywood?” Frances clapped her hands together. “How exciting.”
“I suppose.” He wanted to tell her how lonely he was, how comforting it would be to have a wife by his side, but, of course, he could not. Even he knew this was not appropriate cocktail party conversation.
Ralph Landry brought champagne to both the Bellmont ladies and then guided Mrs. Bellmont over to the Wainwrights, leaving Nathaniel alone with Frances. For the second time in less than a minute he wished for a piano, and then he simply wished for music, but there was not a gramophone in the room and no piano at which he might sit and transform into the man featured on posters and programs. Instead, in the glow of the beautiful Frances Bellmont he was merely a large, awkward man in an expensive suit.
He remembered then, as if it were only yesterday, standing at the side of the Grange hall when he was in his late teens, home for a brief visit before he left for New York City to begin another chapter in his tutelage, dressed in a suit made by his mother. For days, while he practiced in the other room, he’d heard the stop and go of the sewing machine, between his scales and notes; his mother unconsciously matched the rhythm of whatever he played—relegated, for her son, to seamstress from her own seat at the piano bench.
That night, at the Grange, a band of the variety Walt had once been part of played as entertainment. There was a fiddler, a banjo player, and a pianist who had no feel for the subtlety of music. The singer was a young woman with a clear, crystal voice; thick, shiny, brown hair arranged in a loose bun at the nape of her neck; and round, blue eyes the color of the sea on a sunny day. She wore a cheap cotton dress, loose like it belonged to an older sister, but Nathaniel could see the roundness of her hips and breasts, could imagine what her thighs might feel like in his hands. And the desire for her rivaled even his ambition, so that for nights afterward he thought of her, staring at the ceiling in his childhood bedroom, which was no bigger than a closet, with walls so thin he imagined he heard the wood rotting in the sea air. He prayed for the thoughts to go away, even while imagining himself as the moderately skilled piano player next to her. He wondered, should this be his small life instead of the large one his mother imagined for him, that he, indeed, had imagined for himself?
But he’d gone away, to live with his mentor, and it would be years before he acted on his base desires with a prostitute in New York. While he thrust into the half-used-up immigrant girl who spoke only the romantic, lyrical Italian of her native country, he closed his eyes and imagined the singer. It was only after he was done that he truly looked at the girl’s face and saw her humanity. She was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. What had he done? Sickened, his lust was immediately replaced by a terrible feeling of regret and shame that lived in his gut for months afterward, like a flu from which he couldn’t recover. But he was a man, and there were others from time to time, all women who traded pleasure for money. It shamed him, each one, and yet he was a slave to his desires. Without a wife, he must turn to these destitute women and then repent on Sundays and ask for forgiveness. How lonely it was, this life that was his destiny. The feeling of desolation lessened only when he played. And so he did. Day after day. Night after night.
Now, at this makeshift party, Frances drank her champagne as if it were water. Think of something to say, he commanded himself. Cigarettes. Offer a cigarette. Women liked that. Did they like that? He had no idea what women liked. “Would you like a cigarette?”
“No thank you. Not in front of Mother. She has this ridiculous notion it’s bad for a woman’s complexion.”
He put them back in his coat pocket without taking one for himself and then stuffed his hands in his pockets. Under his jacket, he drew his stomach to his backbone, cringing inside. He caught Walt’s eyes and silently begged him for rescue. Walt understood, apparently, because he brought Mrs. Bellmont over to where Nathaniel stood with Frances and offered his arm to the younger woman. “Miss Bellmont, come with me. I’ll introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright. And my old friend, Ralph Landry.”
After they had gone, Mrs. Bellmont smiled up at Nathaniel. “Frances was awfully happy to be invited to a party. We don’t have nearly as an eventful life as she wishes.” Her accent was slightly different from Frances’s, clipped with more distinct “r” sounds.
This was something, he thought. Something to ask. “Are you from Georgia originally?”
“A small town in Mississippi, but I’ve been in Georgia for more than twenty years now.” She paused, glancing over to where Frances was now talking with the Wainwrights. “Frances tells me you’re from Maine. I’ve read it’s beautiful there.”
“I’ve never been anywhere prettier.” A surge of pleasure exploded inside him. Frances had spoken about him to her mother. Perhaps she liked him a little. “If you can stand the winters.”
“How does your father earn his living?”
“Lobster. Worked the cages almost every day of his life, pulling up those crates with his bare hands, often to find only one or two lobsters at a time.”
“He’s passed, then?”
He nodded, feeling the ache in his chest that had taken a year to subside. “Three years ago.”
“He lived to see your success?”
“Yes.”
“He must have been quite proud.”
“I believe so. He wasn’t one to talk much. My mother told me he used to listen to my recordings every single day before he died.”
His mother had been his first teacher, but after several years she decided he’d surpassed her ability to teach him and found a teacher of considerable reputation in the next town over. He remembered, vividly, his father taking the boat out on Sunday afternoons, even though it was the Sabbath, to catch additional lobsters to pay for Nathaniel’s lessons. “You can’t imagine what they gave up for me to have this life.”
“I’m sure I can.” She played with the collar of her gown, a lovely light green that reminded him of gowns he’d seen in Paris last year. He thought of his mother’s one decent dress, ironed faithfully every Saturday night to wear to church the next morning, until the fabric thinned at the elbows and frayed at the hem. “My grandmother did the same for me. And we must never forget those sacrifices.” Mrs. Bellmont smiled and took a small sip of champagne.
“Is Frances your only child?”
“No, I have a son. Whitmore.” Her face lit up when she said her son’s name.
From across the room Walt laughed and clinked glasses with Mrs. Wainwright and Frances. Nathaniel must have sighed because Mrs. Bellmont’s kind eyes met his as she touched the sleeve of his jacket. “What’s wrong, Mr. Fye?”
He blinked. “Nothing really.”
“You don’t usually host parties, I imagine?”
“Never.” He turned toward her. “I find it difficult.”
“Meeting new people?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve had to live a disciplined life. It doesn’t leave much time for social engagements.” Her voice was sympathetic, understanding. “So why tonight?”
He took his hands out of his pockets. The bubbles in Mrs. Bellmont’s glass floated one by one to the top of her drink.
“I suggested the party for the sole purpose of seeing your daughter. I also wanted to meet you properly so that I might ask if I could call on her when I return from the West. But when she was in front of me, I couldn’t think of one thing to say.”
Mrs. Bellmont was silent for a moment, twisting the stem of her champagne glass with her fingers. “When I married, my husband paraded me in front of people like I was a prize racehorse. I have a nervous stomach, and I’d be sick for hours beforehand. I had to figure out a way to get through those engagements.”
“What did you do?”
“You’ll laugh.”
He smiled, feeling relaxed for the first time that night. “I promise not to.”
“I found a book called The Lost Art of Conversation, by Horatio Sheafe Krans. I probably should have read Emily Post instead, but I’m one to look to the masters first, so I muddled through each of the essays, and do you know what I learned?”
He put his hand up to his heart. “Tell me, Mrs. Bellmont, and save me from a life of solitude.”
She laughed. “It all comes to this.” She raised one hand in the air like a preacher. “Ask questions.”
“Questions?”
“Precisely. Begin every conversation by asking a question of the other person. It never fails me. People love to talk about themselves.” She looked, once again, over at Frances, who was now talking with Mr. Wainwright, and then back at Nathaniel. “Mr. Fye, you must come visit us. This isn’t the setting to talk with Frances properly.”
“You might think I’m too old for her. I’m thirty-two.”
“Frances is twenty. Quite old enough to marry. My husband’s ten years older than I am. I see nothing wrong with it. Anyway, her father will like it if you call on her at our home. He’ll be delighted that a man of your reputation is interested in Frances.” She took another sip of her champagne.
“Do you think she would consider me?”
Her face softened further as her eyes turned a deeper shade of gray. “I didn’t raise a fool, Mr. Fye.”
“That’s kind. Thank you.” He forgot himself for a moment, forgot his terrible wanting of young Frances Bellmont and his paralyzing shyness. The room was beautiful and so were his party guests, and, in the company of Mrs. Bellmont, he felt like the kind of man who laughed at parties and thought of questions and answers. It was good, this, to have people around him, and he felt hope, too, for a future that might include the beguiling Frances Bellmont and her lovely mother.
Then, he noticed Frances and Walt across the room in a corner by themselves. Frances leaned into Walt, whispering something in his ear. Walt flushed and shook his head. A moment later Walt left Frances and came to stand next to him. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bellmont, but it’s getting late, and our prodigy here needs his beauty rest.”
Mrs. Bellmont set her glass on the table behind them. “Oh, of course. It’s getting late for us, too.” She waved to Frances. “Time to go, darlin’.”
Frances stood next to Ralph Landry now; he poured more champagne in her glass. “But we just arrived,” said Frances.
“Nathaniel has a busy day tomorrow,” said Walt. Nathaniel stared at him. He’d never heard Walt sound so cold. What had happened?
Frances glared at Walt while drinking the rest of her champagne in one swallow.
Everyone else bustled about, getting ready to leave. Goodbyes were made until it was only the Bellmont women left, standing in the doorway, and Walt, gathering the empty champagne bottles.
“Good night, Mr. Fye,” Frances said. “It was awfully nice of you to invite us.” Behind them, Walt flung bottles into the apple crate. Frances leaned forward, pulling at the lapel of Nathaniel’s suit jacket, and whispered in his ear. “Please tell me I’ll see you again soon?”
“I would like that very much.”
“Mr. Fye’s agreed to call on us at the house when he returns from California,” said Mrs. Bellmont to her daughter.
Frances gave Nathaniel her hand. “Something to look forward to then, even though it seems terribly far away.” She paused, looking up at him from under thick lashes. “I can’t remember a better evening.”
Nathaniel kissed both women’s hands and bid them good night. After he closed the door, he turned toward Walt, grinning. “She wants to see me again. I can hardly believe it.”
“I don’t think Frances Bellmont’s a good idea.” Walt went to the table and poured a last bit of champagne into his glass from the open bottle on the table.
“Why? Did something happen between you?”
“Let’s just say I know women, and she’s trouble.” Walt downed the champagne in one gulp and thumped the glass down on the table. “You could have your pick of women, you know, if you could conquer this shyness.”
“I tried tonight, Walt. I thought you’d be pleased.” He deflated, like a cake just taken from the oven into a cold room.
“I want you to be happy. I know you’re lonely, the way we work all the time. Hell, so am I. But you have to be careful of beautiful women. They come at a price.”
“They do?”
“The most important decision of any man’s life is who he chooses as his wife. Remember that.” Walt picked up his jacket from one of the chairs and draped it over his arm. “Miss Bellmont is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. That also makes her the most dangerous.”
Walt was out the door before Nathaniel could think of what to say.
Dylan's Birthday Present
Little Polyglot Adventures Series (Vol. 1): Dylan's Birthday Present
This is the English (original) version of this book. It is also available in several other languages, including in bilingual versions.
Dylan is an American boy like many others. One thing makes him special, though: his parents come from other countries and speak to him in different languages. It's his birthday today and he receives a very unusual present, only to lose it shortly after. Together with his best friend Emma, a sweet bilingual girl born to South African parents, Dylan sets out to find his lost birthday present. During their search, the two friends learn about the value of friendship, of speaking different languages, and of appreciating one's own as well as others' cultural and linguistic background.
If you are looking for a children's book that will help your child see the value in speaking other languages and hopefully get more excited about learning one, this book is a great choice.
Lexile Reading Level: 520L
About the Author
Dias de Oliveira Santos, Victor: - A second language learning expert (PhD) with vast experience in the field and a father to two amazingly funny trilingual children, Dr. Victor Santos founded Linguacious(R) with the goal of helping other families and educators worldwide support the learning of other languages in children. He is the developer of the multi-award-winning Linguacious vocabulary flashcard game and Little Polyglot books, as well as author of the series Little Polyglot Adventures.
Each to His Own: A House Divided
The war is over. But some wounds take time to heal...
The 1950's are in full swing, and for some, World War II is just a grim memory. Young Adam Beaumont, the son of a wealthy aristocratic family, is a commissioned officer in the Royal Air Force. With Adam's uncle wielding considerable influence, he is next in line for the Baronetcy. But Adam cares little for family politics, and is still haunted by the murder of his Malayan mother at the hands of the Japanese.
At a debutante ball, Adam overhears whispers of scandal. Beau, his pompous and arrogant cousin, claims Adam is illegitimate... that his father and mother never married, and he is not worthy of the family estate. With no marriage certificate to prove otherwise, Beau's insult strikes a nerve, and Adam's blood boils. He is determined to prove his cousin wrong, by any means necessary...
Traveling to Hong Kong to work in his uncle's branch of the family business, Adam delves into his family's wartime past. Desperate to find a witness to his parent's wedding, the young man makes the acquaintance of his father's old friend, Perry Marshbank. But in the years since the war, Perry has become a wanted drug lord, with deep ties to the underworld. And his motives for helping the young Beaumont are questionable indeed...
From the silken boudoirs of Hong Kong to the glitzy theatre palaces of New York, Each to His Own weaves historical fact and fiction into a memorizing tapestry. Fans of Ken Follett, James Michener, and Wilbur Smith won't want to miss the next epic chapter in the Beaumont saga.
Each to Their Own: A Mags Munroe Story
There are some days when being the Garda Sergeant of a small Irish town really tests me. Having to police my family and friends is a necessary evil, but when I'm faced with arresting half the children in the town, and discovering someone close to me among the offenders, well, those days I really wish I'd chosen a different career.
Irate parents are not my only problem unfortunately, as I'm then called to manage a baying mob of strangers, bearing placards and demanding change. I'm all for peaceful protest, but these people were threatening the vulnerable, and I'm just not having that.
So, after a very long week, I just want to go home and put my feet up, when a dramatic, decades-old secret is revealed. It shocks everyone in the family to the core, and it feels like everywhere I turn, where once there was trust and honesty, now there are nothing but lies.
I usually know what to do for the best, but faced with this, I'm unsure. Should I trust my instincts and bend the rules, or should I apply the law to the letter?
Eat Your Words: 125 Food & Beverage Themed Puzzles for Hungry Minds
The EAT YOUR WORDS puzzle was created to satisfy our voracious appetite for culinary knowledge. This book contains 125 food and beverage-themed puzzles.
Whether you are a novice or an expert, this puzzle book is a feast for the hungry mind.
Echo
And the greatest lesson of all, that our brains are not as rare and unique as humans had assumed. But rather just one of three brains between three extraordinary species. All influenced by a fluke of evolution that should never have existed on Earth in the first place. Something we are now finally on the cusp of understanding.
It will take more than just one brain to do it. More than just one species. And courage from all three.
Courage in the face of those still trying to stop Clay and Alison before their stranglehold on the world is lost.
But Clay and his team already know the truth. That there is no courage without fear, and no victory without sacrifice.
Echoes from the Past: The Brigandshaw Chronicles Book 1
Two best friends divided by war. Can an Englishman and an Afrikaner carve out an existence for their families in the savage bush?
South Africa, 1887. Son of a tyrannical English sea captain, Sebastian Brigandshaw loves his childhood sweetheart and his country. But before he can marry, his cruel father banishes him and his broken heart to the British South African colonies. With the beauty of the backcountry and the goodwill of local Afrikaner Tinus, Seb builds a new life despite the threat of another Boer War on the horizon.
Ignoring the tensions threatening their land, Seb and Tinus grow close, determined to create a life on a farm with their two families. But as hostilities open between the Boers and the British, war places the devoted friends on opposite sides.
Can Seb and Tinus's friendship survive the brutal conflict, or are they destined to fight to the death for their countries?
Echoes from the Past is the first book in the gripping Brigandshaw Chronicles historical fiction series capturing the beautiful untouched wilderness of Southern Africa. If you like friendships battling against all odds, rich settings, and history-come-to-life, then you'll love Peter Rimmer's captivating saga.
Eighteen Winters
From New York Times bestselling author Joanne DeMaio comes a beautiful novel about a little town you'll want to visit, and a love story you won't soon forget.
Harry Dane lives an ordinary life. From his days working alongside his father at a New England general store, to Harry's endearing and heartbreaking relationships, to sudden snowstorms, to quirky fiascos of found kittens and spilled jam jars, always...always there is a curious constant.
Through it all, each and every winter, a Christmas card arrives at Harry's Craftsman bungalow from a mysterious woman named Sadie Welles. And when the two of them unexpectedly meet, Harry Dane soon finds himself in an intricate love story spanning Eighteen Winters.
Author Bio:
Joanne DeMaio is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary fiction. The novels of her ongoing and groundbreaking Seaside Saga journey with a group of beach friends, much the way a TV series does, continuing with the same cast of characters from book-to-book. In addition, she writes Winter Novels set in a quaint New England town. Joanne lives with her family in Connecticut.
Einstein's Compass: A YA Time Traveler Adventure
"...a riveting fantasy about soul-searching and growth which will keep young adult readers engrossed to the end." —Diane Donovan, Senior Editor, Midwest Book Review
How did Albert Einstein come up with his wondrous theories of light and time?
In Einstein's Compass: A YA Time Traveler Adventure, a young Albert is gifted a supernatural compass that allows him to travel through time and space. He finds wisdom in other dimensions, like the lost city of Atlantis, but evil forces seek the power of the compass, including a monstrous, shape-shifting dragon from a different age.
Can the compass protect Albert from such villainy?
SCROLL FOR SAMPLE!
More Reviews:
2020 Texas Indie Best Book Award Winner – YA Fiction
2020 Royal Dragonfly Book Award 1st Place – Historical Fiction
2020 Royal Dragonfly Book Award 2nd Place – YA Fiction
2020 Royal Dragonfly Book Award Honorable Mention – Sci-Fi/Fantasy
2020 RONE Cover Award 1sr Runner-Up – Fantasy/Sci-Fi
2019 Readers’ Favorite Book Award Winner
2019 eLit Award Winner – Juvenile/YA Fiction
2019 National Indie Excellence Award Finalist – YA Fiction
2019 International Book Awards Finalist – YA Fiction
“5 Stars...an intriguing plot that…comes together with a fantastic swell of energy towards the end and builds to a startling and brilliant conclusion…Einstein’s Compass is a highly recommended story for those readers who enjoy an involved plot with plenty of amazing scenery, details and clever connections.” —K.C. Finn for Readers’ Favorite
“…there’s plenty of world-building and enough character intrigue to keep readers turning the pages. A fun fantasy adventure.” —Historical Novel Society
“Einstein's Compass exhibits a solid writing style and dutifully hits Einstein's developmental and educational milestones while weaving in an imaginative backstory and unique antagonists' perspectives. The what if of Albert Einstein developing his landmark scientific theories through the aid of spiritualism and time travel, all the while battling an immortal dragon-person from Atlantis, is certainly a unique concept.” —BookLife Magazine, a division of Publisher's Weekly
“…a glorious romp through a fantastical world of dragons and god-like light healers who are entrusted with protecting mankind from the realms of evil–wrapped around the historically-accurate adventures of the incomparable Albert Einstein…Although it is intended for a Young Adult audience, it is well suited to adults who enjoy fictionalized history with a wide-ranging epic theme and a Harry Potter-esque plot…This is highly recommended for those who enjoy a saga of good vs. evil that spans tens of thousands of years, for readers who devour novels that blend history and fantasy, and for anyone who is simply looking for a unique story that they will not want to put down.” —Jacqui Murray, Author, Ask a Tech Teacher
“The story is original and entertaining, not only as the Young Adult genre it is geared toward, but also for those adults who wonder about answers to so many questions on the spiritual and mystical plains… I found this story to be entertaining, enlightening, and a must read for those who believe that time travel has possibilities. It is a well-crafted novel with complexities and depth that many will find a fascinating read. I highly recommend this to any adult young or older. A fascinating perspective you won’t want to put down. I hope there is another book along the same lines in my future.” —Rox Burkey, Author, The Enigma Series
“This is an amazing story…I was impressed with how the authors managed to incorporate the known information on the lost continent of Atlantis, Light Workers, souls, reincarnation, time travel and the early years of Albert Einstein before he became famous, into a mesmerizing work of fiction readers will have difficulty putting down." —Doug Simpson, Author of We Lived In Atlantis
“A complex YA time-traveling adventure, Einstein’s Compass combines various mythologies, religions, and science in a good vs. evil battle that takes the famous scientist and gives him a greater calling. Featuring actual events from Einstein’s life, the plot steadily progresses and shows Albert’s growth and increased understanding, which is neatly intertwined with the supernatural light vs. evil plot line…the combination of science with the supernatural is a winner, and the good vs. evil fight is interesting, making this a good book for YA readers.” —Sarah E. Bradley, InD'Tale Magazine
“Einstein’s Compass has a real vibrancy…clearly this is a work of genuine passion from Blair and Bright and it shines in every drip of ink on the page.” —Sebastian J. Brook, Doctor Who Online Reviews
“A great book for the YA audience. I liked how the book shows us the world of good and evil through the magical compass. I enjoyed this book a lot. I liked the fact that time travel, history, and fantasy were combined to tell an interesting story. A well written book.” —Ben Franklin 2020 Awards Judge
“…extremely unique and just downright entertaining! Such a fantastic tale! I highly recommend!” —★★★★★ NetGalley Review
“In [this] young adult fantasy novel Einstein’s Compass, a boy struggles with supernatural forces of light and darkness, hoping to find his place within it all…Both supernatural and scientific, Einstein’s Compass is a young adult adventure that focuses on spiritual enlightenment and cosmic destinies.” —Vivian Turnbull, Clarion ForeWord Reviews
Featured in BookLife’s First Lines: September 2019, a “roundup of some of the best opening lines from titles by BookLife authors.”
Author Bio:
Grace Blair is an award-winning self-help and motivational author, and podcast host, who has assisted thousands to find their spiritual wisdom to solve everyday challenges. Throughout her adult life, Grace became a serious student of the spiritual. She found that, often, psychological principles and practices were incomplete, but could be filled out by adding the missing spiritual component. Her approach was always to see practical applications for what she uncovered in the mystical. It was through immersing herself in this field of study and experience that she came up with her idea for her book, Einstein's Compass. She lives in Lubbock, Texas, with her husband, Dr. John Blair.
Book Excerpt:
Prologue
Circa 10,400 BCE – The Islands of Poseidon
The earth tremor stopped Raka in his tracks. The Atlantean healer priest raised his right hand over his violet eyes and searched the landscape for signs of disturbance. He shrugged when he discovered nothing amiss, then continued his way toward the council meeting. What Raka did not understand was that the jolt he felt was not an earthly shudder, but a spiritual one. He had started walking toward the darkness that was the Sons of Belial, and with his first step, the door of the inner Temple of Light had slammed shut to him. So, began his journey as a fallen Angel of Light.
***
A brisk summer afternoon sea breeze from the east puffed out Raka’s shoulder-length blond hair. At more than six feet tall, the bronzed man of twenty-five was handsome, and he knew it. He smiled as he swept a hand through his hair, then patted a hidden pocket in his cloak to check the vial of DNA he had stolen from the Temple of Healing.
The feel of the vial triggered memories that he found less than pleasant. His hands curled into fists as he felt a strange rage build in the pit of his stomach. All I do is run around as an errand boy for Uncle Thoth and my brother Arka, he thought angrily. Why won’t Uncle Thoth show me how the fire crystal works? He never includes me in the critical discussions. Until I can control my “impulses,” they won’t let me be privy to the more buried secrets of Light.
His lips curled into a snarl at the thought. My grandfather was the mighty god Atlas! Admittedly, I am meant for greatness, like him.
Raka had been entertaining thoughts like these for months until they had finally consumed him. His Consciousness of Light had constricted as the negativity grew. Eventually, his anger and frustration had built to the point that they overshadowed his judgment and propelled him to action. Thus, the dispirited Prince of Light was on the island of Aryan to meet with the Council of the Sons of Belial. He hoped to be placed in an elevated position in their council in exchange for betraying his Atlantean brethren. But if he wasn’t received in the way he deserved, he had a plan B.
Aryan was a military complex and the promised land of power, pomp, and ceremony. The Temple of Darkness was established by former Angels of Light who, like Raka, had become jealous of the energy in the Temple of Light that they could not access. They had rejected the discipline of the Light of God. The veils of Light that once surrounded the Angels of Light dimmed and the angels became as asleep to the Spirit within. The gross heaviness of fear descended around their bodies.
Throughout years, those attracted to the Temple of Darkness increased in number. Their separation from the Light created trepidation among the people of the world. As their following grew, the Council of the Sons of Belial and its army sought to insulate the five islands of Poseidon from outside invaders. The Atlanteans, following the inner spiritual Light, left the struggles for worldly power to the Council of the Sons of Belial and its warriors.
Atlantis, with The Temple of Light, was a garden of God’s loving and a sanctuary from worldly stresses, a flourishing place of divine innocence and healing. People from the surrounding islands and the world at large came to refresh and restore themselves in body, mind, and spirit. The Sons of Belial knew the real driving force was the Spirit of life that lay on Atlantis. The invisible emanation of the Firestone crystal was the energy source of the planet. Thanks to it, the circling satellites in space recharged the temples and cities around the world. The Council of Five of the Sons of Belial had their own ideas about what could be done with the planet’s most potent energy source and lusted after the fire crystal.
General Tora-Fuliar was the leader of Aryan Island. Seven feet tall, blond and blue-eyed, the fortyish man was typical of his race. He and his cohort of four colonels had agreed to meet with the priest-scientist cum spy Raka, ostensibly to discuss his joining them. But their real purpose was to use his knowledge to wrest control of the Firestone crystal from the Atlanteans, whom they considered weak and inferior. The secret meeting would take place in Belial, the cliff fortress with towering walls that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean.
Arriving at the fortress, Raka was met at its massive twin gates by four Aryan soldiers who had been told to expect him. As they beckoned him inside, the priest of Light saw carcasses of wild boar strewn across an enormous marble altar and recognized what they meant. He held his breath as the stink of foul, stale blood and dark purpose filled the air. The blond, blue-eyed warriors checked Raka for weapons, and he smirked as his precious vial eluded their search. The guards escorted Raka through a second gate inside the fortress to the southern tower. He was led into a vast, foreboding, windowless chamber that had been carved out of the island’s living rock. His eyes narrowed at the pentagram painted in blood in the middle of the torch-lit room. The dark energy of the animal sacrifice held during the full moon of the previous night lingered in it.
At the far end of the war room, the symbol of the Black Sun hung behind the general’s massive desk, which was hewn from dark obsidian that had been formed in a volcanic cataclysm eons ago. Covering the fifteen-foot-high walls to the right of the writing table hung maps of the world. The general and his colonels were seated on severe, straight-backed ebony chairs around a polished black marble table. Dressed in black linen trousers and tan shirts with the Black Sun symbol on each collar and black alligator boots, the five somehow managed to appear casual despite their rigidity.
Raka strode up to the black table to greet the ruling council of the Sons of Belial. Taking in the scene, he thought to himself that while the five appeared relaxed, there was a tension in the room. To Raka, they resembled nothing more than a pack of wolves ready to leap. He straightened his golden silk garment and smiled, nodding to the general. “I am honored that you agreed to meet with me, General.”
As the general stood, he sniffed as if taking in Raka’s scent, then inclined his head. “Welcome. We have been looking forward to this meeting.” He motioned to Raka to sit down across from them. Raka’s eyes scanned the room as he settled warily into his chair. The dark and barbarous energy of the council made him uncomfortable. The general forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and began. “We understand you want to help us.”
Raka inhaled profoundly and adjusted his energy field to withstand the negative force emanating from those present. Nodding, he replied, “If you recall, at the Temple of Healing I used energy healing stones to alleviate your pain a few months ago. You had sustained a back injury in a rather unfortunate incident.”
The general frowned but grunted in agreement.
“You stayed with us on Atlantis for several days to recuperate, and each time I came to treat you, you questioned me about the Firestone energy crystal.”
The general nodded. “I did.”
“Its value is obvious, but tell me what your interest in it is.”
The general was not about to reveal his real intention to an untested outsider, so he said, “The firestone crystal is possibly one of the most important artifacts on the planet. You Atlanteans are focused on research and your sciences and arts. You are ill-prepared to defend the Firestone from those who would use it for their own gain.”
Raka nodded in understanding as the general continued. “We Aryans are strong. The Firestone should be guarded by our soldiers. After all, it is the energy source for all of the planet.” The general leaned in as if to thrust his argument forward. “The council and the Sons of Belial are best suited to protect the crystal and you healers of Atlantis. We know that unless we are taught the mysteries of the crystal, disaster could be imminent.”
Raka saw the energy around the general’s body turn dark with flares of red, and he recognized the lust for power. He was also aware the general was not telling him everything. No surprise there. The healer was not some ignorant novice; he knew the warrior wanted to use the firestone crystal to enhance the Aryan’s military might—and his own power. He was aware that with the Firestone, they could be invincible. And that they could and most likely would use this power to attempt to control the Atlanteans and take dominance over the entire planet. Despite his hopes for forming an alliance with the Sons of Belial, Raka now accepted that it would be a long time before these people trusted him—if they ever would. He wondered if he would even survive after he delivered what they wanted. He sighed inwardly, conceding to himself that this was not going to go the way he had hoped.
Still, he would play along for a while. Looking the general in the eye, he said, “General, I believe I could assist you in gaining access to the firestone crystal.”
The general and his colonels nodded with interest as Raka continued. “But there are other things I might do for you. I noticed the beasts you have sacrificed to absorb their power. What if you could have even greater physical power than that you leech from the boars you kill?”
The colonels murmured, and the general’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at his minions, who could barely conceal their grins as each entertained his own twisted fantasy of power.
Raka continued with a sly smile, “Yes, I assumed you would be interested.” He leaned back, appearing casual and said, “Of course, if I were to assist you, then I would want something in return.”
The general leaned forward. “Of course. What do you want?”
Raka pulled the vial from his pocket and held it up as he said with a sneer, “I wanted to be a part of you. But how can I trust any of you when you lie to my face? I am not about to turn over the power of the crystal to someone who would deceive me.”
The general’s face darkened, but before he or the council could react, Raka pulled off the vial’s stopper and downed the contents in one gulp.
In truth, Raka was not sure what to expect. The vial had been received from a planet in the Draconian constellation with which Atlantis had become allied. As part of their treaty, the Draconian had been supplying the healers of Atlantis with a solution of their DNA. Mere drops mixed with herbs could regenerate a limb or restore the nearly depleted life force of an injured or sick patient. The amount Raka had just swallowed had never been tried before.
The instant the liquid touched his tongue, Raka’s body began to change. The five Sons of Belial were frozen in place as Raka’s body began writhing and twisting.
A scream tore from deep within Raka’s throat, and with a shudder, the healer of Light’s form began to shift. His soft human feet started to swell and extrude wicked-looking claws. His skin became rough and toughened. The thick leather straps of his sandals burst with a snap. His legs contracted and bent into a reptilian shape, even as his torso elongated and a tail sinuously extended from the base of his spine. His pink flesh turned a greyish green, then scales emerged from his chest, arms, and neck. His supple lips thinned, and a long serpentine tongue darted out from between them. He tasted the air with his new senses. As he transformed, his airways and throat opened wide. Raka collapsed to the ground, shuddering in ecstatic agony as the pain of bone, sinew, and flesh reconfiguring itself consumed him.
Finally breaking free of their horrific fascination, the council reacted, and the war room erupted into pandemonium. Drawn by the shouts, a score of soldiers bearing spear and shields rushed into the chamber. It was a credit to their intensive training that the scene that greeted their eyes caused them but a moment’s pause. With crisp precision the soldiers spaced themselves around the writhing reptile and thrust their spears forward, their points forming a 360-degree-barrier.
But they were already too late; Raka’s vulnerability had passed. His transformation into a twelve-foot dragon was complete. He was fully awake and ready to take control. The former Healer of Light felt intoxicated with raw power and luxuriated in it. Almost casually, he stretched out the reptilian claws at the end of his fingers and with a flick of his arm sliced open one of the warriors from chin to belt. His long, slithery tongue sensed the blood and offal much more thoroughly than before. With his reptile vision, the dim light in the room became bright. Awed beyond belief, Raka began to realize what his quest for power had wrought. He threw his head back and laughed as the guards’ spears bounced harmlessly off his thick, scaly hide.
The air was electric with his power. He glanced disdainfully at his attackers. Sneering at their puniness, he walked toward the warriors. With a swipe of his tail, he knocked the legs out from under several of them, sending them crashing to the floor. As the others slowed to avoid tripping over their fallen comrades, Raka inhaled, then spewed a blast of fire that blackened and crisped the skin of the soldiers remaining at the front of the charge.
Despite his momentary victory, Raka knew more troops would soon descend upon the chamber. Enough of them, and he might be subdued. With bursts of fire blazing from his mouth, he cleared a path for himself. His eye sought the general and his colonels and found them huddled behind the stone table, which they had upended. “Now you see the power of Raka!” he exulted. “I will be back to claim my seat at the head of the council once you realize you have no choice but to kneel at my feet.” Letting loose a final blast of fire that was absorbed by the thick marble tabletop, Raka ran from the room.
Raka fled through the rock hallways of the fortress until he came to the far wall that rose out of the eastern edge of the island. He gazed over the edge and found himself looking into the angry breakers crashing into the jagged rocks more than a hundred feet below. There was nowhere else to go. Cursing himself for not studying the island better, he prepared to defend himself. As the soldiers started pounding toward the parapet where he stood, Raka saw he had no choice. Exhaling a last massive blast of flame to buy another few seconds, Raka jumped up on the low wall and flung himself off into the air. He appeared to hover there for a moment before plummeting down and out of sight.
A cheer broke from the soldiers’ throats but was quickly stifled as the irate general stormed out among them. “Where is he?” The soldiers feared the general’s reaction, but one finally pointed to the far ledge.
Shaking his head in disapproval at the soldiers’ incompetence, he strode to the parapet and stared down at the rocks below, hoping to see the ruined remains of the dragon’s body. But he saw no trace of Raka’s remains. He turned and screamed for the soldiers to get down to the rocks and find the dragon’s body.
Sometime later, an exhausted captain of the guard hesitantly approached the general. “We’ve searched every nook and cranny below the cliffs, sir.” The general raised his eyebrows in question. The guard captain shook his head and looked at his feet. “Nothing.”
The general snorted but did not appear too surprised. Heartened by the lack of response, the captain frowned and said, “I thought we brought a priest in to see you, sir. Where did the dragon come from?”
The general’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not the question, Captain. What you should be asking is, where did it go?”
***
Swimming furiously under the water, Raka tried to process what had taken place. His jump from the cliff had been a risk, but it had paid off. After just a moment of unconsciousness after the impact, his body had quickly restored itself enough for him to escape into the sea. Now he found himself barely bruised. He was shaken from his meeting with the Sons of Belial and wanted nothing more than to sequester himself for a while and consider his new body. He also needed to plan his next moves. The remote caves of Aryan Island would suit that purpose, he decided.
With his new strength and supernatural speed, he quickly arrived at his destination; an underground cavern near the shore where he and his brother, Arka, had camped when they were children hunting for crystals. Dragging himself to a pool of water fed by a natural spring, Raka stared at his image. The once handsome, blue-eyed priest/scientist with shoulder-length golden hair was now a twelve-foot-long, flesh-eating changeling. His beady red eyes widened as he shook his head in disbelief. He snorted at his grotesque body. Unsure of what to expect, he gently touched the black four-inch horns on the top of his head. Spongy, he thought. He gazed with some approval, though, at his massive arms.
He turned to find short, black, spiny wings on his back and a long tail protruding from the base of his spine. With his razor-sharp alligator talons, he jabbed and pinched his armored dark-greenish skin. No tenderness, no marks or blood surfaced. He opened his mouth to examine his long, rough, but slimy reptilian tongue and the wickedly sharp bony ridge behind his lips, more like a raptor’s beak than anything else.
His quick self-inspection complete, Raka found himself both horrified and fascinated. He now had so much raw physical power, but... At what cost? His mind reeling, the dragon paced. “Can I fix this and return to normal?” He considered everything he knew about the Draconian DNA, which had been used for healing and even regeneration of organs and limbs. In every case he had studied or been involved with, there had never been a report of reversal of the effects it produced. As the consequences of his rash actions finally dawned on him, Raka collapsed onto the cavern’s sandy floor and sobbed. When his frustration and grief finally dissipated late into the night, he succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep.
***
Raka sat in his grotto on a battered wooden armchair that had washed up on the shore of his hideaway cove. For the last day or so he had done little but experiment with his new form and new powers. He had begun to develop a healthy respect for his strength and the seeming indestructibility of his body. He had come to grips with the realization that there was no going back.
Truth be told, he was beginning to think he wouldn’t have wanted to go back even if it were possible. He had not been appreciated. Neither his uncle Thoth nor his twin, Arka, had ever recognized his promise. “If only Arka had let me practice the mystical arts with him, I would have shown him what I could do. Fool! It’s his fault I am here,” Raka muttered to himself.
The day before his meeting with the Council, reflecting further, Raka remembered his quarrel with Arka.
Arka pointed to the container on the counter. “Where were you today? You were supposed to take the ruby crystals to the Temple of Healing. We had to cancel the treatments when they did not arrive.”
Raka petulantly stared at the ground. “Something important came up.” Then he looked up at Arka defiantly. “But I told Prensa to take the crystals to the temple. It’s his fault the treatments were canceled, not mine.”
Arka frowned. “Prensa? He is our cook, not your servant.”
Arka shook his head as if to disperse Raka’s weak excuse, then changed course. “The temple guard said he saw you walking with a female member of the Belial Brotherhood near the gardens. What were you doing there with her?”
“She wanted to know what we did in the Temple of Healing,” Raka lied. “I showed her around the temple grounds.” That wasn’t all I showed her, Raka thought to himself with a lascivious smirk.
Arka could only shake his head in resignation.
The memory aroused Raka’s anger, which brought him crashing back to the present. “I am meant to do important things, not just be an errand boy!” he shouted at the rock walls of the cavern.
With thoughts of revenge seething in his mind, he snatched at a rat that had the misfortune to scurry past. It was the first sustenance he’d had since the transformation—he hadn’t really been hungry. He angrily tore a leg off and took a bite, the first food he’d had since changing form. As he swallowed, he felt something a transformation begins—short, gray hairs started to replace the scales on his arm. Raka stopped chewing and watched the shift. He was a changeling, he realized, but the transformation didn’t end with his dragon form. Tossing the still squirming rat aside, he plucked a beetle off the cave wall and bit down on it with a sickening crunch. A moment later, his skin began hardening into a chitinous shell. Concentrating, he found he was able to control, or even halt, the changes to his structure.
The thought of changing into other forms intrigued him. His mind flooded with information he had learned in his healing energy classes. Raka felt something else as he sorted through what was happening. It was a sort of knowing, an intuition. Could this be from the dragon DNA he had ingested? He thought back over his transformation.
He discovered that his eyes were now acutely sensitive. He could see in total darkness and normal light. His memory, too, had sharpened. He could repeat his entire meeting with the council verbatim. His memories were much more vivid. He recalled his rage at his uncle and brother and felt it with new intensity. In fact, he could muster no feelings of compassion or love at all. Glancing at the writhing rat whose leg he had bitten off, he studied its suffering. This excited his killing instinct. It took an effort not to inflict further pain on the creature. He craved more of the rat’s blood, and he speculated that human blood and organs would be a delicacy. A burst of intuition revealed that eating an entire human body and drinking its blood would transform him into a doppelganger of that person. He would have to test out how long this would last, but he suspected it would hold until he decided to take on another form.
As he discovered more of the strengths his new form provided, Raka reveled in the thought that he had nothing to fear. Then, an ancestral memory—perhaps connected to his dragon DNA—flared in his mind. He saw many of his fellow reptiles trapped in a burning structure, writhing in agony. Fear welled up in him at this vivid memory. He had at least one vulnerability: fire. Raka tore himself away from the vision and shakily drew in a deep breath to calm his trembling body. “Enough wasting time on what I fear. Now it’s time to plan for the future and my revenge on Arka and his ilk.” That is the task worthy of my new, transformed self, he thought.
Elephant Walk: The Brigandshaw Chronicles Book 2
War is inevitable, with two enemies finding themselves fighting on the same side. But one wants peace, the other intent on murder
With his Oxford days over, Harry Brigandshaw spends an idyllic summer at Purbeck Manor in the heart of the Dorset countryside and home to his friend Robert St Clair. Harry meets the young and impressionable Lucinda who falls madly in love with him but the love is not returned. Lucinda is to never forget.
The utopia of summer comes crashing down when Harry receives a devastating telegram from Africa. He must return home. Immediately Together, Harry and Robert set sail for Rhodesia and to Harry's beloved Elephant Walk. What was a mapped out future has now been crushed.
The years pass and 1914 approaches with England declaring war on Germany. With the conflict now in full swing and those closest to Harry enlisting in the army, Harry's brother is killed in action. Devastated, Harry enlists for vengeance. As he moves up the ranks, a past acquaintance from Oxford is also making a name for himself - the invincible killing machine, Fishy Braithwaite.
Fishy becomes jealous and a burning hatred begins to simmer. The motive turns personal. Winning is not so important. But who is Fishy after? Who will he kill?
Elephant Walk is the second book in the gripping Brigandshaw Chronicles historical fiction series with Peter Rimmer bringing to life the savagery and futility of war in Europe and the sheer beauty of Africa. If you like real-life people and their situations facing crises beyond their control, then you won't want to miss this next instalment of Peter Rimmer's saga.
Eli's Redemption: A Story of Broken Dreams and Second Chances
Eli's Redemption, the second book in the Atkins Family Low Country Saga series, is the thrilling sequel to Blood in the Low Country. As the story begins, it's been five years since Eli Atkins, betrayed and abandoned, fled Charleston to avoid punishment for a crime he did not commit. Landing in the Bahamas, he sought refuge in a new identity. But angry, lonely, and adrift, he remained aloof, a stranger to all, never allowing anyone close enough to hurt him.
But when fate introduces Eli to an old Scottish golfer, Lach McGregor, he finds reason to hope. Lach too is burdened by an incalculable loss, and together, teacher and student, they are each a lifeline for the other. When Eli falls for Lach's lovely niece, Rachel, the pieces of a future fall into place.
Standing between Eli though and a life lived fully, is the secret that forced him out of Charleston and the clutches of fugitive financier and professional criminal, Bernard Lasko, a malignant cancer who corrupts everyone he touches. Trapped in debt to Lasko, Eli returns to Charleston in dramatic fashion when given the chance to free himself from both the weight of his past and Lasko's reach. But before he can embrace the freedom he craves, he must forgive, and trust, and be willing to risk his life to save another's.
Author Bio:
Paul was born and raised in the Atlanta, Georgia area. Paul and his wife, Lyn, met in college at Georgetown University and were married after Paul graduated from the University of Georgia School of Law. They moved to Phoenix, Arizona in 1988 where Paul embarked on a thirty-year business career before retiring so he could write fiction. Paul and Lyn raised three children together in Phoenix and now live in Charleston, South Carolina.
Blood in the Low Country is Paul Attaway’s debut novel. Writing this book, along with the move to Charleston, is a coming home of sorts, a return to the South. The history and culture of America’s South is rich, complicated, at times comical, sad, tragic, uplifting, and inspiring. Paul hopes that his novels capture even a small bit of this tapestry.
You can learn more about Paul, his upcoming appearances, and his next novel at www.paulattaway.com.
Elizabeth's Heart: Book Two