{"title":"Science Fiction \u0026 Fantasy","description":"","products":[{"product_id":"haint-blue-a-tipsy-collins-novel-9781647043261","title":"Haint Blue: A Tipsy Collins Novel","description":"\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e“Haint Blue\u003c\/em\u003e is a highly engaging paranormal mystery filled with frolic, fun, and genuine nail-biting moments as we race to its conclusion. The book is filled with charming and likable characters that will keep you invested throughout.… Stephanie Alexander gives us a really fresh take on the paranormal genre, setting this novel apart from others within the genre.” \u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e—Readers' Favorite,\u003c\/em\u003e 2021 Gold Medalist for Paranormal Fiction\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"Charleston's favorite ghost-talking divorcée returns in Alexander's latest supernatural mystery.… A well-told, deeply felt addition to a ghostly mystery series.\"\u003cem\u003e —Kirkus \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eClairvoyant single mom Tipsy Collins is easing into a post-divorce new normal. She's solved a century-old murder mystery and brought peace to her house. She's rebuilding her artistic career and co-parenting with her ornery ex-husband. She's hopeful that her boyfriend is Mr. Right. Mercurial phantom Henry Mott still haunts her house, but he's become a dear friend. Tipsy plans to return to her lifelong habit of ignoring restless spirits.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA series of sudden financial and personal setbacks leave her feeling like she's back to square one, until a new friendship offers unexpected financial salvation. Ivy More has been haunting a Sullivan's Island cottage since the 1940s. Ivy's eccentric granddaughter, Pamella Brewton, will pay big bucks if Tipsy can figure out how to free her moody, volatile Meemaw. It turns out there was more to Ivy's death than a simple swan dive off the dock at low tide. To complicate matters, Ivy had a secret lover. Shockingly, he's someone Tipsy has seen before.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs Tipsy struggles with heartbreak, her ex-husband's shenanigans, and a growing sense of frustration with life, she turns to Henry for help solving Ivy's mystery. She finds herself learning from her brooding housemate, but also from Ivy, who has far more in common with Tipsy than either of them expect.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\" data-mce-style=\"font-weight: 400;\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eSCROLL FOR SAMPLE!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eStephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshunds, Trinket and Tipsy.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBook Excerpt:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cu\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAlmost two years after her ex-husband moved out, Tipsy Collins was still trying to figure out her life. She’d learned some handy lessons, for sure. When it comes to personal revelations, divorce is the gift that keeps on giving. For example, as her dating life collapsed around her like a house of unpleasantly prophetic tarot cards, she reached the liberating yet disheartening conclusion that she would never understand men, living or dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eLike most women in their thirties, Tipsy had plenty of experience with the behavior of \u003cem\u003eliving\u003c\/em\u003e men, but she only understood that \u003cem\u003edead\u003c\/em\u003e men were just as flummoxing because she lived with one. After a lifetime of avoiding spirits, she’d inherited ghostly roommates when she had the good fortune to move into Miss Callie’s house in the Old Village of Mount Pleasant, across the Ravenel Bridge from Charleston. Thanks to her former brother-in-law’s generosity with his late mother’s home, she didn’t pay rent, but she had to share space with two cantankerous, kooky phantoms. Jane and Henry Mott hadn’t escaped their miserable marriage with ‘til death do us part, but with Tipsy’s help and the mystery of their century-old murder solved, Jane had done the sensible thing. She moved on. A year later, Henry still lingered in Ms. Callie’s house, as confounding as ever.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOn this morning a few days after the Fourth of July, Tipsy brushed past him as she hustled her three children—Ayers, Mary Pratt, and Olivia Grace—out the door for camp. “Morning, Henry,” she said under her breath.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry sat at the dining room table. He whispered to himself as he wrote in the air with one pale finger. His dark blue eyes followed his imaginary penmanship. Bright red, tousled hair hung in his face. He smiled, as if he’d just noticed Tipsy wrestling her three boisterous kids into submission in the foyer. “Good morning, Miss Tipsy,” he said, “Where are y’all off to today?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eDropping them at summer camp.\u003c\/em\u003e Tipsy spoke in her mind. Henry would hear her as clearly as if she hollered through a bullhorn.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Of course! How could I forget? I apologize, but this chapter of THE GREAT STORY is terribly demanding of my attention.” Even when he was grinning like a fox in the early stages of rabies, Henry cut a dashing figure at Ms. Callie’s antique mahogany table. In the age of kitchen islands, such edifices of formal meals were going the way of the flip phone. Meanwhile, neither Henry nor the furnishings had changed much since he died in 1923.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eWhich chapter now?\u003c\/em\u003e Tipsy asked, although she pretty much knew the answer. Henry was compiling his mysterious magnum opus at a speed approximating that of a drunk slug crawling up a slippery wall.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m \u003cem\u003enearly \u003c\/em\u003efinished with chapter two!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAnother voice rose in Tipsy’s mind. Her Granna, who had died years ago but shared her talent for seeing the dead and hence some of her headspace, spoke up with her usual country forthrightness. \u003cem\u003eIt’s taken him a year to finish two chapters, \u003c\/em\u003esaid Granna. \u003cem\u003eHe wants you to transcribe for him, but you’ll have joined me in the afterlife before he’s finished. Why doesn’t he move on now that he can?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eI don’t know, Granna, but if he wants to hang around haunting this place, that’s his choice\u003c\/em\u003e. She looked at the eccentric ghost like her own errant offspring. \u003cem\u003eBesides, I’m used to him at this point, bless his crazy ass heart.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Y’all have a nice day now,” said Henry. “I’ll take the basket of clean clothes to your room.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy gave him a subtle thumbs up. Henry’s telekinetic powers definitely came in handy around the house.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eHe’s more helpful than Big Ayers was,\u003c\/em\u003e said Granna, in reference to Tipsy’s famously self-centered ex-husband.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eIf I have to live with a man, I think I prefer a dead one. Living men drive me to drink.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eStill getting the heebie-jeebies from Will?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eThat’s as good a way as any to describe his vibes lately.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe kids’ arguing recaptured her attention. Little Ayers had typical nine-year-old boy morning energy. He was singing a borderline inappropriate rap song he’d heard on YouTube at his father’s house. He tugged one of Olivia Grace’s curly brown pigtails while bouncing his soccer ball on his knee.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Stop it,” said O-liv.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ayers, stop it. Hold onto the ball. What’s that song? I don’t like the sound of it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It’s the clean version, Mom.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHe’d lately switched from \u003cem\u003eMama\u003c\/em\u003e to \u003cem\u003eMom\u003c\/em\u003e, reminding her that there was a lot more YouTube in her future.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy helped Mary Pratt sling her camp backpack over her shoulders. “Your bathing suit and towel are in—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Where’s my lunchbox, Mama?” asked Mary Pratt. “Did you put fruit snacks in there?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ayers, \u003cem\u003estaaaaap\u003c\/em\u003e!” Olivia Grace was about to lose it. While she was often the most compliant member of the Collins Kids Triad, she’d been known to clobber her siblings when they pushed her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ayers Lee! You’re almost ten years old, for heaven’s sake. Leave your sister alone!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“She started it! She called me a poophead!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh lord, are we revisiting poophead? O-liv, \u003cem\u003eno more poophead.\u003c\/em\u003e” Tipsy reached for M.P.’s lunchbox. She planned to head straight to Sullivan’s Island to discuss a new painting commission after drop off, so she wore wedges and a long sundress. As a freelance artist, commissions were her most important source of income. She always dressed up to meet a potential client, but her outfit was not kid-friendly. As she handed over the pink rectangle, she stumbled on her hem and stepped on her own toe.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Damnit!” she yelled. “Shit!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe kids shut up mid-complaint.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You okay, Mom?” Ayers flipped his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“She cussed,” Mary Pratt whispered to Olivia Grace. Olivia Grace grimaced in acknowledgement. The two girls, as identical at seven-years old as they had been as newborns, didn’t need to talk to communicate any more than Tipsy had to speak to talk to Henry or Granna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy looked in the hallway mirror and straightened her dress. A tall, slim woman with wavy brown hair and gray eyes stared back at her. She appeared only mildly frazzled. No parenting induced eye tick yet, but hell, it wasn’t even eight in the morning. Still plenty of time for her hair to stand on end and her mascara to run. She smiled at her reflection as if practicing for a television interview. Money was always tight in her post-divorce life, and she needed this commission.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHer phone dinged insistently as she gave Little A his water bottle. “Yes, buddies. I’m fine. I’m sorry I cursed, but y’all are driving me batty. Let’s all try to chill out, okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Sorry,” said Ayers. “Sorry, O-liv.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“S’okay,” said Olivia Grace.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t need fruit snacks,” said Mary Pratt.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“All good, y’all. Please get in the car.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey meandered out the front door, chatting and laughing with the abrupt conviviality of children, while Tipsy grabbed her purse. She looked at her phone.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWill Garrison Text Message (2)\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eIt’s about time\u003c\/em\u003e, she thought. He’d been distant the past week and hadn’t texted a good morning. She swiped across the text.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWill: Did you go to Pamella’s about the commission yet?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy: No, I told you, I have to drop off the kids first. Driving to Sullivan’s after.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe question irritated her. Will had connected her with Pamella Brewton, as he’d done carpentry work on her house. His sporadic communication of late harped on this meeting.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy: Why do you keep asking?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe stuck the phone in her purse and walked down Ms. Callie’s front steps with the July sun baking her shoulders. She checked the kids’ seatbelts and got into her old faithful Tahoe. Her phone dinged again as she buckled her belt. She tried and failed to ignore it. She couldn’t stop herself. Her arm might as well have belonged to someone else.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe swiped across Will’s next text.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJust let me know how it goes. And can I come over tonight to talk?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy’s heart sank. Will Garrison was no chatterbox. If he wanted to talk, it couldn’t be good.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy dropped off the kids—the girls to swim camp and Little Ayers to soccer camp—without sending Will any messages demanding clarification. So frustrating of him to drop a “talk” on her with no context, but she refused to question him and then wait for another vague text that would likely increase her anxiety. She drove over the Ben Sawyer Bridge, but she didn’t slow down to admire the stretch of picturesque marsh between Sullivan’s Island and Mount Pleasant. Her mind raced over the past year as she crept through Sullivan’s quaint business district, with its coffee-wielding pedestrians and stop-and-go golf cart traffic.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWill initially started acting weird around Thanksgiving. He’d cited his frustration at having a girlfriend to answer to during deer season, and she thought he was breaking up with her. She was crushed, until she realized he wasn’t really going anywhere. She gave him space and he slowly came back around. By February, with deer season over and Will not much of a duck hunter, things almost returned to normal. Tipsy understandably felt more insecure about their relationship, however, and not only because of the break up scare. As their first bucolic summer together faded behind them, frustrating trends emerged that neither Tipsy nor Will seemed able to resolve.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen she was brutally honest with herself, she knew she’d always struggle to give Will the long leash he wanted. His idea of an appropriate leash was more like an invisible fence. She never understood where the boundaries were. Tipsy didn’t think of herself as high-maintenance, but she did have expectations. She was happy for Will to spend time on the weekends hunting or fishing, as long as their relationship remained a priority. After all, she’d already been a deer stand widow in her marriage.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs for herself, she continued to wish Will would be more expressive. She thought with time and patient encouragement, he’d open up more, but she’d accepted that Will would never be one for effusive declarations of love or long, deep conversations about feelings. Tipsy had gone so long without any of that, she found herself craving it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eMaybe we’ll never be able to make each other happy\u003c\/em\u003e, she thought.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHer emotions did an about face, as they always did. She loved so many things about Will. He was as steady as a summer day was long. He was always there to help when she needed him, whether it be connecting her with new painting clients through his work as a residential contractor or fixing her garbage disposal. Most complicating of all, their lives were as entwined as the invasive vines that crept up the walls of Ms. Callie’s house. The twins regularly had sleepovers with his two younger daughters. Her two best friends, Lindsey and Shelby, were married to his closest old friend (P.D.) and dating his closest new friend (Brian), respectively.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eLastly, and not unimportantly, they never lacked for physical chemistry. She still got the tingles when he ran his hand up her arm. Given the big messy picture, she’d decided the good outweighed the bad. She’d made the conscious decision to stick it out.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eAm I settling or expecting too much\u003c\/em\u003e? She’d never figured out the answer to that question. Granna, who married the first boy she ever kissed and lost him to bladder cancer twenty-some years later, didn’t know either.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe missed Jane, Henry’s wife. If she still haunted the house, Tipsy could talk to her about Will. Jane had always listened while offering snippets of practical advice. She was compassionate without being judgmental. Tipsy knew what Lindsey would say (“Just give him some time!”) and what Shelby would say (“I love Will but if he’s back on his bullshit, then screw him!”).\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eI tend to agree with Shelby,\u003c\/em\u003e said Granna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy pondered as she drove past Sullivan’s Island Baptist Church into the historic district known as Moultrieville. \u003cem\u003eIsn’t there something in between? Between a mile long leash and screw you? Between settling for less and expecting perfection? And why am I still asking these questions?  \u003c\/em\u003eFrustration roiled in her midsection. \u003cem\u003eI’ve been divorced for going on two years. Shouldn’t my life be sorted out by now?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGranna didn’t provide an answer, which meant she didn’t have a good one for those questions, either. Tipsy followed her phone’s directions down Middle Street toward the south end of Sullivan’s. While the northern Breach Inlet side of the island had a sparse, grassy beach town feel, the southern end had a small town \u003cem\u003eSteel Magnolias\u003c\/em\u003e vibe; that is, if Chinquapin Parish had included Revolutionary War fortifications. The oldest remaining homes were mostly tiny bungalows, but a few pseudoplantation houses with traditional double-decker piazzas lingered on Officer’s Row, a section of historic military housing on I’On Avenue. Ancient live oaks had observed the island’s long, dark history, including a tragic stint as a quarantine station for enslaved Africans. Post-Civil War, an African American farming community had slowly transitioned to an exclusive seaside enclave. Brick ranchers from the 1960s with hodgepodge additions huddled beside towering contemporary board and baton mansions. As always, Sullivan’s was proudly disorganized and eccentric. The architectural version of an academic convention; an eclectic mix of sleepy tenured professors and arrogant doctoral students.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe took a few sharp turns onto Thompson Avenue near Station 14, on the Intracoastal side of the island along the marsh. She looked up as her phone announced that she had arrived at her destination.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWill had told her that Pamella Brewton— Pam-ella, with two l’s, don’t forget— was a little eccentric.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eFrom the looks of this place\u003c\/em\u003e, said Granna, \u003cem\u003ehe wasn’t telling tales.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe house was one of the island’s clapboard senior citizens. Butterflies, moths, and fat bumble bees flittered over a front yard covered in white daisies and yellow brown-eyed susans. Purple wisteria blossoms and Confederate jasmine swarmed over the trellis above the front gate. The archway looked as if it were made of flowers instead of the same rotting wood that made up the fence. A cracked flagstone path led to a two-story house on raised pilings. Five crooked steps ended in a wide, slightly lopsided porch furnished with four red rocking chairs and a Charleston green joggling board. The strangest thing about the whole place, however, was the color.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eEverything from the siding to the shutters to the fence itself was painted in shades of pale blue. Given the peeling state of it all, it was an old paint job, and a stubborn one. A bit of fading here and there, but otherwise that blue paint clung to the wood like a bad case of frostbite.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eHaint blue\u003c\/em\u003e? Tipsy asked Granna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eLooks like it, but my word, someone got a mite carried away\u003c\/em\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy nodded her agreement. Normally haint blue—the shade of pale blue common to South Carolina porch ceilings—was one of her favorite colors. This house’s color scheme reminded her of diluted toilet bowl cleaner, or mouthwash spit in a sink.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIt took a moment to make sense of the darker blues and sea greens that interrupted all that used Listerine. At least ten bottle trees dotted the yard. They rose out of the flowers, iron crab legs capped with cobalt claws. A few were crafted from driftwood. Those upright arboreal skeletons reminded Tipsy of morbid Christmas trees decorated with spacy blue lights.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs she shut off the ignition, she read Will’s text again. She swallowed the lump in her throat like an egret trying to gulp down a particularly large fish. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and got out of the truck.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eGood decision. He threw the ingredients in the pot\u003c\/em\u003e, said Granna. \u003cem\u003eLet him stew a while.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe pulled the jasmine away from the weathered gray sign on the trellis. \u003cem\u003eTrue Blue Cottage.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe bottle trees couldn’t possibly be waving at her; they were made of metal or stiff dead wood. Still, something about the sunlight glinting off the blue glass made the whole yard seem topsy-turvy. \u003cem\u003eIf I didn’t know how such things worked, I’d think there were spirits moving around in there.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eSo silly! \u003c\/em\u003esaid Granna. \u003cem\u003eImagine trying to cram Henry Mott’s lanky behind into one of those itty bitty bottles.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy walked under the trellis and down the path. The browneyed susans bent toward one another as if they were gossiping about an unwelcome visitor. She climbed the creaky stairs, but when she got to the porch, she turned back to the yard. Sunshine on the pale blue fence created an unpleasant glare. She closed her eyes, but the shape of the bottles remained in splotchy blue streaks in the blackness. She rubbed her face.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe door swung open behind her. It banged against the exterior wall. “You \u003cem\u003emust\u003c\/em\u003e be Tipsy!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy spun around. “Yes. Hey!” The woman before her was probably around fifty, even taller and thinner than Tipsy, with dark curly hair and bright green eyes. She wore a neon pink Bohemian tunic, green and yellow striped cropped jeans with fringe at the bottom, and a pair of sandals that wrapped halfway up her calf. Somehow, it all worked. “Pamella?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“That’s me, honey! Pam\u003cem\u003e-el-la,\u003c\/em\u003e with two l’s!” Pamella grabbed her hand and squeezed, hard. Tipsy winced. Still, she couldn’t help but smile back at this pretty woman who dripped enthusiasm like a leaky bucket of happiness.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Come \u003cem\u003eon in\u003c\/em\u003e. I am so beyond happy to meet you! When we spoke on the phone, I knew you were the \u003cem\u003eperfect\u003c\/em\u003e artist for this project. Will Garrison had so many nice things to say about you. So did May Penny!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“May Penny Collins?” asked Tipsy, surprised at the mention of her former mother-in-law.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yes! She and Tripp were friends of my late father.” She peered over Tipsy’s shoulder. Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if the spirits in the bottles might hear her. “It’s pretty impressive to get a glowing reference from your \u003cem\u003eex-husband’s mother\u003c\/em\u003e.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yeah, well, we’ve had our moments.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePamella tugged her toward the threshold and then abruptly stopped. Tipsy bumped into her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, wait. Listen, I inherited True Blue from my daddy a couple years ago. I just moved back to town from Atlanta. So good to be back in the \u003cem\u003ereal South\u003c\/em\u003e.” She wiggled her shoulders. While she didn’t blink for emphasis the way Jane had, she added pizazz to words of import. Mostly in flailing hands, wagging eyebrows, and those shoulders that bounced like she danced to music only she could hear. Pamella talked as fast as a New Yorker, yet her husky voice retained its Southern twang. Like a taxicab horn crossed with a baying hound dog. “I know it looks like a \u003cem\u003efricked up \u003c\/em\u003eversion of the witch’s house from Hansel and Gretel.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It’s truly blue, that’s for sure.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Hopefully I’ll be able to change it soon, if this works out.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, jeez. I don’t do exterior painting. Is that what—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Of course you don’t! You’re an artiste \u003cem\u003eextraordinaire\u003c\/em\u003e!” She dragged Tipsy into the house. True Blue had no foyer. Upon crossing the threshold, they were in the living room. A brown leather sofa and matching club chair sat around a hideous coffee table with a glass top and a base made from an old boat propeller. No carpets on the old hardwood floors. Faded beachy prints on the walls and a faint musty smell.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePamella led her toward the kitchen in the back of the house. It was as fresh as the rest of the house was dated. White cabinets, white quartz countertops, and light wide plank wood floors courtesy of Will. An oyster shell chandelier hung over the island. All perfectly orderly, with the exception of two empty sauvignon blanc bottles and a wine glass in the sink. Pamella pointed at a bare expanse of wall behind the rustic kitchen table. “I’d like to hang it here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Perfect.” Tipsy sized up the wall. “You want a painting of the front of the house with you and your father sitting on the stoop?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yes. Or \u003cem\u003emaybe\u003c\/em\u003e the back. To get the marsh view? I’m not sure yet.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ll do a bunch of sketches to give you some ideas.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Great. I want the figures to be me as a child and him as a younger man. I never knew my mother, so it was just me and Daddy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“She ran out on us when I was a baby. No biggie.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy’s own mother had left her, albeit as a teenager and not an infant. Even before her mother had really peaced out, Granna had basically raised Tipsy in her tiny, threadbare house in the rural upstate. Tipsy knew firsthand that maternal abandonment was kind of a biggie, but she didn’t know Pamella from Adam so she kept her mouth shut.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I can’t believe I don’t have a photo of me and Daddy outside!” said Pamella.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It’s okay. If you show me a couple pictures of the two of you from back then, it won’t be a problem. I’ll work y’all in however you want. Position, facial expression, whatever.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“That’s pretty cool. Will said you could paint \u003cem\u003eanything\u003c\/em\u003e, but I didn’t know he meant, like, \u003cem\u003eanything\u003c\/em\u003e.” Cue shoulder wiggle.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy shrugged. She had no way to explain her supernaturally inspired ability to replicate life with paint.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePamella gestured to the table. “Let’s sit. Can I get you anything to drink?” The lady herself had a large Yeti tumbler. Tipsy shook her head as she joined her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I hope I’ll be able to display the painting here.” Pamella sipped from her Yeti. “But if I \u003cem\u003ehave\u003c\/em\u003e to sell the house at least I can take something of it with me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You’re thinking of selling? The market on the island is sure hot.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t need to sell it for the money. I need to sell it… because… \u003cem\u003eyou know\u003c\/em\u003e. The \u003cem\u003eyou know what\u003c\/em\u003e.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I do?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Will didn’t tell you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“He told me I was coming out here to talk about a painting commission.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You are… and we did talk about the painting. Of course I want the painting. But he didn’t mention anything about my grandmother?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePamella leaned back in her chair. “My grandmother haunts this house. Will told me you have \u003cem\u003esome experience\u003c\/em\u003e with such things.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy about fainted. Her eyes bugged from her head like she was dead herself and someone needed to close them. No living person had ever frankly called out her talent for seeing the dead. She’d confided in exactly two people about it: Granna and Will. Yet Pamella was stating she had some experience with the paranormal in the same way she might ask to look at Tipsy’s paintings on her Instagram feed.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe tried to eke moisture out of her suddenly parched mouth. Maybe she’d misinterpreted Pamella. “Will told you I have experience with what now?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ghosts, lady. He told me you had a similar problem in your own house and you dealt with it.” Pamella snapped her fingers.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What else did he tell you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Not much. Just that you’d found out \u003cem\u003ewhy\u003c\/em\u003e the ghosts in your house were stuck there, and then they moved on.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Can I have some water?” Tipsy stood and walked past the kitchen island. She opened a few cabinets, and removed a tumbler. She ran lukewarm water from the tap. She needed to guzzle this water and the cold might make her head explode. How dare Will casually tell this woman about her lifelong secret?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePamella started chattering behind her. “So. Right! My grandmother haunts the house—my father’s mother. Ivy More Brewton. She died in 1944. Fell off the dock out back, bless her heart, when my father was only twelve. She—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ma’am. Pamella. I need a minute. I came out here thinking this was a painting commission, not an invitation to conduct a s.ance.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I \u003cem\u003ereally, truly\u003c\/em\u003e do want the painting. But if you can help me with this other problem—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“How do you even know the house is haunted? Can you see ghosts?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“No, but I know she’s here. Things happen in this house. Objects move. Doors open and shut. Sometimes, when she’s angry—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“She gets angry?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I think so. When I was a teenager Daddy and I got in an argument about my curfew one night. He was \u003cem\u003eso strict\u003c\/em\u003e. I was kind of, like, a \u003cem\u003erebel\u003c\/em\u003e, but like in an eighties punk rock way that wasn’t \u003cem\u003ethat\u003c\/em\u003e rebellious. Like I wore leather jackets and once I dyed my hair jet black. I wanted to go to a party at— wait. Where was I? Oh, right. We were yellin’ at each other and the coffee table flipped over. Magazines went everywhere. Daddy’s bourbon all over the floor. Then the windows flat out \u003cem\u003eexploded\u003c\/em\u003e. I still have a scar, where glass hit me.” She showed Tipsy a thin line on the side of her cheek. “It \u003cem\u003ewas\u003c\/em\u003e a loud argument. I suppose we were disturbing her peace.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“How do you know it’s your grandmother?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Daddy couldn’t see ghosts, so he never actually laid eyes on her either. \u003cem\u003eHis\u003c\/em\u003e grandmother, Ivy’s mother Alma More, somehow knew it was Ivy. Maybe she saw ghosts.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDespite Tipsy’s hesitation, the discovery of a kindred family caught her interest. “It does run in families, but not always in a straight line. My mother has no supernatural talent, but her mother, my Granna, she did.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I didn’t inherit anything from Ivy besides my face, from what photos tell me.” She patted her cheek. “Anyway, after Ivy died, Alma warned Daddy about her haunting this place. Alma died long before I was born, so I never got to ask her any questions.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“So your grandmother—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“\u003cem\u003eMeemaw\u003c\/em\u003e. I always wanted a grandmother to like, teach me to bake and sew and stuff. Ivy was as close as I could get. So I call her Meemaw.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Meemaw. Okay. Pamella, listen. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. I’m sure it must be annoying—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It’s gone beyond annoying. It’s gotten worse over the years. When I was a child, Meemaw rarely got angry. By my thirties, it got \u003cem\u003ebad\u003c\/em\u003e. She’d go quiet for a few days and then she’d rage around like our family hurricane. Daddy loved this place, but we couldn’t stay here as often as he would have liked. That’s why Daddy painted the \u003cem\u003ewhole damn place\u003c\/em\u003e haint blue and set up all those frickin’ bottle trees. You know the old stories. \u003cem\u003eKeep the spirits at bay. Trap them in bottles.\u003c\/em\u003e Yada-yada-yada.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy glowered, her sense of justice offended. “He wanted to trap his own mother in a bottle?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Is she still his \u003cem\u003emother\u003c\/em\u003e? I don’t know anything about this stuff. I’ve tried to do research, but there are a lot of charlatans out there. I mentioned to Will that the house is haunted. He’s the first person that ever gave me any \u003cem\u003ereal hope\u003c\/em\u003e something could be done about it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It seems pretty quiet here now.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ve only been back for two months. I rented a townhouse downtown. I paid the kitchen contractors bonuses to get things done faster. But she’s starting to get annoyed. I can \u003cem\u003etell\u003c\/em\u003e. Two days ago, when I arrived, all the potted plants I’d set up on the porch were turned upside down. Dirt \u003cem\u003eeverywhere\u003c\/em\u003e. Yesterday, I opened the back door, and even though it’s a hundred degrees out, I felt a chill like I’d been plunked down in Antarctica.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy filled her water glass again and sat down. “If she’s throwing things around and stuff like that, then she was a seer herself.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What do you mean?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Only ghosts who were able to see ghosts as living beings have that  kind of telekinetic power.” Tipsy thought of Henry knocking over the bookshelf in her kitchen a few days after she moved to Miss Callie’s. How afraid she’d been of his power. It sounded like this woman Ivy was just as volatile, if not more.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eIt’s one thing dealing with your own restless spirits\u003c\/em\u003e, said Granna. \u003cem\u003eBut someone else’s…\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThat was enough for Tipsy. “I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having these problems, but I don’t think I can get involved.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Please,” said Pamella. “I \u003cem\u003eseriously\u003c\/em\u003e don’t know what else to do. My father had three houses during my childhood. His family home downtown near the Battery, a new house in Atlanta where he did business, and this cottage. The house downtown was lovely, but I never missed it when he sold it. \u003cem\u003eAtlanta\u003c\/em\u003e? Not a second thought. Sold it myself when he passed. This place, though—it’s \u003cem\u003eso special\u003c\/em\u003e. I want to make it happy and cozy again, like when I was little. I’d seriously like to live here, but I can’t if Meemaw can’t find peace. Poor woman, stuck here like a fly between a screen and glass. It’s seriously \u003cem\u003eso\u003c\/em\u003e sad.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs much as instinct yelled at her to run out of this house, Tipsy felt the familiar burn of compassion for Pamella and her late grandmother. “I agree. The lingering dead are always sad, believe me. Maybe there’s another way to get some peace around here.” Even as she said it, Tipsy couldn’t think of any other reasonable solution.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I don’t even know if I could sell the house. In my research I found a legal case from New York or somewhere, where someone got sued for not disclosing a haunted house! How can I sell a place and say, yeah, it needs a new roof, and my dead grandmother might hit you upside the head with a broom? \u003cem\u003eSo tacky\u003c\/em\u003e. And potentially litigious.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I get it. But I didn’t give Will permission to tell anyone about my ghosts. It’s a private matter—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ll make it worth your while.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It’s not that—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Fifty thousand.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Excuse me?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Fifty thousand dollars.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy about fell out. “Are you serious?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Let’s say three thousand for the painting. Forty-seven for the exorcism!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy sat back in her chair. Fifty thousand dollars would be life changing for her. She no longer suffered from painter’s block and she’d been making decent money from her paintings, but she always watched her bank account like a hawk flying above a sneaky fish. Unlike other business endeavors, as an artist she was one person and she only produced so much. She refused to let the quality of her work suffer. That kind of money would finally give her a cushion. She could pay off her credit cards and start saving.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“If you’re sure, and you really have fifty thousand dollars you can just hand over—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePamella grinned. “Don’t you worry about that, lady. My daddy left me a lot more than a haunted cottage and a shed full of haint blue paint.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Tipsy+Collins+series\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eShop the Tipsy Collins series\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716161282218,"sku":"9781647043261","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_73bc2241-b18b-4644-8fde-e098e40036b3.jpg?v=1636991283"},{"product_id":"the-winter-sisters-9780984974894","title":"The Winter Sisters","description":"\u003cp\u003eDr. Waycross knows bleeding and blistering, the best scientific medicine of 1822. He arrives in the Georgia mountains to bring his modern methods to the superstitious masses. But the local healers, the Winter sisters, claim to treat yellow fever, consumption, and the hell-roarin' trots just as well as he can. Some folks call the sisters herb women; some call them witches. Waycross calls them quacks. But when the threat of rabies\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e—incurable and fatal—comes to town, Dr. Waycross and the Winter sisters must combine their science and superstition in a desperate search for a remedy. Can they find a miracle cure, or has the age of miracles passed?\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Qw Publishers","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":48055813603498,"sku":"9780984974894","price":16.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_5644da83-8dc7-4824-bbaf-1db220072933.jpg?v=1636991183"},{"product_id":"daggers-destiny-9780998230054","title":"Dagger's Destiny","description":"\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"I highly recommend\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eDagger’s Destiny.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eFor anybody with an interest in historical fiction, there is plenty to love in the setting Linnea Tanner has created. For those with an interest in epic fantasy...\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eDagger’s Destiny is a book sure to keep your interest. Both genres are blended together into a seamless whole with outstanding results.\"\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e —Readers' Favorite\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eA Celtic warrior princess accused of treason for aiding her enemy lover must win back her father's love and trust. In the rich and vibrant tale, Author Linnea Tanner continues the story of Catrin and Marcellus that began with the awarding-winning novel\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eApollo's Raven \u003c\/em\u003ein the Curse of Clansmen and Kings Series. Book 2,\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eDagger's Destiny\u003c\/em\u003e sweeps you into an epic tale of forbidden love, mythological adventure, and political intrigue in Ancient Rome and Britannia.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eWar looms over 24 AD Britannia where rival tribal rulers fight each other for power and the Romans threaten to invade to settle their political differences. King Amren accuses his daughter, Catrin, of treason for aiding the Roman enemy and her lover, Marcellus. The ultimate punishment is death unless she can redeem herself. She must prove loyalty to her father by forsaking Marcellus and defending their kingdom--even to the death. Forged into a warrior, she must overcome tribulations and make the right decisions on her quest to break the curse that foretells her banished half-brother and the Roman Empire will destroy their kingdom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eYet, when Catrin again reunites with Marcellus, she is torn between her love for him and duty to King Amren. She must ultimately face her greatest challenger who could destroy her life, freedom, and humanity.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eWill Catrin finally break the ancient prophecy that looms over her kingdom? Will she abandon her forbidden love for Marcellus to win back her father's trust and love? Can King Amren balance his brutality to maintain power with the love he feels for Catrin?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2019 Readers' Favorite GOLD MEDAL Fiction Magic\/Wizardry\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2019 Global Ebook Award GOLD MEDAL Fantasy\/Historical\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-mosaicflow-col\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-mosaicflow-item\" id=\"mosaic-1-itemid-3\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-photo fl-photo-align-center\" itemscope=\"\" itemtype=\"https:\/\/schema.org\/ImageObject\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-photo-caption fl-photo-caption-below\" itemprop=\"caption\"\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e2019 eLit Book Award: Bronze Medal Fantasy\/Science Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n2018 New Apple Book Awards: Official Selection Fantasy\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-photo-caption fl-photo-caption-below\" itemprop=\"caption\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-mosaicflow-col\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-mosaicflow-item\" id=\"mosaic-1-itemid-4\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-photo fl-photo-align-center\" itemscope=\"\" itemtype=\"https:\/\/schema.org\/ImageObject\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-photo-caption fl-photo-caption-below\" itemprop=\"caption\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-row fl-row-full-width fl-row-bg-color fl-node-5d95114e979c2\" data-node=\"5d95114e979c2\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-row-content-wrap\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-row-content fl-row-fixed-width fl-node-content\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-col-group fl-node-5e20a8ca9eba3\" data-node=\"5e20a8ca9eba3\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-col fl-node-5e20a8ca9ee12\" data-node=\"5e20a8ca9ee12\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-col-content fl-node-content\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-module fl-module-gallery fl-node-5e20a8bcbcec9\" data-node=\"5e20a8bcbcec9\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-module-content fl-node-content\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-mosaicflow\"\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"fl-clear\"\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\"Imbued with both Roman and Celtic traditions, myths and legends, the story draws a contrastive parallel between the two cultures and civilizations. There are memorable scenes such as the brilliant description of the fertility rite meant to validate Marcellus's claim to kinship and to symbolize his union with the Earth Goddess who bestows rich crops and large livestock. If the realism of the story is ensured by the constantly changing network of political alliances and backstabbing, its beauty springs from the wonderfully interwoven mythological references and enlightening mystical experiences.\" —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003ci\u003eOnlineBookClub.org\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\"...a wonderful tale of romance, intrigue, mystery, and legend to create an entertaining and complex story...the magic of the druids was woven into the story, complementing the drama being created between Catrin's desire to prove her loyalty to her father, and the machinations of Rhan and Marrock. Everything meshes together to give the reader a truly entertaining story of love, magic, and betrayal.\" —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe International Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"There is never a dull moment in this book...\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eIf you are looking for an exciting adventure that leaves you wanting mo\u003c\/span\u003ere, do not pass up \u003ci\u003eDagger's Destiny\u003c\/i\u003e. Boasting fully developed characters and a well-defined setting, this book caters to all readers. The romance, fantasy, action and subterfuge are sure to win over readers from several genres.\"\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLiterary Titan\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e (Gold Book Award)\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Ancient Rome and Britain are the background settings for this epic tale of love, betrayal and political intrigue. The Roman era and the ensuing battles between the clan leaders in Britain during the first century AD do not often appear as the setting for fantasy novels—a pity, since this era is very intriguing. Dagger’s Destiny is historical fantasy at its finest, and a must read for anyone who enjoys history involving ancient Rome.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Majanka Verstraete for InD’Tale Magazine\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Author Linnea Tanner is a master storyteller of historical fantasy. Set in first century Britannia, a fantastical isle, the theme of balancing duty with illicit love, the consuming lust for power, intrigue and Celtic magic provides conflict and twists in this spell-binding story.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—AuthorsReading\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Dark magic, familial revenge and an illicit romance. This story packs a punch and the author doesn’t hold back on the intrigue or the mystical power of the druids. You may have heard the phrase ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely’, then this story has it in spades.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Author Luciana Cavallaro\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAward-winning Author Linnea Tanner weaves Celtic tales of love, magical adventure, and political intrigue into the backdrop of Ancient Rome and Britannia. Since childhood, she has passionately read about ancient civilizations and mythology which held women in higher esteem. Of particular interest are the enigmatic Celts who were reputed as fierce warriors and mystical Druids. \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003eDepending on the time of day and season of the year, you will find her exploring and researching ancient and medieval history, mythology and archaeology to support her writing. As the author of the\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eCurse of Clansman and Kings series, she has extensively researched and traveled to sites described within each book. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003eA native of Colorado, Linnea attended the University of Colorado and earned both her bachelor's and master's degrees in chemistry. She lives in Windsor with her husband and has two children and six grandchildren.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;amp;q=curse%20of%20clansmen%20and%20kings*\u0026amp;nbsp;\" data-mce-href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;amp;q=curse%20of%20clansmen%20and%20kings*\u0026amp;nbsp;\" target=\"_blank\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eShop the Curse of Clansmen and Kings Series\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":48041536520362,"sku":"9780998230054","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_263174f0-5e43-42c7-97d2-ca8865e20d7e.jpg?v=1636991191"},{"product_id":"amulets-rapture-9780998230078","title":"Amulet's Rapture","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"With a gripping plot, mind-blowing storytelling, and unpredictable twists, Amulet's Rapture is going to be among my top three favorites of this year.\" \u003cem\u003e—Readers' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"One of the novel's most ambitious gambits is its richly atmospheric blending of supernatural elements into the broader story. The tale features ghosts, animal familiars, shapeshifters, and all kinds of spiritual communications, and Tanner's skill at interweaving these elements is shown by how seamless the whole process feels...This is a strong entry in Tanner's enjoyable series.\" \u003cem\u003e—Kirkus Reviews \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBlood stains her Celtic home and kingdom. The warrior Druid princess will do anything to retake her kingdom. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAlthough Catrin is the rightful heir to the Celtic throne in Britannia, she is lucky to be alive. After witnessing the slaughter of her family at the hands of her half-brother, who was aided by the Romans, she is enslaved by a Roman commander. He disguises her as a boy in the Roman Legion with the belief that she is an oracle of Apollo and can foretell his future. The sole bright spot in her miserable new life is her forbidden lover Marcellus, the great-grandson of the famed Roman General Mark Antony.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBut Marcellus has been wounded and his memories of Catrin and their secret marriage were erased by a dark Druidess. Though Marcellus reunites with Catrin in Gaul and becomes her ally as she struggles to survive the brutality of her Roman master, he questions the legitimacy of their marriage and hesitates to help her escape and retake her kingdom. If their forbidden love and alliance are discovered, her dreams of returning to her Celtic home with Marcellus will be shattered.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2020 The Coffee Pot Book Club Award, 5 Stars\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"Tanner pens a compelling narrative, and she writes with imagination and a great deal of energy. This is a book that is triumphant in all ways. If you are looking for your next great historical fantasy series set within a realistic Roman backdrop, then look no further than \u003cem\u003eAmulet's Rapture\u003c\/em\u003e...Fans of Jez Butterworth's Britannia will fall in love with this book. I highly recommend.\" \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Mary Ann Yarde for The Coffee Pot Book Club\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\"…readers who seek a strong romantic feel to their fantasies will appreciate Tanner's writing. She peppers her plot with just enough of these steamy scenes to keep romance fans invested.\" \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Literary Titan (Gold Book Award) \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"The author, Linnea Tanner has done extensive research into Roman history, mysticism, anthropology, and religions. For those that had not read books 1 and 2, the author brings the story-line forward smoothly. I had read the previous two books, but it was good to have a little refresher. This trilogy is one of my favorite books of the year.\" \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—★★★★★ Reader Review\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAward-winning Author Linnea Tanner weaves Celtic tales of love, magical adventure, and political intrigue into the backdrop of Ancient Rome and Britannia. Since childhood, she has passionately read about ancient civilizations and mythology which held women in higher esteem. Of particular interest are the enigmatic Celts who were reputed as fierce warriors and mystical Druids. \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003eDepending on the time of day and season of the year, you will find her exploring and researching ancient and medieval history, mythology and archaeology to support her writing. As the author of the\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eCurse of Clansman and Kings series, she has extensively researched and traveled to sites described within each book. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003eA native of Colorado, Linnea attended the University of Colorado and earned both her bachelor's and master's degrees in chemistry. She lives in Windsor with her husband and has two children and six grandchildren.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;amp;q=curse%20of%20clansmen%20and%20kings*\u0026amp;nbsp;\" target=\"_blank\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eShop the Curse of Clansmen and Kings Series\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Apollo Raven Publisher, LLC","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716155809962,"sku":"9780998230078","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_40202c8a-8f82-4183-818c-5aaa8f68714d.jpg?v=1636991192"},{"product_id":"the-cracked-slipper-9781647040215","title":"The Cracked Slipper","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"...a sophisticated and fantastical twist to the beloved Cinderella fairy tale.\" -- A. G. Howard, author of the Splintered Series \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen Eleanor Brice loses a glass slipper, she unexpectedly gains a royal fianc  and a way out of her abusive stepmother's house. Unfortunately, eight years of mistreatment, isolation, and clandestine book learning hardly prepared Eleanor for life at Eclatant Palace, where women are seen, not heard. According to Eleanor's eavesdropping parrot, no one at court appreciates her unladylike tendency to voice her opinion. To make matters worse, Gregory Desmarais, Crown Prince of Cartheigh, spends his last night of bachelorhood on a drunken whoring spree. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBefore the ink dries on her marriage proclamation, Eleanor realizes she loves her husband's best friend, the intellectual, surprisingly sensitive former soldier, Dorian Finley. As Gregory's mercurial nature comes to light, Eleanor wrestles with her feelings for Dorian, flounders in her new role, and makes powerful enemies--foes who use Eleanor as a scapegoat in a magical plot to unseat the royal family.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEleanor Brice is a princess. She lives in an enchanted castle. She even has her own unicorn. But she's lived through childhood trauma, she has insecurities and anxieties, and she makes dreadful relationship choices. In short, she's a real woman in a fairy tale world, and this is her happily-ever-after.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAlexander, Stephanie:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Stephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshund, Trinket.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716160430250,"sku":"9781647040215","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_7d428b12-3dd2-4c28-84ae-04bb062af12c.jpg?v=1636991272"},{"product_id":"the-dragon-choker-9781647040383","title":"The Dragon Choker","description":"\u003cp\u003eEleanor Brice Desmarais, she of the cracked glass slipper and unladylike intellectual propensities, has learned that happily-ever-after is as rare as a frozen dragon, even for a happenstance princess. She survived a plot against her life, but her marriage to the alcoholic, womanizing Prince Gregory of Cartheigh remains at best a sham, and at worse, a potential noose around her neck. Gregory is increasingly suspicious of Eleanor's unusually close relationship with his best friend, Dorian Finley, and with good reason. Ironically, Gregory seems to be engaged in his own scandalous love affair-- with Eleanor's scheming stepsister, no less. Eleanor understands the harsh realities of women's lives in her kingdom, so she turns her energies to a school for impoverished girls, until an evil magician's deception destroys the school and unleashes a festering plague. From the Fire-iron walls of Eclatant Palace to the slums of Meggett Fringe, no one, magical or mundane, is safe from the fever-induced delirium of the Great Burning. Not even Eleanor's children.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e As Eleanor's happily-ever-after morphs from circumspect to heartbreaking to mortally dangerous, for both herself and Dorian, she faces her greatest losses and her harshest reckoning. No matter what life hands her, however, she finds the strength to do what she must. She stares down her challenges, protects her loved ones, and fights to change the world. Just like women everywhere, in her world, and ours.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAlexander, Stephanie:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Stephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshund, Trinket.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716160495786,"sku":"9781647040383","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_4f2f0876-f922-45c9-9834-8fdd26fd3962.jpg?v=1636991273"},{"product_id":"charleston-green-9781647040505","title":"Charleston Green","description":"\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e“Charleston Green\u003c\/em\u003e is a charming and clever novel…. Eminently readable and quietly inventive, the novel’s unusual tone casts a lingering spell.” \u003cem\u003e—BookLife,\u003c\/em\u003e 2020 Quarter Finalist in Fiction\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003eIf Tipsy Collins learned one thing from her divorce, it's that everyone in Charleston is a little crazy\u003cmeta charset=\"UTF-8\"\u003e—even if they're already dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy, a gifted artist, cannot ignore her nutty friends or her vindictive ex-husband, but as a lifelong reluctant clairvoyant, she's always avoided dead people. When Tipsy and her three children move into the house on Bennett Street, she realizes some ghosts won't be ignored.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTill death do us part didn't pan out for Jane and Henry Mott, who've haunted the house for nearly a century. Tipsy's marriage was downright felicitous when compared to Jane and Henry's ill-fated union. Jane believes Henry killed her and then himself, and Henry vehemently denies both accusations. Unfortunately, neither phantom remembers that afternoon in 1923. Tipsy doesn't know whether to side with Jane, who seems to be hiding something under her southern belle charm, or Henry, a mercurial creative genius. Jane and Henry draw Tipsy into their conundrum, and she uncovers secrets long concealed under layers of good manners, broken promises and soupy Lowcountry air. Living with ghosts, however, takes a toll on her health, and possibly even her sanity. As she struggles to forge a new path for herself and her children, Tipsy has a chance to set Jane and Henry free, and release the ghosts of her own past.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSCROLL FOR SAMPLE!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAwards:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2021 Annie McDonnell Memorial Literary Award Finalist\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2020 \u003cem\u003eChanticleer\u003c\/em\u003e International Book Awards Finalist for Paranormal Division\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2020 \u003cem\u003ePublisher's Weekly BookLife\u003c\/em\u003e Prize Quarter Finalist for Fiction\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e2020 \u003cem\u003eReaders' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e Book Awards Silver Medalist for Paranormal Fiction\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p2\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“An enchanting novel of a woman finding her way out of a midlife (and mid-death) crisis…. [In \u003cem\u003eCharleston\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGreen\u003c\/em\u003e], Alexander blends the warm humor of her characters with balmy descriptions of her Southern gothic setting.” \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Kirkus\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p2\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“…Stephanie Alexander has crafted a delightfully cozy mystery that, despite not being without peril, is a fun and pleasurable read…. There’s an intriguing puzzle to be solved, as well as life lessons to be learned, and it’s very entertaining to follow the escapades of the various characters, both alive and dead.” \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Manhattan Book Review\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p2\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“Stephanie Alexander does an outstanding job of not only outlining a mystery and the dilemma of a psychic who would rather not imbibe in the problems of the afterlife as she faces her own relationship and family dilemmas, but who finds her own psyche buffeted by too many emotional entanglements….\u003cspan class=\"Apple-converted-space\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e[Audiences] will find \u003cem\u003eCharleston\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGreen\u003c\/em\u003e a thoroughly engrossing saga.”\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e —Midwest Book Review\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p2\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“\u003cem\u003eCharleston\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGreen\u003c\/em\u003e is a highly entertaining and enjoyable read for fans of women’s fiction; a cozy clairvoyant mystery and family saga.” \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Readers’ Favorite\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p2\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“\u003cem\u003eCharleston\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGreen\u003c\/em\u003e is the perfect read for summer.”\u003cspan class=\"Apple-converted-space\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—San Francisco Book Review\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p2\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“This southern tale of love and loss, life and death, and intricate family dynamics is like a taste of fried green tomatoes with a side of sweet tea, while sitting on the porch’s joggling board painted a deep \u003cem\u003eCharleston\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGreen\u003c\/em\u003e.” \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—BookTrib\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p2\"\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“Impressively original and solidly entertaining from beginning to end, \u003cem\u003eCharleston\u003c\/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eGreen\u003c\/em\u003e showcases author Stephanie Alexander’s genuine flair for deftly crafted fantasy fiction that will completely engage the reader’s full and appreciative attention.” \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Small Press Bookwatch\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\"…once I started reading \u003cem\u003eCharleston Green\u003c\/em\u003e by Stephanie Alexander, I was captivated. This novel leaves the reader entranced; the writing is skillful and clever and funny. I highly recommend this book.\" \u003cmeta charset=\"UTF-8\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—New York Times\u003c\/em\u003e bestselling author Elin Hilderbrand\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\"With humor, heart and a heaping helping of Southern Charm, \u003cem\u003eCharleston Green\u003c\/em\u003e brings an entirely new meaning to the term 'unwanted house guests.' Tipsy is a lovable, flawed, complex heroine that readers will root for from the first page to the last-and pitch-perfect storytelling will leave fans begging for a sequel. This is Stephanie Alexander at her best!\" \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—USA Today \u003c\/em\u003ebestselling author, Kristy Woodson Harvey\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eStephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshunds, Trinket and Tipsy.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBook Excerpt:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eIf Tipsy learned one thing from her divorce, it’s that everyone in Charleston is at least a little crazy— even if they’re already dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe had to move into Miss Callie’s place to figure out that the dead carry on like the living do. She almost always ignored dead people, because early experience had proven that if she paid any bit of attention to them, they became a straight up nuisance. When she met Jane and Henry Mott, Tipsy had to stop avoiding and start listening. Some ghosts refuse to be ignored.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe wasn’t worried about ghosts on moving day. She was thinking how damn lucky she was to be moving into Miss Callie’s house, rent free. By the time the movers cleared out at five o’clock, she was done in. Even the house seemed wiped out, and it hadn’t done anything but sit there since the 1890s. Thank goodness it was Ayers’s weekend with the kids; she couldn’t have handled them running in and out and rustling through boxes. The whole crew, Ayers and all three children, had stayed with his parents for the weekend to avoid the chaos. Ayers had moved out six months ago, and now with Tipsy moving to Miss Callie’s and him returning to their old house, she felt like she was in a game of musical domiciles. She had trouble remembering where anyone lived.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe carried the last box, the one containing Mary Pratt’s American Girl dolls, through the white picket fence and up the porch stairs to the double front doors. Miss Callie’s tea roses had run amuck since she passed on. The June sunshine woke the yellow blossoms, and they reached for Tipsy through the banister. Ayers’s brother-in-law Jimmy had offered Tipsy this temporary solution to her housing problem.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJimmy’s mother had recently died, and he was happy to let Tipsy move into Miss Callie’s place and look after it for a time. She made a mental note to rein in those rebellious flowers once she got settled. Tipsy hadn’t known Miss Callie too well, but she certainly owed her now. Her status as honorary caretaker would give Jimmy time to fix things up before selling the place, and buy Tipsy precious months to figure out her increasingly unpredictable life. She planned on earning her keep in the meantime.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy took the winding staircase to the second floor for the hundredth time that day. She couldn’t help but compare this crumbling yet palatial house in the Old Village of Mount Pleasant—one of the most elegant neighborhoods in the Lowcountry, a place legendary for all things refined—with her grandmother’s four-room 1950s rancher in the upstate town of Martinville. She grew up at the end of a dirt driveway. The nearest body of water: the aboveground swimming pool behind the neighbor’s doublewide trailer. Now, her neighbors across the street sipped cocktails on their docks and watched the sunset over the harbor. On the other side of the Ravenel Bridge, the Charleston skyline wiggled through humid air. Bronze crosses grabbed at the sky, the Episcopalians trying to reach God before the Presbyterians. She could hear her Granna’s voice: \u003cem\u003eMy Tipsy, ain’t you all fancy now.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eShush, Granna,\u003c\/em\u003e Tipsy thought. \u003cem\u003eNot too fancy in the bank account department at the moment. Besides, this place has seen better days.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy dropped the box of dolls in the twins’ bedroom. They grinned at her, reminders of the days when she and Ayers had casually doled out hundreds of dollars on smiling plastic little girls. She transferred her hands to the small of her back.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eGlass of tea, sugar?\u003c\/em\u003e Granna’s voice rose in her mind again. Granna and she had shared that strange affinity for the dead, so although Granna herself was many years gone, Tipsy still sometimes heard the voice that had steered her through her haphazard childhood. Truth be\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003etold, at times Granna resonated clearer than living people, with their yammering on about this or that. She didn’t tell anyone this, of course, because that would qualify her own mental church as infested with a bad case of the batshit crazies. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBats and belfries aside, Granna’s voice had a good idea. As Tipsy backtracked down the narrow hallway she ran her hands over accent tables and the random chairs elderly people always place in spots where no one ever sits. Heavy wood and dark reddish upholstery in velvets and satins had an old-plantation-house kind of prettiness. While the mustiness made her nose itch, the well-worn furniture made the place homey. She hadn’t wanted to take much of the furniture in her old house. Ayers had picked all of it, and he preferred stark modern styles. Made no sense for a hunting-and-fishing boy like him to have the aesthetic of an effete New York theater director, but that was Ayers. A study in contradictions.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy avoided her passing reflection in the glass covering Miss Callie’s framed Duck Stamp prints. She let her long hair down from its too tight ponytail and rubbed her sore scalp.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eThat hair. Not blonde. Not brunette.\u003c\/em\u003e Granna’s sniffing laughter. \u003cem\u003eSo sweaty dark it looks like you had a run in with the wrong shade of L’Oreal. Like thirty-four years of hard livin’!\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eThanks, Granna.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eOh, come now. You know I’m teasing. You’ve barely changed since seventeen. Who’ d know you had three kids? But damnation, you need some of that Botox! You got my worrying brow.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eYou’re biased, \u003c\/em\u003eand then out loud, “Got to grow old gracefully.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Is someone there?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThat shrill voice shot out of one of the guestrooms and knocked Tipsy sideways. Her ankle rolled. As she fell, she grabbed one of Miss Callie’s antique porcelain lamps. She hit the Oriental rug with a thud. The three cavorting cherubs on the lamp reached out to her in sympathy. She thanked god those expensive little dudes were still in one piece.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy stood and rotated her foot until most of the pain dissipated up her leg. She peered into the cheery little room, with its yellow wallpaper and accent pillows in the shape of lemons and cherries. A woman sat on the four-poster bed. While she appeared to be about Tipsy’s age, her tiny bare toes didn’t reach as far as the lace bed skirt. Her pale, almond-shaped eyes stared into Tipsy’s with startled curiosity, like a Siamese cat who unexpectedly found itself pinned down by the tail.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe woman jumped to her feet, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She wore a sleeveless lavender dress with a dropped waist and a multi-layered lace hemline that ended below her knees. Her skin was translucently white, her hair black. Tipsy’s initial assessment had classified the women’s coiffure as a messy up-do, but her fidgeting revealed it to be a disheveled bob.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe whimpered with no break to gasp for air. It was too repetitive, too staccato. She wrapped her thin arms around herself. The edges of her dress smudged and faded and solidified again as she swayed. The fading spread from her clothes to her hair to her skin.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe’s dead, Tipsy thought. She doesn’t need to draw breath.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs a child, suffering from her own loneliness and tired of finding friendships in storybooks, Tipsy would speak to a ghost here or there, although most of them had lost their senses over time, like the teenage girl who haunted Martinville’s single public park. She once caught Tipsy staring at her. She followed Tipsy, in her Little House on the Prairie garb, from the slide to the swings, begging Tipsy to help her find the family pig. By age ten, Tipsy had to swear off the park all together. It had been years since she made such a mistake, and not only because a ghost’s desperate jabbering could annoy the hell out of a person in a skinny minute. Granna had warned her that while most were harmless, there were a few who were anything but. In educating Tipsy about their mutual peculiarity, she emphasized downplaying its existence, for everyone’s benefit.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSomething about this woman, though, made Tipsy pause. She reminded her of a little girl in the middle of some childish heartache. Grown women don’t cry so hard without a good reason. This one was producing enough tears to fill the River Styx, and being damn loud about it—and in the bedroom right beside Tipsy’s. Tipsy’d probably seen a hundred or more ghosts in her day. She’d run across them in places as predictable as the old Dock Street Theater— during a showing of A Christmas Carol, no less—and as random as the Mount Pleasant Whole Foods.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe’d never, however, lived under a roof with one, or tried to have a real, adult conversation with one. Tipsy wasn’t really sure how any of it worked, from a ghost’s perspective. Now suddenly, she and this lady were two chickens in the same coop. Tipsy would need to make her acquaintance sooner or later, if she didn’t want to have the bejesus scared out of her on a daily basis.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBesides, from the antiquated look of the ghost’s dress and hair, it appeared this had been her house a hell of a lot longer than it had been Tipsy’s. Tipsy wasn’t going anywhere, and this woman’s ghostly existence meant she wasn’t going anywhere either. Tipsy knew that much. The ghost couldn’t leave the house if she tried, bless her heart. Trapped as a blind and clawless kitten on a high tree branch. Compassion, practicality, and a smidge of plain old curiosity overrode Granna’s deeply entrenched wisdom.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Can I help you with something?” Tipsy asked. She raised her voice to be heard over the woman’s bawling.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe woman hugged herself tighter and rocked herself faster. “I can’t say I know how to reply. Perhaps I did once, but I’ve forgotten.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy didn’t know anyone other than Granna who shared her talent, so opportunities to speak probably hadn’t come this woman’s way too often. She tried a different route. “I should have introduced myself. My name is Tipsy Collins. Sorry if I startled you, but I didn’t expect to find a ghost crying in the spare bedroom.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe woman’s fingers twirled among themselves, as if she were knitting an invisible scarf. She sniffed and went solid. Aside from her pallor, she didn’t look particularly dead. “Tipsy? Is that a French name?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“No. My real name is Tiffany Lynn. Tiffany Lynn Denning, now Collins. The pastor’s son couldn’t say Tiffany when I was a baby. So I’ve always been Tipsy.” She waited for the ghost to make the usual alcoholic comment, before remembering she probably wasn’t familiar with booze-related slang.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You can see me.” Still her fingers spun, as if she were raveling together fractured pieces of thought.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThat seemed enough of an explanation. “My name is Jane Mott. I was born a Robinette. The Robinettes of Water Street. My mother’s people came from the Old Cannon, on the Wando.” Jane ran both hands over her face, and giggled. She smoothed her hair a little too eagerly.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eUh, oh. Maybe I’ve popped the tab on a shook up can of Coke.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eToo late, now,\u003c\/em\u003e said the voice of Granna. \u003cem\u003eShe might be crazier than a stoned possum, but now she knows you can see her. You’re stuck with her.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy backed toward the door. She would only need three of the house’s six bedrooms. One for herself, one for her six-year-old twins, Mary Pratt and Olivia Grace, and one for her eight-year-old son, Ayers Lee Collins V. Maybe she’d be able to steer clear of this diminutive spirit. “I live here now,” Tipsy said. “So maybe we could, you know, mind each other’s space.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe ghost’s mouth hung open, as if she needed a straw to draw meaning from Tipsy’s words.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I guess I’ll see you sometimes,” Tipsy said, “but I’m usually really busy. So if I don’t chat—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m accustomed to being ignored.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Because no one sees you?” Again Tipsy felt the tug of sympathy.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“My husband ignores me. I ignore him. It’s to our mutual benefit.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Your husband is still alive?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJane looked at her with eyes as clear as Miss Callie’s best Waterford vase. “He’s just as dead as I am, Miss Tiffany-Tipsy.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, of course,” said Tipsy, feeling slightly stupid. “Why do y’all ignore each other? It seems like a nice arrangement. Like a couples’ haunting?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eFor someone who wants to mind each other’s space, you’re asking a lot of questions,\u003c\/em\u003e said Granna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy ignored her. Sometimes Tipsy and Granna ignored each other, too. It could get crowded with both of them inside Tipsy’s head.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We don’t get on,” said Jane. “Haven’t gotten on in quite a spell of time.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy found it odd to hear someone who appeared to be her own age speak in the soft drawl she associated with women of the grandmotherly sort, albeit rich Charleston grandmothers like the ones in Ayers’s family. Jane seemed to blink when a particular word needed emphasis. The combination of bobbed hair, batting blue eyes and fey voice was reminiscent of Betty Boop. “If I can be frank, Henry and I don’t get on at all.” Blink-blink!\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy did some rough math in her head. The woman’s attire put her squarely in the 1920s category, like Downton Abbey, later seasons. “And you’ve been stuck in this house together for…ninety years?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ninety-five.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy thought of being trapped in a house for decades with only Ayers for company. She couldn’t bring herself to hate him now, despite the damage he’d dealt her over the past six months, but she damn sure would after a century. “That’s understandable. Marriage is only supposed to last ‘til death do you part. You’re not meant to keep at it for all eternity.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“How can we \u003cem\u003epossibly\u003c\/em\u003e be \u003cem\u003econgenial”\u003c\/em\u003e—blink-pause-blink—“when he killed me?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eBoop-Boop-be-do!\u003c\/em\u003e said Granna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy sank into an antique chair. “Well, shit.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJane scowled, and she remembered that proper southern ladies probably didn’t drop the word shit very often in the 1920s. “Sorry. Wow, he did? How… or…” \u003cem\u003eIs it polite to ask a ghost the details of her murder?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yes, he did. Although he still denies it.” Jane balled her hands into fists. “But I \u003cem\u003eknow\u003c\/em\u003e he did it! And then he killed himself.” She hugged herself again and her black hair went smudgy. Tipsy saw right through her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Wait!” she said, and Jane returned to focus. “I’m moving my children into a house that’s haunted by a murderer?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe air around her cooled as Jane crossed the space between them. Jane’s legs didn’t move fast enough to explain her momentum, but she came on just the same, as if the wood floor had turned into a flat airport escalator. A lemony scent overrode the dusty smell of Miss Callie’s antique quilt. Tipsy shuddered. She’d have had the same reaction if hands tipped a glass of lemonade down her shirt.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eGranna!\u003c\/em\u003e Tipsy thought as she stood. \u003cem\u003eIs she one of the bad ones?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBut Granna said nothing. Tipsy knew that if Granna had the answer, she’d give it. The thought brought her no comfort.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe took a step into the hall and Jane followed. “Henry will never admit to it,” the ghost said, with blinking ocular italics. “He won’t. But I \u003cem\u003eknow\u003c\/em\u003e he did it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Of course. I’m sure it was horrible—but I have to—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJane’s eyes filled with sparkly diamond tears. “Beg pardon. I’m frightening you.” The sobbing again. “I \u003cem\u003ebelieve\u003c\/em\u003e he did it. In my heart…” She buried her hands in her hair. “But oh, my soul, I can’t remember. I can never remember.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAnd with that, Jane Mott disappeared.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan style=\"-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);\"\u003e…\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy wasn’t keen to stay in the house that evening, but her girlfriends had been itching to check it out. So after a rushed tour, she sat on the late Miss Callie’s front porch with Shelby and Lindsey. She gripped a cold Bud Light in a koozie emblazoned with the cheerful message, “Joe and Julie, October 18th, 2013—Love is Always a Party!” Tipsy had never met Joe and Julie, but she’d somehow acquired this token of their undying love. She wondered if they were still partying five years later, maybe with a couple kids and a mortgage and Julie’s growing suspicions that Joe was shacking up with his assistant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe took a long swig of beer and it stuck in her throat. \u003cem\u003eI live in a house with a murdering ghost and his discontented, possibly deranged wife. Hey Julie, want to trade?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“And so there she is,” Shelby said, “standing out on the driveway at three in the morning. Drunk as Cooter Brown. Screaming up at his window. \u003cem\u003eI know you’re in there, Glen! I know you’re in there!\u003c\/em\u003e And all the neighbors opening windows—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Wait—what?” Tipsy asked. “You lost me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShelby pursed her lips. “You’re worse than a man with one eye on ESPN and the other on this month’s Playboy.” She crossed her eyes, as if Tipsy and Lindsey needed a visual.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy had first laid eyes on Shelby Patterson during a sorority rush skit at Carolina. Shelby’s portrayal of Sandy from \u003cem\u003eGrease\u003c\/em\u003e was the stuff of legend in the Kappa Zeta house. Tipsy would never forget watching Shelby’s skillfully teased blonde hair float across the makeshift stage. Her skintight black pleather pants had accentuated the purposeful shaking of her voluptuous butt.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Glen’s ex-wife,” said Shelby, “y’all know she hates me—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You hate her, too,” said Lindsey. Lindsey was always one for stating the obvious, but at least she gave Shelby her full attention. With her wide brown eyes and round face she resembled an early rising owl come to roost on the porch for Happy Hour.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShelby sniffed loud enough to drown out the cicadas. “Hell, I don’t hate her. But she is a tramp—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMovement at the other end of the porch caught Tipsy’s eye. Miss Callie’s joggling board bounced ever so slightly.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eDid you invite Miss Jane to your girls’ evening?\u003c\/em\u003e asked Granna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy eyed the wooden contraption, just like the one Granna had kept on her own modest porch. No different from the boards she’d seen on umpteen South Carolina porches. Joggling boards were part lawn ornament and part outdoor furniture, a long single board with a dip in the middle, held up by two simple wooden pedestal ends. They had always reminded her of church pews without the back, or of saggy picnic table benches.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs a general gravitational rule, a joggling board didn’t bounce unless the weight of someone’s butt on the center plank made it bounce. Tipsy stared at the empty air above the board, but made out nothing beyond the haze of a summer evening punctuated by a few swirling no-seeums.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Of course I was pissed. Who spends a whole Friday night with his ex-wife shooting at zombies?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Zombies?” Tipsy asked. \u003cem\u003eAren’t ghosts enough?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eLindsey rescued Tipsy once again. Shelby looked like she might scream at the next interruption. “Glen and his ex,” said Lindsey. “They took their son to paintball for his birthday. It’s zombie paintball.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh. He took his son. You can’t get angry.” Tipsy sipped her beer and glanced down the porch again.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA man sat in the middle of the joggling board, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore baggy tan pants and a white button down shirt. His bright red wavy hair suggested a failed attempt at flattering it with pomade. A man like that should have been pale all over. Instead, his dark eyes clashed with the rest of him. High cheekbones towered over a full, sensuous mouth. He was either one of the oddest looking men Tipsy had ever seen, or the handsomest.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What are you looking at?” asked Shelby.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy cleared her throat. “The joggling board. It needs a fresh coat of paint.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Charleston green,” said Lindsey.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Mmmm, hmmm.” Shelby squinted at the board and tilted her head. “Nice shade.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy nodded. If she turned her head just right, so sunlight glanced off the board, the oily sheen of the paint revealed the true color. The green of a forest at midnight, under a full moon. “Probably hand mixed.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Hand mixing always makes the best Charleston green,” said Lindsey.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhile most people wouldn’t have noticed the subtle tone, Tipsy, an artist; Shelby, an art dealer; and Lindsey, a part time but unusually talented interior designer, could pick it out from a mile away. Or at least from across the porch. “I could work up a batch once the kids are settled in—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Good lord, Tips, I’m trying to tell a story!” said Shelby. “I know the three of us can make a whole conversation out of mixing paint, but come on now.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry,” said Tipsy. The man on the joggling board picked at the peeling paint, but no flecks of blackish green drifted to the floor below him.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Pay attention. You’re about to send my train of thought off the rails and into a ditch.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Tipsy got a peek at the yin and yang tattoo on Shelby’s right wrist before Shelby took her hand. Years ago, Tipsy had taken to tapping that black and white symbol when Shelby needed to be talked off an emotional ledge. Shelby’s ledges tended to be steep and high and loom over unyielding concrete and racing emotional traffic. The gesture had become part of their friendship’s long code. \u003cem\u003eCome back to the light, sister.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSometimes, though, life turned the tables on them. Shelby was her rock during the dark days after the twins’ birth, when sadness settled over her like a stalled low pressure system, soaking her in fear, worry, and inexplicable despair. While no challenge, before or since, equated with the emotional mêlée of postpartum depression, in the wake of her divorce, Tipsy was once again more of the sooth-ee than the soother.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Honey, you must be so tired,” Shelby said. “Let me shut up about Glen, Sexy Fishing Charter Captain Extraordinaire.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“That sounds like a better story than Glen, Possible Deadbeat Dad, and His Annoying Ex-Wife,” said Lindsey. “Besides, y’all have only been dating two months. Story can’t be that long.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You know with me it can be.” Shelby scooted closer to Tipsy on the wicker loveseat. “When is Ayers bringing the kids back?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Tomorrow afternoon,” Tipsy said. “I’ve got to set up their rooms.” She looked over her shoulder, but the redheaded man was gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Y’all know I love to decorate!” Lindsey grinned and hopped to her feet. She wore obscenely tall platform wedges, despite Tipsy’s and Shelby’s flip-flops. Regardless, she barely reached Tipsy’s chin, and even Shelby could still look down at the top of her head.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It shows,” said Shelby. “Your house is straight out of \u003cem\u003eArchitectural Digest.”\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Thanks, honey,” said Lindsey. “I had to get \u003cem\u003esomething\u003c\/em\u003e out of my ex—that pathetic old goat!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy laughed, and Lindsey joined her. She never minded being the butt of the joke, even after the intense public humiliation of her divorce from Barker Davies, one of the richest lawyers in town. Barker had left his first wife and kids for Lindsey. Ten years later, he had once again\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003etraded in for a newer model, leaving Lindsey a single mom with one daughter, a huge house, a fat bank account, and a great attitude. Tipsy thanked the good lord Shelby had introduced her to Lindsey after she left Ayers. Lindsey’s positivity gave her hope.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I might never have rustled up the nerve to leave him myself, so this new chick did me a favor.” Lindsey’s short blonde ponytail bounced. “Come on.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy’s calves ached as she walked to the kitchen, the result of too many flights of stairs on Lowcountry legs unaccustomed to inclines of any sort. Lindsey called over her shoulder as she and Shelby headed upstairs: “Bring the beer to the nursery, Jeeves!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy imagined the red headed man appearing in the doorway holding a levitating Yeti cooler and a butcher’s knife. She assumed him to be Jane Mott’s homicidal husband, Henry. Henry’s flat, dark stare hadn’t done anything to rouse the sympathetic curiosity that Jane had evoked.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBy the time she reached the refrigerator, she’d squashed her burgeoning fear by donning the Armor of Mommy. Tipsy’s children needed more than pretty rooms. They needed stability. She wasn’t going to let a ghost risk their first opportunity at either in months.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eBe careful, sugar, \u003c\/em\u003esaid Granna.\u003cem\u003e You already caught the attention of one loony spirit. Knowing you, you’ll poke your head right into a Venus flytrap. You’re not sure what he’s capable of.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eThat’s what I need to figure out. And I will. Sooner over later.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eTipsy, that man killed his own wife.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eWhat choice do I have?\u003c\/em\u003e Tipsy grabbed hold of the perpetual panic that lurked in her stomach before it could poke her heart. \u003cem\u003eIt’s this or a friend’s couch and blow-up mattresses for the kids.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eAin’t that the truth. What if Ayers wants the kids full time? Or his parents do? \u003c\/em\u003easked Granna.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eNo way. My children will stay with me, and I’ll make a home for them. I will make this work.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy rose and fell on her toes to stretch her calves as she hunted through unfamiliar drawers for her Gamecock bottle opener. Tomorrow she’d go for a long run. She didn’t have tolerance for wobbliness in her limbs or her living situation.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe watched for signs of Henry as she popped the tops on three beers: her own Bud Light, Shelby’s Mich Ultra (always watching her carbs) and Lindsey’s Corona Light (always with a lime). She carried them up to the second floor landing, where Shelby and Lindsey were examining a table covered with old vases.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What’s the latest with the ex-husband from hell?” asked Shelby.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Okay, Shelby.” Tipsy handed over her beer. “That’s a bit extreme.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Screwing your wife out of her alimony qualifies as extreme to me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Seriously,” said Lindsey. “Even Barker didn’t do me like that.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ugh, y’all, I don’t want to talk about screwy South Carolina alimony laws.” Tipsy walked faster. “What’s done is done. He’s paying me child support—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Not enough to come close to getting y’all by.” Shelby gripped the skinny neck of a green vase as if she were choking it, or might knock someone upside the head.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I know, but he’s having a really hard time. I’m trying to give him a break.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Whatever!” said Shelby. “He shouldn’t even expect you to speak to him, after what he’s done to you. Accusing you of adultery? When y’all weren’t even living together anymore?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“We all know the laws in this state.” Tipsy had learned the ramifications of South Carolina’s unusually conservative divorce laws the hard way. “You date someone before you have a settlement agreement in place and it’s adultery. Ayers was depressed, and his lawyer talked him into it. And I left him. I don’t know what that feels like.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Jesus, Tipsy,” said Shelby. “Why are you defending him? You left him for a hell of a lot of reasons. You were intimidated by his ornery ass when you were married to him.” Shelby waved the vase in Tipsy’s direction. Lindsey swiped it out of her hand and rearranged all the vases in neat rows. “Now add feeling guilty to feeling scared,” said Shelby, “and it’s a recipe for disaster.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSometimes the truth can get under a person’s skin. Shelby didn’t sugarcoat anything, so her truth often came with a double dose of annoying. “I hear you, Shelby, but we have to get along for the kids.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Right, but you’re too nice. Ayers can go screw himself.” Shelby grinned. “I’ve been engaged three times and never married so I’m the expert on ending relationships.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eLindsey stepped carefully over a stack of bubble-wrapped frames as Tipsy steered them into Little Ayers’s room. “Time to move on,” Lindsey said, “and we know who you need to move on with. Will Garrison.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy opened a moving box near the closet door. Soccer trophies, a Carolina piggy bank, a few framed photos from Little A’s christening, and the antique toy cars her father-in-law had given him. The cars were heavy and cool in her hands. Solid craftsmanship, not like the flimsy Walmart specials that Ayers always bought. “Glen’s fishing buddy?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yes! He and P.D. were roommates at the College of Charleston, and they grew up together in Beaufort, too. He’s handsome—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“He didn’t seem very friendly.” She thought of the time she’d met Will Garrison in passing on the way out of a restaurant. He’d pretty much glared at her through a mumbled \u003cem\u003enice to meet you\u003c\/em\u003e and \u003cem\u003egood-bye.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“He’s so sweet, once you get to know him,” said Lindsey. “Wouldn’t it be fun? We can all hang out.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Hmmm,” Tipsy said. Lindsey’s boyfriend, P.D., was a gentle giant of a man who worshipped the ground she walked on, despite her post-marriage habit of philandering with the local college students. Tipsy trusted his good opinion. Glen’s, however…\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShelby clapped. “He’s a great dad, and he has a good job—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“And good hair!” Lindsey tapped her head.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Maybe. A little distraction can’t hurt, right?” She held Little Ayers’s old bunny in front of her chest like a tattered plush bridal bouquet.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShelby reached over and hugged her, the embrace squashing the bunny between them. Little Ayers didn’t need it every night anymore, so Tipsy hadn’t sent it with his dad. For some reason the feel of that beloved toy against her best friend’s hug brought tears to her eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You think about it, sister,” said Shelby. “No hurry. Just think.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTipsy gave her a watery smile. As she wiped her eyes, a shiny black shoe and one trouser leg disappeared past the doorframe.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eWhen that ghost comes calling, you might as well ask him to set awhile and chat. \u003c\/em\u003eTipsy could have sworn she felt Granna’s warm breath on the side of her neck. The smell of grits and apples and Prell shampoo. Memories like that returned to her, clear as day, at the most peculiar times. Sometimes they ran through her head like movies on a screen, or recordings of long past thoughts. The smells and sounds and tastes just as full and loud and flavorful as ever they were in the original.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen Tipsy was not long out of diapers, she’d seen a car hit a squirrel while she and Granna waited for a ride at the end of the state road. When she was eight, for no reason at all, the little creature’s death had come back to her in all its gory detail. Granna found her crying in her bedroom. She’d tried to explain the blood shooting across hot asphalt, and the thump of a tiny body against an uncaring tire. Granna had barely remembered the squirrel at all. She’d said, \u003cem\u003eSugar, maybe your talent serves you in other ways. Not just seeing ghosts. You find a way to use it. \u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe next day, Tipsy drew a picture of the squirrel’s demise instead of talking about it—much to the disturbance of her third grade art teacher. Drawing became her release, and then, as she discovered the comfort of a brush in her hand and a picture in her mind, she turned to painting. As the years rolled on, she stopped trying to explain the movie memories. That didn’t mean they stopped coming. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Tipsy+Collins+series\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eShop the Tipsy Collins series\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716160528554,"sku":"9781647040505","price":19.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_9ddca89b-a28e-4f2a-a5be-f4f6f9ebb03f.jpg?v=1636991275"},{"product_id":"angels-on-overtime-a-divine-romantic-comedy-9781948543200","title":"Angels on Overtime: A Divine Romantic Comedy","description":"\u003cdiv\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cstrong\u003e\"...so many laugh-out-loud moments....The whole message was so spiritually uplifting and inspiring...definitely recommend[ed].\" —\u003ci\u003eReaders' Favorite, Award Winner\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eIn this whimsical romantic comedy with a divine twist, Jack and Emily are two lonely hearts trudging through unfulfilling lives. Though meant to be together, life keeps getting in the way of them even meeting—that is, until their angels begin working overtime. As the angels work behind the scenes, what actually happens behind those scenes?\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAuthor Ann Crawford’s trademark humor, warmth and optimism shine through in this enchanting tale that reminds us it’s never too late to find love and for dreams to come alive.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSCROLL FOR SAMPLE!\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\"I love this book! Such a quick, fun read—you won't even realize you've been enlightened!\" \u003cstrong\u003e—Diane Bishop, Editor, \u003ci\u003eSOM\/A Guide for Spiritual Living\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\"A warm, hilarious, otherworldly ride and a wondrous peek into what goes on 'behind the scenes' in our lives. If you ever wanted to know what angels really think about\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eus\u003c\/i\u003e, read this book!\"\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Patrice Karst, bestselling author \u003c\/strong\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\"A truly unique tale, filled with humor, a great cast of characters, and a comforting premise....The story will surely linger with the reader in a satisfying way, long after the last page has been read.\" \u003cstrong\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Feathered Quill\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\"...the funniest, most enjoyable, and most delightfully irreverent spiritual novel I've ever read. I couldn't stop laughing....\"\u003cstrong\u003e\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e—Mark Waldman, neuroscientist and world-renowned expert on communication, spirituality, and the brain\u003c\/strong\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv\u003e\n\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\" data-mce-style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\" data-mce-style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\" data-mce-style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\" data-mce-style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003eAnn Crawford is a multi-award-winning and best-selling author as well as an award-winning documentary filmmaker. She believes in love at first sight, that good always prevails, and that we're here for those wild-wonderful-way-out-there visions of ours to come alive. When she's not circumnavigating the globe (70 countries\/territories and counting, plus all 50 states), communing with sea critters on the ocean floor (in her scuba gear), or climbing every mountain (on the back of her husband's motorcycle), or performing improv or standup comedy, you can find her writing. \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003eShe lives in Denver, Colorado.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\" data-mce-style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\" data-mce-style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBook Excerpt:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cspan style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOnce upon a time in a galaxy far, far away—oh, sorry, that’s another story. But it could be this one, too. Could be the beginning of a lot of stories. All stories, really. But actually the galaxy isn’t far, far away, because nothing is far, far away, really…everything is just a thought away. Everything.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSo in this galaxy that isn’t very far away after all is a very large room. Very large. Emphasis on very. And large. Oh, you wouldn’t believe the love and dedication that fills this room! This room spreads on for miles and miles and miles in every direction. You can’t even see its walls. But more about the room itself in a little bit. Right now we’re standing in front of an office. The sign on the office door reads MANAGER, ANGELIC AFFAIRS— which makes no sense at all, really, because everything, everywhere would fall under the category of affairs of angels. And we’d all be managers managing them. But anyway….\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry, a plump, balding angel sits behind his large, angelificial desk. Now you might wonder why this angel would choose to be plump and balding and sitting behind a large, angelificial desk when he can choose to be anything, anywhere. Well, what do you think of when you see a plump, balding man? Wasn’t your favorite uncle like that? How about your favorite, old art teacher in that frumpy, navy-blue cardigan with the frayed elbows? And didn’t you just want to throw your arms around him in a big, sloppy bear hug? Well, that’s why Henry chooses to be plump and balding, and why anyone would choose to be plump and balding—because it’s all a choice. All of it, every last bit—it’s a choice. Maybe the choice isn’t made consciously, top-of-mind, but it’s made. Not sure how many big, sloppy bear hugs Henry, your uncle, or that old art teacher actually got, but I’m sure lots of folks thought about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eNow as for sitting behind his desk, that’s another choice, because, as you now well know, anyone can be anything, anywhere. But Henry chooses to sit behind his large, angelificial desk to be of high service. And since he is a very organized angel and loves being an Angelic Resources Manager (you know, like the best Human Resources Manager in the best organization you ever worked for?), that’s what he chooses. And he chooses the angelificialness of his angelificial desk to weed out the ones who don’t really mean it. The chaff from the wheat. The angels from the, well, angels. Okay, the less-than-dedicated angels from the highly dedicated angels.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry looks to be about sixty-five—in Earth Time. Sitting in front of him is Brooke. Now Brooke is what you might picture an angel to look like...if an angel could be of Northern European descent, anyway: long, blond hair and big, blue eyes that soak in the worlds around her. She appears to be about twenty-five in Earth Time. But really, she’s as old as the universe. And so are you, by the way. Put in that perspective, you’ve been holding up very well. It’s truly amazing how wonderful everyone looks, considering.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDo angels have wings? Well, they do if they want to. Brooke and Henry don’t have them, nor do any of the angels in our story here, but many an angel or two have donned a pair of wings for that special occasion or two or eighteen million when they wanted to look especially angelic.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Why would you want to do this?” Henry demands of Brooke. “It’s the hardest job in the universe!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It’s all you hear about,” Brooke answers, “all over every single galaxy: Earth, Earth, Earth. I figure if I can’t get in as a human, I could try it this way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“These humans can be as thick as wood. And just as pliable.” Henry looks at her over the top of his bifocals. Angels sometimes wear bifocals when they want to have that professorial look, too, just like humans. “Why don’t you go to Arcturus and just be content with peace, love, and instant manifestation?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“This is what I want. More than anything in the entire universe.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry sighs. “Alright then. Follow me. It’s not like we couldn’t use a willing volunteer down there.” But he smiles to himself, as if at some joke.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry leads Brooke out the door and through a tiny part of that seemingly infinite room. In thousands upon millions upon billions of cubicles, thousands upon millions upon billions of angels sit at their computer desks in groups of three, sometimes four, and sometimes two groups of three or four sitting side by side with numerous monitors in one bigger cubicle. The room has a distinct thrum as it hums with the voices of these thousands upon millions upon billions of angels. If you heard this thrum, you’d realize that, well, you do hear this thrum. All the time. The Earth has this thrum, the galaxies have this thrum, the universe has this thrum, and you have this thrum. The thrum is everywhere, resonating in one universal harmonic.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAt first glance, a first-timer—which would be you— might think that the room’s vibrant radiance comes from the monitors and other external light sources. But a second glance would inform you that the monitors are actually somewhat dim and there are no other light sources. Oh, what love and devotion in billions of angels can do. Just imagine what love and devotion in seven billion—well, we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry and Brooke pass two angels conferring over their computer monitors while the third in their triumvirate whispers softly into a microphone.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“No, no,” one angel says to the other. “You can’t have them meet yet. They’re supposed to have a child that’s going to be the Senator of Tennessee in 2067, and they can’t conceive her until after the accident, which can’t happen for another two years.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke looks at Henry in surprise. If she were one of your teenagers, I believe she would be saying, “WTF?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBefore Henry can say anything, the second angel answers the first: “Okay, let’s send this schlub along. That’ll keep her occupied for a little while.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe first angel appears shocked. “Schlub?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Okay, okay,” the second angel replies, somewhat abashed, “a drop of divinity cleverly disguised as a schlub.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke again turns to Henry. “They do this while their assignment sleeps?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Right. Their assignment is obviously a late sleeper. Could be a hooker.” And then, to the surprise on her face, “Not to worry, it’s all good. It’s all a divine path.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHe leads Brooke past a closed office door. RAINDANCERS, the elaborate sign announces.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Raindancers?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh,” Henry shakes his head, “you’d be amazed at how many humans want to rain on their own parade, keep worrying about nonsense, look at the bad side of anything. Raindancers only perform when asked, but they are in hot demand. You want to be extra busy, sign up for Raindancing.” And to her still-surprised expression, he adds, “It’s all good.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry and Brooke continue walking and arrive at a bank of elevators. While Henry presses the down button, Brooke notices a very serious angel nearby, closely watching graphs and trends appear on his computer screen. His piercing blue eyes, which peer out from under hooded eyelids, look like they belong in a bird of prey, not in an angel.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What’s his gig?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry puts his fingers to his lips, imploring that she keep her voice down. “Karmic enforcer,” he whispers. “A job nobody wants. They have to recruit from the dark side.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Dark side? There’s no such thing!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Tell\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ehim\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethat. Anyone in creation can believe anything he or she wants to and create that reality.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“But—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“And he’s found a lot of people on Earth willing to participate in that reality.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yuck!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry leans close to Brooke’s ear. “Don’t tell him this, or the humans who want to participate, but karma can be changed the instant the intent to change it is there.” Henry stops for a moment to consider what he just said. “Actually, no, my mistake—your job is to tell humans that. It’ll save them a lot of time. If they can hear you, that is.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePing! The elevator arrives and they hop aboard. Out of two hundred and fifty buttons with different codes, letters, and numbers, Henry locates E.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“E for Earth,” he tells her. “But it’s not too late to choose A for Arcturus or S for Sirius.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m good with E,” Brooke responds.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Just double-checking.” Henry presses the E button and turns to Brooke. “Love and remember. Love and wake up. That’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eall\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethese humans have to do. And you’d be amazed how many mountains they put in their own way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe elevator departs from the enormous angelic hall—okay, it’s really part elevator, part rocket ship—and shuttles across the galaxies. Brooke gasps as the beautiful blue orb of Earth appears through the window. “Oh!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Beautiful, isn’t it? One of the finest creations in the universe. And they insist on decimating it, even though they have alternatives.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe shape of North America appears in the window, and in just a matter of seconds, California appears to be rushing up to meet them.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“But they’ll get it,” Henry assures her. “That’s their job—to get it—and they have eternity.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“They do?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“If not here, somewhere. But it would be a shame to waste this incredible creation. Do what you can about that, okay?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Absolutely.” Brooke gasps again as the Southern California coast is now right beneath them.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Are you ready?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yeah!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Yeah!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“YES!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You sure?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m sure.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You sure you’re sure?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m SURE I’m sure!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTHUD! The elevator lands on E. The elevator door opens and Brooke is too surprised even to gasp. They have landed in a small patch of grass by the 405 Freeway, somewhat near the Los Angeles airport. The trees, leaves, and grass shimmer and radiate with their own internal light. From Brooke and Henry’s vantage point, the veil has been lifted, and bending over every single blade of grass is an angel whispering, “Grow! Grow! Grow! Thank you for being here. You are so\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eloved. You are such a blessing. You are a miracle.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs Brooke looks up and down the freeway, she sees more and more areas of grass, and she marvels at the amazingly stunning sight of more and more angels becoming visible to her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe freeway is completely clogged. The cars are lit up by the light of the human occupants inside of them. But the exhaust from each car and the smog that hangs over the city seems to move, even dance, in a demonic way.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What—what are they doing to themselves? Can’t they see what they’re doing?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“It’s just wild how much denial humans can put themselves in. All of some can see, and part of the others can see, but they suppress it. It’ll be part of your job to help all of all of them see.” To Brooke’s confused expression, Henry adds, “You’ll see what I mean, all in good time.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHe gently takes her by the arm, and they float over the cars. “We landed a little too far east,” he tells her. “We have to cross over the freeway to that neighborhood over there.” The houses he points to are barely visible through the thick smog.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke becomes aware of something that sounds like a beehive. And the beehive is growing louder and louder. As they glide over the freeway, she peers through the car windows. Inside each vehicle, accompanying but completely unbeknownst to the humans, are three angels—two are sitting beside their human and the third is in the backseat consulting a laptop computer.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA seriously suntanned man with a seriously bad hairdo shakes his fist out the window of his BMW to the driver that just cut him off.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Goddamn son of a bitch! Where in the world did you learn to drive—on a farm?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Actually,” Henry chuckles to Brooke, “the answer to that is yes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey float over the car next to the boorish Beamer driver to find a woman who appears to be very composed—almost as if she’s about to step onto a ballroom dance floor. But inside her head, her thoughts are going a mile a minute.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, why didn’t I tell him what I really wanted to say? Why did I say what I said? What was I thinking? Should I call him and tell him what I really wanted to say? Oh, how could I have done that? What should I do?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Ouch!” Brooke winces, although she can’t feel pain. But she feels compassion—that’s her job. “That must hurt!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, yes,” Henry sighs, “it does. Quite a bit. Takes most of ’em a long time to learn that—if they ever do, that is.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe beehive, Brooke realizes, is really the cacophony of millions upon millions of thoughts drifting up to her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke and Henry float over the next car, where the driver is singing to his dashboard. “I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey float over the next car, where the driver is doing the exact same thing. “I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePuzzled, Brooke turns to Henry. “That sounded a little different.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“He was singing in Japanese. But you can understand everything, everywhere.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Why aren’t their angels talking to them, any of them?” Brooke asks.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“How in the world could they hear their angels if their minds are so overly overactive?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey float over another car and no thoughts float up to them.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“She must’ve meditated this morning,” Henry answers Brooke’s quizzical look. “And every morning for the past thirty years.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke notices the woman has four angels sitting in meditation around her. “So why aren’t her angels talking? They could get through to her.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“No need,” Henry replies. “She’s on her right path. They speak to her from time to time just for a touch of guidance and reassurance.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOne of the angels opens one eye to look at the graphs on her laptop and then returns to her meditation. One of the other angels breaks from his meditation to address the woman: “Thank you for all that you do. You’re such a blessing.” As the woman smiles, the angel returns to his meditating.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“See?” Henry says to Brooke. “Actually, every single person on Earth has an angel who says that, over and over, when he or she can get through all the noise of the TV, radio, and the human’s own thoughts. But, even then, so few hear it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey float over another car with two people inside and six angels accompanying them. The radio is blaring loudly. The angels have their hands over their ears.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke notices one lone angel over one lone blade of grass growing through a crack in the concrete by the freeway.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Grow! Grow! Grow!” whispers the angel. “You’re a miracle. Thank you for being here. You’re such a blessing to us all.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey float over the freeway wall, and Brooke sees an entirely different world as they glide down an attractive, tree-lined street of lovely, little homes with tidy, freshly mowed yards and well-tended gardens. Henry leads her to one particular house with requisite tidy yard along with innumerable angels talking to each blade of grass, each flower, even each leaf on a shrub.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“When it gets too much,” he tells her, “just fade them. You’re not even seeing all the dimensions. Even I don’t, when I can avoid it. It’d make you crazy if you did. But if you do want to see other dimensions, just choose. The choice is always there.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe angels in the yard fade away as Brooke makes that choice.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe two voyagers float into the house. A pile of shoes greets them and piles of who-knows-what line the foyer. They float down the hallway and into a large family room off the kitchen. Now if you had just walked into the room, you would see a man playing with his young son and a woman potatoing on the couch to an early-morning quasi-news show. And if you could see like an angel, you would see the three humans and nine other beings in the room—a committee of three angels for each human. And that’s not counting the angels for the plants around the room, who are working even more intensely because their charges haven’t been watered in weeks.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJack. Ohhhhh, Jack. He’s the man playing with the little boy. Yikes—you just want to grab him by those tightly hunched shoulders and shake him loose! The only thing tighter than his clenched fists is his jawline. Jack could be very handsome if he weren’t so sad. And even if you weren’t particularly sensitive, and even if it was a rare moment when Jack had a smile on his face,\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eyou’d still know he’s sad. You could feel it, even across the room. If you were to take one look at him, you’d probably want to close your eyes so you could reenvision him as a strong, beautiful, powerful man—what he\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ecould\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ebe, perhaps what his original blueprint depicted about thirty-five years ago.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“But it’s kind of like someone came along and deflated the balloon of his being,” Brooke says.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“If someone else actually has that power,” Henry replies. “Which no one does.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThree angels surround Jack: Christopher, Sapphire, and Blake. Your quintessential computer geek, Christopher wears glasses over his sharp, black eyes (yes, as you probably already surmised, angels wear glasses, too, when they want to proudly present that intellectual look). His ebony skin contrasts against his red and blond Mohawk—even angelic geeks like to sport that alternative look from time to time. Christopher constantly studies his laptop to watch graphs, analyze trends, make mental notes from the running tick of information gathered from all corners of the universe, and calculate statistics. On occasion, he looks up from his computer, but it has to be quite the occasion—which you know will happen because you certainly wouldn’t be reading a book about a non-occasion. But basically picture an angelic actuarial services analyzer albeit from the very hip part of town, and Christopher’s your guy...well, your angel.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSapphire whispers into Jack’s ear. She’s the sweet librarian type—you remember that truly great librarian, the one you wondered about and asked your friends if they thought she had a life? At least a life that didn’t involve reference desks and card catalogs? Or for those of you younger ones who have never researched away from the Internet and are wondering what in creation a card catalog could possibly be, picture instead a woman who loves to look on her computer to see what wisdom is found where. At any rate, this librarian from your hometown library just loved researching things and helping you find information. She was born to work in a library, and you thought, wow, it’s\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ereally\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003egood we’re all interested in such different things, so it all gets taken care of. (And yes, everyone thought she had a very boring life, but oh how wrong they were—you wouldn’t\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003ebelieve\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethe life she had!) Behind Sapphire’s thick glasses and tightly wound bun, she is actually very, very beautiful.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey’re all beautiful. Honestly, have you ever seen an ugly angel? Or, if you’ve never seen an angel, have you ever imagined an ugly one? Impossible. Just like humans. Maybe there are some less-than-attractive humans, but most are pleasant looking. A small percentage fall in the absolutely-breathtakingly-beautiful category and an even smaller percentage fall in the far-less-than-absolutely-breathtakingly-beautiful category. But they’re all beautiful—all angels, all humans. You know what we mean.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSapphire’s job is to whisper continuously in Jack’s ear, which is exactly what she’s doing now. And what does she whisper? A compendium that goes something like this: “Jack, you are so beautiful. You are loved. You are a blessing. Thank you for being here. Thank you for blessing us. Jack, you are such a wonderful being. Jack, you are loved. You are so dear. You are such a blessing. Thank you for all that you do.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWell, you get the idea. Everyone, everywhere on Earth, has an angel whispering to him or her like that. So why isn’t life a steady stream of perfection? Because very few can hear these words. But that’s starting to change, at least here and there.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eNext to Christopher and Sapphire stands Blake. Remember your favorite high-school coach? Well, he probably was very Blake-like. “Atta boy,” or “Atta girl,” he’d say to you when you did a particularly good maneuver on the playing field. Or, if sports were not your thing, he’d say, “Nice try, kid.” And you’d know that while he didn’t understand how in the world sports weren’t first and foremost in your every thought, he really could tell you tried, and he sure did appreciate that.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBlake pats Jack on the shoulder. “Jack, you’re a wonderful father. You’re a wonderful businessman. But you know what? There’s more for you to do, son.” He pats him again—if Jack could’ve actually felt that pat, he probably would’ve fallen over.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Hey!” Christopher exclaims, watching a graph on his computer. “Check it out—his awareness just went off the charts! I think he heard you. It looks like he might finally be getting it—no, no, forget it…just a passing thought.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Nah, he didn’t hear me,” Blake says. “His heart is open from playing with his little boy. You’ve seen this before—happens every day when he’s with him. With his baby girl, too. But it doesn’t stay.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMeanwhile, Sapphire simply whispers in Jack’s ear: “You are so dear. You are such a blessing. Thank you for all that you do.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Blake practically hollers to him, clapping his hands. He bends over next to him, hand on Jack’s shoulders, like a coach trying to pep up a reluctant-but-necessary player sitting on the bench. “It’s time to run with the ball, son. Time to know there’s even a ball in play. Time to know you’re even on the ball field. Time to know there’s even a game going on!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry looks at the clock on the mantle. “He’ll be off to work soon,” he tells Brooke, “but he’s getting as much as he can of the most joyous thing in his life before he drops him off at preschool. One of the most joyous things, anyway. The other joy is his daughter. And this is Lacey, his wife,” he says, pointing to a form that has very successfully merged with the couch.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke glances over at Lacey, who’s still doing the most wonderful job of potatoing. Yes, well, everyone on Earth has his or her special talent, and if a higher talent isn’t cultivated and nurtured, the lowest common denominator talent tends to prevail. Lacey might have been prettier in her day, and she could be on this day, if she wanted to be. Nope, doesn’t want to be: the bulge is winning this particular battle, dark roots are taking over the blond in her stringy, shoulder-length hair, her hazel eyes have long gone slack.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eSurrounding Lacey are her three angels. If this team’s computer aficionado was from Earth, you would think she’s from Southeast Asia, and she’d be gorgeous if she weren’t so bored. She watches Lacey for a moment and then sighs as she starts to play a game of solitaire on her computer. There aren’t too many charts to watch when the human is so, well, uninvolved with life.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA chubby, adolescent-looking angel plays paddleball while an even younger-looking angel plays jacks on the floor. Adorable? Off the charts.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Have they given up on her?” Brooke asks.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, no,” Henry answers. “But they have to wait ’til she turns off the TV. They’ll work on her when she gets up to use the bathroom. Can’t work on people while their minds are fully occupied with rot.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Why such young angels for her?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHenry laughs. “Those two are ageless, timeless, eternal beings, just like all of us. But young-looking ones tend to act more young-at-heart. Sometimes angels like that are the only ones who can reach people like Lacey here. Special assignment.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke looks over at the couple’s son.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“And that’s Ben, their three-year-old.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBen’s three angels huddle around him, devoted to their tasks for him. (You’ll never see an angel working hard, but always with immense devotion and diligence.) One whispers in his ear, one studies her computer, one watches Ben carefully.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You are so loved,” whispers Ben’s whisperer into his ear. “You are such a light. You have so much to give.” A smile spreads across Ben’s face.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke glances into the kitchen. Piles of dishes from meals obviously long past sit in the sink, drops of milk and cereal decorate the placemats on the table, and there are more piles of that who-knows-what everywhere. Brooke notices that piles even surround Lacey on the couch.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke points to Jack. “So he’s my assignment?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“In living color,” Henry says.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBrooke watches Jack as he and Ben work on their creation, a dinosaur made of Legos. Giggling, Ben adds pieces of Legos in the shape of what you could guess is an elephant’s trunk. Jack chuckles. Wow! His shoulders start to move down to a level far more appropriate for a human shoulder. Lacey laughs—snorts, really—as a television announcer jokes, however; even though he doesn’t look up at her, Jack’s shoulders zoom right back up to his ears and his jawline goes rigid again.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“He doesn’t exactly flow with the go,” Brooke sighs.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Go with the flow,” Henry corrects her. But he ponders for a moment. “Actually, I like it better your way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Oh, Jack,” Brooke whispers to him, this man who clearly could be so very handsome and vibrant, but for some reason lives far, far below where he could be living. His son looks like a happier version of him in miniature: curly brown hair, big brown eyes, irrepressible smile. As Ben adds a giraffe’s neck to the dinosaur, Jack’s demeanor softens and relaxes—until Lacey snorts again, that is.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“At bottom, everything is a choice,” Henry says. “Everything.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716165116074,"sku":"9781948543200","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_185b3470-435d-4dd9-8d9e-2679aa2d754f.jpg?v=1636991370"},{"product_id":"apollos-raven-9781948543293","title":"Apollo's Raven","description":"\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\"...elements of magic and mystery abound....Tanner also does an admirable job weaving in politics and mythology of a bygone people. A complex and promising start to a new fantasy series.\" —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\"History truly comes alive under the pen of author Linnea Tanner, but there’s also plenty of room left for characters to breathe and develop under watchful narration. The plot is stellar: well-thought-out and executed with a great sense of beat and pacing as each moment of both the romance arc and the curse is portrayed. Overall, an un-put-down-able fantasy adventure from start to finish.\" \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—Readers' Favorite\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"An engaging historical fantasy, \u003ci\u003eApollo's Raven\u003c\/i\u003e by Linnea Tanner is a captivating tale of triangles [and an] epic Celtic tale of magic and a curse.“ \u003cem\u003e—2019 Pencraft Book of the Year Award\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eA Celtic warrior princess is torn between her forbidden love for the enemy and duty to her people. Award-winning \u003cem\u003eApollo's Raven\u003c\/em\u003e sweeps you into an epic Celtic tale of forbidden love, mythological adventure, and political intrigue in Ancient Rome and Britannia. In 24 AD British kings hand-picked by Rome to rule are fighting each other for power. King Amren's former queen, a powerful Druid, has cast a curse that Blood Wolf and the Raven will rise and destroy him. The king's daughter, Catrin, learns to her dismay that she is the Raven and her banished half-brother is Blood Wolf. Trained as a warrior, Catrin must find a way to break the curse, but she is torn between her forbidden love for her father's enemy, Marcellus, and loyalty to her people. She must summon the magic of the Ancient Druids to alter the dark prophecy that threatens the fates of everyone in her kingdom. Will Catrin overcome and eradicate the ancient curse. Will she be able to embrace her forbidden love for Marcellus? Will she cease the war between Blood Wolf and King Amren and save her kingdom?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eSCROLL FOR SAMPLE!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eMore Reviews:\u003c\/strong\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2020 Readers' Favorite Bronze Medal Fiction Magic\/Wizardry\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2019\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003ePenCraft Best Book of the Year Award\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2018 New Apple Book Awards: Official Selection Fantasy\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2018 eLit Book Award: Silver Medal Fantasy\/Science Fiction\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2017 Global Ebooks Award: Bronze Medal Fantasy\/Historical\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2017 \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003eNew Apple Book Awards: Official Selection Historical Fiction and Cross Genre\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"...a captivating tale of triangles; love, lust and espionage, friend, foe, and spies., barbarians, civilized Rome and spiritual-supernatural beings. The author's knowledge of the mythology and the history of 43 AD Celtic tribes is astounding as she weaves a tapestry of intrigue, a Gordian knot of rivalry and a love story.\"\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e—Authors Reading (2019 \u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ePencraft Book of the Year Award)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"\u003ci\u003e...\u003c\/i\u003ea historical fantasy with strong elements of romance, political intrigue, and magic. Many surprising twists enrich the historically drawn plot. Points of view shift between different characters effectively, heightening the tension from one moment to the next.\"\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eHistorical Novel Society Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"If you're looking for something entertaining with a fast, action-paced rhythm, \u003ci\u003eApollo's Raven \u003c\/i\u003eby Linnea Tanner is a definite must. For a women who is trying to figure out where she belongs in her world, this tale is relatable to other young women in our timeline who are also trying to figure out where they belong.\"\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eLiterary Titan \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e(Gold Book Award) \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"\u003ci\u003e...\u003c\/i\u003e a soaring epic that carries its audience on an adventure full of ancient magic, passionate romance, and political intrigue.\"\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e  —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eIndieReader \u003c\/i\u003e(Indie Approved)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\"The historical romantic fantasy takes readers to 24 AD to the Southeast Coast of Britannia, blending magic, romance, and politics into a satisfying tale of one determined Celtic woman who must choose between doing her duty and following her heart.\"\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—BlueInk Review\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Apollo's Raven \u003c\/em\u003eis a good introduction to what life was like for the Celtic Brits when the Romans invaded. The plot is intriguing, and the forbidden love angle adds to the punchiness of the story.\"\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Author Luciana Cavallaro\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e\"An unpredictable, spellbinding tale, made so much richer by the historical integrity of the research carried out by the author, Linnea Tanner.\"\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Author Ann Frandi-Coory\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"...an enticing avalanche of one revelation after another....I like to think of this story as a huge metaphor for history rewriting itself through fiction and allowing individuals to take charge of their own destinies.\" \u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan\u003e—\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003ci\u003eOnlineBookClub.org\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"a rapturous read that mixes Celtic mythology into a good historical romance.\"\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan\u003e —\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003eForeword Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e  \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAward-winning Author Linnea Tanner weaves Celtic tales of love, magical adventure, and political intrigue into the backdrop of Ancient Rome and Britannia. Since childhood, she has passionately read about ancient civilizations and mythology which held women in higher esteem. Of particular interest are the enigmatic Celts who were reputed as fierce warriors and mystical Druids. \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003eDepending on the time of day and season of the year, you will find her exploring and researching ancient and medieval history, mythology and archaeology to support her writing. As the author of the\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eCurse of Clansman and Kings series, she has extensively researched and traveled to sites described within each book. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003eA native of Colorado, Linnea attended the University of Colorado and earned both her bachelor's and master's degrees in chemistry. She lives in Windsor with her husband and has two children and six grandchildren.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: left;\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eBook Excerpt:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cu\u003eChapter 1: Raven’s Warning\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e24 AD, Southeast Coast of Britannia\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003ePrincess Catrin reined in her horse at the edge of the precipice overlooking the sea below to study the pattern of her raven’s flight, seeking an omen. Her dream of the skull-faced moon, bleeding crimson, still plagued her. It was as if she had glimpsed both into her soul and into the future, yet she did not know how to interpret it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Raven, her animal guide, shot like an arrow into the thickening mist that partially obscured the sun. The sudden nip of a cool, salty breeze made her shiver. Longing for the disappearing sun’s warmth, she nestled into her plaid cloak and focused on the bird’s aerial acrobatics, first diving at the sheer cliff, then darting up. This close to the edge, one misstep of her horse could dash them both onto the jagged rocks below. Only her raven, a divine messenger, had the power to overcome such a fall and rise into the heavens to soar with the gods.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Raven disappeared into the fog. Out of the haze, the red-striped sail of a flat-bottom ship suddenly appeared. Driven mainly by oars, it thrust to and fro in the turbulent water; it was unlike the deep-hulled vessels of seafaring merchants powered by air currents over their sails. At the bow of the ship was a strange looking beam shaped like a bird’s beak.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin’s gaze followed the Raven’s movement beyond the white cliffs, where more striped sails were emerging from the mist. She counted ten, but there might be more. A chill feathered up her spine.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eCould these be warships?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eFrom the distance, she could not determine the total number of ships or the country of their origin. She needed to see through her raven’s eyes for that. But to do so, she had to be alone to meld her thoughts with the Raven. Uneasy that her sister, Mor, and their companion, Belinus, might disrupt her connecting to the Raven, she scanned a clump of brambles some distance down the grassy slope where she had left them. A few weeks back, the couple had met at the Beltane’s spring festival and had since become intoxicated with each other.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin was still rankled that Belinus had tricked her into weapons training. His real purpose had come to light the evening before, when he told her to wait on the hillside so he could finish practicing with Mor. A warm blush spread across Catrin’s face as she imagined their legs entangled with each other. Did they think that she was deaf and blind and that she was too dimwitted to understand what they were doing? The king would not think kindly of it if one of his trusted warriors charged with training his daughters for battle was seducing one of them.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eNow barely discerning the couple through the thick brush, she surmised they were again fully occupied with each other, leaving ample time for her to take the next step with her raven before they again joined her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe dismounted and raised her sword, a signal for her raven to return. The large bird swooped toward her like a dark shadow. She lifted an arm on which the bird landed. Its midnight-black plumage contrasted sharply with her fair skin and gold braided hair. On the threshold of womanhood, she felt closer to this creature than to many of her own kind. Still, she hesitated connecting with the bird.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA few years back, she had told her father of her ability to see the present and future through the Raven’s eyes. She desired to be a Druidess. He denied her request to be trained in the spiritual order, saying, “I have decreed that no one in my family can use the powers of the Ancient Druids.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen she asked why, he responded with a grim frown. “The magic is too unpredictable and often alters in deadly ways. Foresight is not a gift but a curse in our family.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe king’s answer confounded Catrin, but she dared not defy him openly or get caught when she secretly practiced her new mystical ability that the Raven had shown her.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Raven first sought me out,\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eshe reasoned in favor of using her newly discovered powers\u003cem\u003e. I must heed the Raven’s warning. If I am to assess the danger the ships pose, I need to study them up close.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe had to hurry, though. The fire between her sister and Belinus would soon cool.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin lifted her arm and looked to the Raven, considering her decision. “What do I have to fear from you? I am a Cantiaci warrior.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Raven cocked its head and gawked at her, as if ready to answer her question.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe asked, “Did the sun god send me an omen about the warships offshore?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen the Raven mumbled some gibberish, she tapped its beak. “What does that mean?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Raven screeched, bobbing up and down. She smoothed its ruffled feathers. “Do you know why the ships are here?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Raven grew still on her arm. She winced, recalling the image of the blood moon in her dream. She asked, “Do they plan to attack?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Raven nodded excitedly, as if in response. Encouraged, she asked, “If I saw through your eyes, could I learn who they are and the reason they’re here?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe creature tilted its head sideways, the signal for her to enter its mind.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe hesitated. “What if Father learns that I've taken this next step? Will he punish me for disobeying him … for ignoring his warning?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe Raven shrieked and arched its wings. She chuckled. “That is right. He did say to study the enemy before each encounter, but never hesitate in battle. That’s what I’m doing—exactly what my father expects. I’m finding out if enemies are aboard the ships, but to do so, I must see through your eyes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin again hesitated. Once before, when she had melded and disconnected from her raven guide, she lost consciousness. It took awhile for her head to clear after that episode. If that happened again, it could spell disaster so close to the precipice.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe stepped away from the cliff ’s edge and stared into the Raven’s eyes, which glowed like amber gems. The bird’s talons emitted a bolt of electric heat into her arm. A light flashed in her mind, and the Raven’s essence permeated her core being. She knew that she had entered the Raven’s prescient mind.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe landscape appeared blurry until she adjusted to the Raven’s eyesight. Brightly colored wildflowers dazzled her with purple hues that she was unable to detect with her human eyes. A thrill rushed through her veins as she sensed the bird’s breast muscles contracting to flap its wings. When the Raven began its thrust into flight, she felt the misty air lift its outstretched wings.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen the Raven soared toward the channel, she could see her human form standing as motionless as a statue on the emerald hilltop clasped to the jagged precipice. The sheer chalk cliffs formed an impenetrable wall against the crashing waves. Beyond the cliffs, there was a sparsely vegetated shoreline toward which several ships were sailing and where other vessels were moored. Armored infantry-men were disembarking, wading to the shore, and marching across the beach. On higher ground, soldiers set up tents in a square encampment. One of the guards had a lion’s head covering his helmet. In his hands was a pole with a silver eagle on top. She assumed it meant powerful animal spirits were guiding them.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA palatial tent in the center of the encampment caught her eye. Its outside walls were made of twined linen sheets, violet and red, brocaded with eagles. Surrounding the central structure were crimson banners, each emblazoned with the sun god in a horse-driven chariot. At the tent’s flapped entrance were two foreign noblemen attired in purple-trim white togas. Another man, towering over the foreigners, wore a rustic toga and plaid breeches—garments that nobles from her kingdom typically dressed in. From the back, he looked familiar, his thick coppery hair draped over his shoulders like a lustrous wolf pelt.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eTo confirm her suspicions that she knew this tall, brawny man, Catrin directed the Raven to circle around, so she could get a closer look. When the man’s ghostly, disfigured face came into view, her heart wrenched. She recognized her half-brother, Marrock.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eGrotesque images of ravens pecking tissue out of his face flashed in her mind. For seven years, she had believed herself safe from him, but there he was—a specter arisen from the cold ashes of her nightmares.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eWhy has he returned with an army?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA sense of doom crawled all over her when Marrock’s head tilted back, as though he knew her essence was flying overhead. His blue-green eyes began glowing and changed to the same amber-gem color as her raven whenever she harnessed its magical power. The Raven’s muscles suddenly paralyzed, freezing its wings. A strong force pulled her through a crevasse in the Raven’s mind and hurtled her into a tunnel of brilliant gold light.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe plummeted, tumbling out of control, toward a black portal in the center of a rainbow-colored arch.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cu\u003eChapter 2: Secret Magic\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eJust before Catrin burst through the portal, she found herself lying on familiar, yellow-flowered grass on the cliffs. Above her, the Raven’s wings disappeared into a gray haze. A shiver of panic as sharp as needles prickled down her back.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eWas this what my father meant about the magic being unpredictable?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWith the landscape settling around her, she inhaled the briny air and felt her own world again. Still, a burning tingle lingered in her arm as questions barraged her mind.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eDid Marrock do this to me? Did he somehow sense I was spying on him by using my raven’s eyesight? Did he put me into another world? Is this the deadly magic my father warned me about—the double-edged blade that others who detect my raven-sight can do me harm?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eA woman’s shrill voice startled Catrin. She rolled on her back to find her sister, Mor, looking down at her, the reins of her bay horse in hand. Gusty wind swirled Mor’s ebony tresses around her face, which was etched with concern.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“What happened?” asked Mor. “Your horse was loose. From a distance, I saw a raven on your shoulder as you collapsed.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I slipped and fell,” Catrin said, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. “Help me up.” She grasped Mor’s extended hand and pulled herself to her feet. Still light-headed, she teetered while brushing the chalk from the cliff stones off her leather chest armor.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Did that raven do something to you?” Mor asked. “Before you collapsed, you appeared frozen; your arms twisted over each other like broken wings. It was as if you left this world and became some-thing else. A wraith or a soulless corpse comes to mind.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin glanced around, thinking it odd that Belinus was not with her sister. Assuming he was nearby, she looked beyond Mor, but there was no sign of him.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Why don’t you answer me?” Mor snapped. “This is the second time I’ve seen this happen to you this week. You know what Father said. You are not to do magic with that raven.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe image of Marrock with the foreign troops flashed in Catrin’s mind, and she blurted, “I saw warships offshore. Marrock is leading them!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor scanned the ocean channel, now thick with rolling fog. “I don’t see anything.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin pointed northward. “Look beyond the cliffs.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor shielded her eyes with a hand to search again. A moment later, she gave Catrin a dubious frown. “There is too much fog to see clearly. When did you see Marrock?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“A bit ago—” Catrin suddenly realized it could have been quite some time since she had been in the Raven’s mind.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor gripped Catrin’s arm and pulled her closer. “Did your raven cast a spell on you, and you imagined this? People say your raven makes you mad!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin bristled. “That is utter nonsense! I only connect to the Raven when I need its help and have complete control over it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen Mor’s jaw dropped, Catrin realized she had let her secret slip out. She bit her lower lip, but it was too late to take the words back. Upon further consideration, she didn’t know how to convince Mor of the threat posed by Marrock and the foreign army unless she disclosed her use of forbidden magic. She finally admitted, “When-ever I need help—like … like seeing something in the distance—I can enter the Raven’s mind and see through its eyes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Explain exactly what happens when you see through its eyes,” Mor said. “Do you shape-shift into a raven?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“My human vision turns off when I switch to the Raven sight. I can see below me when it flies. The Raven also sends me dreams of the future. Last night, I dreamt the moon turned into a bleeding skull. I took this as an omen that our kingdom is in grave danger. When I saw Marrock with foreign soldiers, I confirmed this was true.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor paused, as if trying to absorb what Catrin had just said. “Merchant ships are always sailing near the coastline. How could you even tell they were warships from the distance?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Armed soldiers were disembarking from vessels moored on the beach beyond the cliffs—”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor interrupted. “Nobody can see that far, even through raven eyes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Let me finish!” Catrin snapped. Mor’s lips clamped into a scowl as Catrin continued. “My raven flew over the bay, where I saw hundreds of soldiers setting up camp on shore. That is where I saw Marrock!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I find your tale truly hard to believe,” Mor said, shaking her head.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“I’m not a liar,” Catrin insisted. “We must heed the Raven’s omen. Soldiers would not be with Marrock unless he plans to attack us. We need to warn our father.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Warn him of what?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Marrock is back with a foreign army!” Catrin declared. “Remember, sister, Marrock swore to slay everyone in our family when Father banished him seven summers ago.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“You’ve made a bold claim without proof.” Mor exclaimed. “I never saw Marrock with my own eyes and, for that matter, I never saw any warships. What if you’re wrong? You don’t have any evidence that he is plotting to attack our kingdom. Father will be furious when he discovers you used your raven’s magic. Besides, I want to stay here and finish training with Belinus.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin could feel her face flush with anger.\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003eTrain with what—his sword?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShe pointed to herself. “I’ll accept the blame if I’m wrong, which I’m not. We must go back now!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor put her hands on her hips. “I’m not leaving until I see these phantom soldiers and ships with my own eyes.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin, noticing her sister suddenly glance up, turned and spotted Belinus waving from the adjacent hilltop to signal weapons had been set up for practice. The last thing she wanted was for Mor to persuade him to stay so they could finish their tryst before slinking back home. Mor had lost all sense of propriety with a common warrior.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eOf all days to practice, I should be warning Father!\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWhen Mor pulled the reins of the bay and began walking away, Catrin yanked her by the arm to halt her. “What are you doing?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor spun toward Catrin. “Belinus is set to go. I am getting your horse ready, so you can practice spear throwing.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin wagged her head in disbelief. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? We must go now and tell Father what we have seen.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor glared. “I don’t take orders from someone who practices black magic with a raven. You see things nobody else can.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin ripped the reins from her sister’s fingers. “I don’t care what you think. I’m going. If Father asks me why you are not with me, I will tell him about your little meeting with Belinus.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“And what do you mean by that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eWordlessly, Catrin mounted her bay and stared at her red-faced sister.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Answer me!” Mor shouted.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin pointed to the spear on the grass. “Hand me that lance.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eI’ll tell Belinus about what I saw. You can load up your weapons and join us.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor flung the spear up to Catrin.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin adjusted the weapon and kicked her horse into a gallop. Gale breezes from the channel stung Catrin’s eyes as she drove her horse near the cliff’s edge and up the ridge to where Belinus was waiting. With thoughts running wild about a possible attack by Marrock, she ignored the perils of the precipice and the rocks below. With spear in hand, she clamped her legs against the horse and threw it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe metal tip pierced the raven’s image on a shield that Belinus was holding. Clad in leather breeches and chain mail, he yelled, “Why did you do that? I wasn’t ready.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin halted in front of him. “We need to get back! Warships have landed; Marrock is leading them!”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBelinus gave a shocked look. “Marrock? Warships? Where?” Catrin pointed northward. “In the nearby bay.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eHearing horses approaching, Catrin turned and found her sister riding the black stallion and leading a pack horse.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor huffed. “Why didn’t you wait for me? You’re lucky I don’t have to scrape your smashed bones and flesh off the rocks.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“No time to argue!” Catrin snapped. She ordered Belinus, “See to the weapons. I’ll explain everything to you on our way back to the village.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor blazed at Catrin as Belinus packed the weapons. After he mounted his horse, he told Catrin, “With the coming fog, it may be difficult to see the ships on our way home. Ride with me and tell me more about what you saw.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin rode with Belinus on the pathway while Mor followed them. As they descended the grassy hilltop, Catrin told Belinus about the warships and Marrock's return. Belinus appeared alarmed, glancing all around. He asked Catrin more questions and suggested they take a closer look at the seashore.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThey directed their horses into a darkening forest in the valley. When they rode out of the woods and approached the beach, thick fog was swallowing the ships in the bay and marching out of the haze were soldiers heading their way.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eCatrin glanced back at Mor. “See … there is the danger.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMor’s shoulders stiffened. “Keep riding.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eBelinus rode ahead and kept his hand on his sword’s pommel. “Follow me. Don’t look scared. These are Romans!” \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003ca href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Curse%20of%20Clansmen%20and%20Kings*\" data-mce-href=\"https:\/\/bublishbooks.com\/search?type=product%2Carticle%2Cpage%2Ccollection\u0026amp;q=Curse%20of%20Clansmen%20and%20Kings*\" target=\"_blank\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eShop the Curse of Clansmen and Kings Series\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/a\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Apollo Raven Publisher, LLC","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716165148842,"sku":"9781948543293","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_845abacd-3aa2-446a-9ef3-134c1eb0ffb5.jpg?v=1636991371"},{"product_id":"fresh-off-the-starship-9781948543828","title":"Fresh off the Starship","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e5 stars  A light and enjoyable adventure that comments on human nature and the beauty of our world....Very funny, but it was the wider ethos of the tale that really grabbed me. Overall a brighter look at life today that is sure to keep you smiling from page to page.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e Readers' Favorite\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e5 stars  This truly is a wonderful story from a very talented writer. Smoothly-written prose, a fascinating, lightly-penned plot and a strong, slightly confused hero to cheer for.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e The Wishing Shelf\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWrong place, right time? A starbeing was supposed to travel light-years across the universe to help humanity by working in Washington, D.C.--but she accidentally lands in a small Kansas town in the body of Missy. Join her on this whimsical journey as she discovers the beauty of life and love on Earth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAuthor Ann Crawford's trademark optimism brings us a witty and wise book filled with memorable characters and insights into what makes us all so very human.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Lightscapes Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41716165312682,"sku":"9781948543828","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_1da4923a-a403-42ab-b531-8915c67a9a70.jpg?v=1636991376"},{"product_id":"power-multiplied-the-novel-of-a-woman-a-whale-and-an-alien-child-in-peril-9781647040260","title":"Power Multiplied: The Novel of a Woman, a Whale, and an Alien Child in Peril","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"...an incomparably mesmerizing read...and stunningly interwoven plot.\" \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e—\u003c\/span\u003eOnlineBookClub\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eShe will sacrifice herself to save them all...\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eOnce again, it's up to SeaQuarium volunteer Shannon Kendricks to protect her friends, an alien child, Essi, and a rare beluga whale, Juneau. Winning Juneau a \"free pass\" for one day out of captivity, Shannon eagerly awaits for the whale's return. But when an explosion of water washes her out into the chilling Alaskan Sea, Shannon must fight for her survival.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eUnexpectedly, Essi returns to Earth riddled with a life-threatening virus that could easily wipe out the entire planet. Now, two aliens from another world are determined to find Essi to gain access to the virus. If unleashed, the virus will cause massive loss of life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eAs Shannon embarks upon a strange and perilous journey to save her friends and everyone on Earth, the stakes are at all-time high.  Survival of life on another planet as well as on Earth rests on the shoulders of this strong-willed and courageous SeaQuarium volunteer. With a powerful alien on her side, her powers are multiplied, giving her a fighting chance to defeat her enemies. But will it be enough—or will she lose it all?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003eLike her protagonist Shannon Kendricks, Cathy Parker is an attorney. She volunteered as a zoo keeper's aide for eight years and did have a very special beluga buddy, Mauyak. As to encounters with alien children, she is not saying. She was also a radio and print journalist and once was the 'Jill of all trades' for a small satellite paper in Wyoming. She did everything from taking to the photos to writing the articles and op-ed pieces to helping with layout and hauling the newspapers through blizzards once a week. As a result, she saw lambs being born and went on a cattle drive and ate her first (and last) Rocky Mountain Oyster. She has seen mountain gorillas in the wild in Rwanda and orangutans in Borneo and even rocked an orphaned baby orangutan to sleep on her chest. She has volunteered with a chimpanzee sanctuary for former research subjects. So you can see where her heart lies. Currently she is happy at home with her black brindle mastiff and her black cat. All similarities between her cat and Narcissus are purely and probably coincidental.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41737465626794,"sku":"9781647040260","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/PowerMultiplied_2_ebook_v2.jpg?v=1666191258"},{"product_id":"thurmonds-saga-9781647041250","title":"Thurmond's Saga","description":"\u003cp\u003e\"A promising series opener that's a fantasy page-turner and compelling coming-of-age tale.\" -Kirkus\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThurmond, an unlikely hero, may be young and poor, but he dreams of fighting with the famed Brotherhood of Underworld Adventurers, an elite group of warriors that slay monstrous creatures for the promise of gold. 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Suddenly, the quest is more complicated and dangerous than the crew could have ever imagined.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFilled with fascinating historical details and a few supernatural surprises, this action-packed debut novel will have you on the edge of your seat as Thurmond and his band of misfits try to escape a rotting goblin den and make it back home with their lives intact. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41737466020010,"sku":"9781647041250","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_3bd41285-ca0e-467e-86f8-84e3928c57f0.jpg?v=1637013918"},{"product_id":"castle-of-the-red-contessa-9781647041724","title":"Castle of the Red Contessa","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"Fantasy fans will take a dive dive in this lavishly detailed story.\" -Kirkus\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDespite the success of their first adventure, Thurmond and his companions, Sarah, Roscoe, and Torgul, are out of money and about to be expelled from their new home at Grimsgard. The only solution-a raid on Castle Sathas, the home of an infamous witch-cult.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo get there, they must undertake a long and perilous overland journey through a wilderness rife with ruthless bandits, voracious wolf packs, and greedy robber-knights. Along the way, their every step is shadowed by an unseen nemesis bent on their destruction.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBeset by treacherous landscapes and deadly enemies, it seems their quest is doomed to fail. And even if they win through, will they survive the ancient evil waiting in Castle Sathas?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThroat-gripping and unpredictable, Castle of the Red Contessa takes the reader on a heroic quest of rousing medieval adventure.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eMacKenzie, Robert John:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Robert John MacKenzie is an experienced educator with an abiding enthusiasm for medieval history and literature. He has traveled extensively throughout Europe, exploring museums, castles, and battlefields. After living for years in Asia and Europe, he now resides in northern California.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41737466151082,"sku":"9781647041724","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_1793e5e1-d25e-4e2a-9783-c6d876d97a1e.jpg?v=1637013921"},{"product_id":"the-battle-of-gorgonholm-9781647042240","title":"The Battle of Gorgonholm","description":"\u003cp\u003eIn this third installment of the Chronicles of the Medieval Underworld, a primordial force strikes the countryside, causing death and destruction in its wake. It's up to Thurmond, Sarah, Roscoe, and Torgul to figure out what's happening and stop it before a war breaks loose.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter years of difficult missions and escaping death, Thurmond and his witch companion, Sarah, have finally been initiated into the Brotherhood of the Underworld Adventurers. Their dedication is tested quickly as the people of Gorgonholm have fallen under a dark and dangerous spell-wives poison husbands, old friends viciously attack each other and, most importantly, the wild neighboring Keltin clans plan to invade and slaughter them all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo save the city, Thurmond and his steadfast comrades are tasked with finding Malaichai, the only wizard powerful enough to defeat this eldritch force. Their perilous journey is filled with old foes and haunted traps. Worse yet, the wizard Malachai has gone mad with necromancy and has an obsession with melding humans and animals to create hybrid creatures. Their mission keeps getting stranger, but with a war quickly approaching, the crew will risk anything to save the people of Gorgonholm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrom the subterranean vaults of a malicious necromancer to the crash and chaos of a medieval battlefield, The Battle of Gorgonholm will have you on the edge of your seat rooting for the unlikely heroes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eMacKenzie, Robert John:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e - Robert John MacKenzie is an experienced educator with an abiding enthusiasm for medieval history and literature. He has traveled extensively throughout Europe, exploring museums, castles, and battlefields. After living for years in Asia and Europe, he now resides in northern California.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41737466544298,"sku":"9781647042240","price":14.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_2631a830-c7ca-4111-aad1-c6008c36714e.jpg?v=1637013928"},{"product_id":"power-stabilized-an-urban-fantasy-filled-with-aliens-dragonpanthers-whales-and-one-intrepid-woman-9781647042585","title":"Power Stabilized: An Urban Fantasy Filled with Aliens, Dragonpanthers, Whales and One Intrepid Woman","description":"\u003cdiv class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e“If you've read the first two in the trilogy, you'll love reading about the next wave of Shannon's adventures with her alien, human, and animal friends and enemies. This one carries the story forward with all the same energy, imagination, and vivid color. It has compelling characters, high stakes, and inventive plot developments galore.”\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e★★★★★\u003c\/span\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eReader Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon Kendricks thought all she had to do was venture to a strange world and face a giant race of aliens to save her friend Roebor. Boy, was she wrong.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eIn this action-packed conclusion to the science fiction-fantasy trilogy, Power Rising, Shannon answers the call from the tiny Seladoran Salesti to travel to FireWorld to rescue her friend, the magnificent dragonpanther Roebor. She realizes that to save her friend, she must make a great sacrifice. To make matters worse, while she is on FireWorld, a terrible tragedy strikes, with consequences that will set Shannon on a mission fraught with danger.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBack on Earth, as she seeks a way to overcome a Power of untold magnitude, she learns that to save her planet and the entire solar system, she may be required to sacrifice her life.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-style=\"font-weight: 400;\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eObstacles await her at every turn—dragonpanthers from FireWorld set on revenge, her Seladoran friend Essi trapped and in need of rescue, Homeland Security agents bent on discovering Shannon's secrets, and a FireWorld monster terrorizing whales in the Gulf of Alaska. With the help of her ever-loyal and beloved Luke, the indomitable attorney Tourmaline Kulkarney, and her cat Nascissus, Shannon attempts to fight through the obstacles and find a way to defeat the Power—and somehow stay alive.\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cbr\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike her protagonist Shannon Kendricks, Cathy Parker is an attorney. She volunteered as a zoo keeper's aide for eight years and did have a very special beluga buddy, Mauyak. As to encounters with alien children, she is not saying. She was also a radio and print journalist and once was the 'Jill of all trades' for a small satellite paper in Wyoming. She did everything from taking to the photos to writing the articles and op-ed pieces to helping with layout and hauling the newspapers through blizzards once a week. As a result, she saw lambs being born and went on a cattle drive and ate her first (and last) Rocky Mountain Oyster. She has seen mountain gorillas in the wild in Rwanda and orangutans in Borneo and even rocked an orphaned baby orangutan to sleep on her chest. She has volunteered with a chimpanzee sanctuary for former research subjects. So you can see where her heart lies. Currently she is happy at home with her black brindle mastiff and her black cat. All similarities between her cat and Narcissus are purely and probably coincidental.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41737466970282,"sku":"9781647042585","price":12.65,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/PowerStabilized_Ebook.jpg?v=1666191356"},{"product_id":"power-of-three-the-novel-of-a-whale-a-woman-and-an-alien-child-9781950282906","title":"Power of Three: The Novel of a Whale, a Woman, and an Alien Child","description":"\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\"The story was very entertaining and the characters wonderful!...Cathy Parker is a gifted writer and she knows how to tell a story. I would recommend it to anyone who likes a book that is hard to put down...It was so much fun to read. I started it and literally read it in one sitting.\" \u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003e \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e—\u003cmeta charset=\"utf-8\"\u003eBook Garden Reviews\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAn alien child catapults by sheer chance to earth. A beluga whale longs for freedom from the cruel confines of her small blue pool. Two powerful other-worldly beings seek to plunder our world, destroying our people and our resources. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eIn this fast-paced, science fiction thrill ride, it falls to the fiercely independent bystander, Shannon Kendricks, attorney and\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eSeaquarium volunteer, to return the child Essi to her world. To find a way to free the desperate beluga, Juneau. To defeat the ancient aliens. On the upside, with the arrival of Essi, Shannon is startled to find not only does her physical appearance change dramatically, but she now possesses useful, near-magical traits to help her with barriers that appear insurmountable. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBut Shannon soon learns the most terrible threat comes from within: a bizarre lavender lightning strike has caused the minds of the beluga and child to enter Shannon’s own mind. Their presence consumes many more calories than Shannon can possibly take in. They are killing her. In a desperate attempt to finish what she’s set out to do before she dies, Shannon enlists the help of her friends. Not everyone will survive. And... who or what is the other dark force that Shannon discovers lurking in the shadows with the alien invaders?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003ci data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSCROLL FOR SAMPLE!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eLike her protagonist Shannon Kendricks, Cathy Parker is an attorney. She volunteered as a zoo keeper's aide for eight years and did have a very special beluga buddy, Mauyak. As to encounters with alien children, she is not saying. She was also a radio and print journalist and once was the 'Jill of all trades' for a small satellite paper in Wyoming. She did everything from taking to the photos to writing the articles and op-ed pieces to helping with layout and hauling the newspapers through blizzards once a week. As a result, she saw lambs being born and went on a cattle drive and ate her first (and last) Rocky Mountain Oyster. She has seen mountain gorillas in the wild in Rwanda and orangutans in Borneo and even rocked an orphaned baby orangutan to sleep on her chest. She has volunteered with a chimpanzee sanctuary for former research subjects. So you can see where her heart lies. Currently she is happy at home with her black brindle mastiff and her black cat. All similarities between her cat and Narcissus are purely and probably coincidental.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\n\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cdiv class=\"p1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003c\/div\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan mce-data-marked=\"1\" data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBook Excerpt:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cu data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ePart 1: Lavender Lightning\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cu data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eChapter 1: Sunday\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon Kendricks burst through the SeaQuarium fish house door, whipped her unruly hair behind her shoulders, and spun around toward the towering figure following close behind.\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“‘No’ means ‘no.’ We’re quits. Leave it alone. Now go,” she said, her voice firm, louder than she intended. She slammed the door in his face. Stood and scowled for a moment, poised for the mother of all pitched battles if the man dared open the door.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eDo it. Double dare you.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAll remained quiet. The hapless fellow stood outside, still and scowling, a distorted mirror image of herself. Then an angry fist knocked along the fish house wall, tracing the path of his footsteps back toward the Admin Building.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon smacked the last of the fish buckets onto the counter and, with great splashy fanfare, filled the sink with hot steaming water to grind through scrubbing of the last of the day’s feeding containers. She spared a moment to catch her hair in a loose ponytail.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eOn her path back to the fish house from the last otter feeding, she’d been waylaid by her would-be suitor. Nice guy, good looking, bright, one of the marine biologists over at the Aquarium. But in recent weeks he had started asking for “emotional closeness,” as he put it. Where did they hide all those guys who wanted nothing to do with emotional closeness? She wanted one of those. But she always ended up with the softies most women would kill for.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThere’s irony for you.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eEmotional closeness?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShannon refused to go there. Ever. And this fellow didn’t want to hear the message. Steam arose from the hot water in the sink. She plunged her hands in. Well. Now he understood.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBut she hadn’t handled it well. She sighed.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“You always want to let them down gently. You’re too nice about it,” her supervisor and best friend Becky Anderson said from her stool without looking up from her logbooks, always knowing her friend’s unspoken train of thought much too well, to Shannon’s ongoing discomfort. “Cold. That’s the way to clear them off. Act as cold as a frozen mackerel.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eNot just cold; keep clear of relationships altogether; that’s the ticket.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe grit of her encounter still scraped on her mood and, she suspected, her voice.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ePoor guy, not his fault she preferred going it alone.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eTears clouded her vision. She didn’t to turn around when she spoke.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Otters looked good,” she said, in a raspy effort at normal. “Nome chittered up a storm, took everything I offered, but didn’t eat much. Katmai ate enough for both of them. Shuyak waited her turn like a good girl. The usual.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon could feel Becky’s gaze on her back at the sink.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Okay,” Becky said.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eNeither spoke for a moment.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eA volunteer breezed in, grabbed his backpack, and as he took off out the door, hollered behind him, “Walruses all present and accounted for. Cleanest underwater windows this side of the Windex Company. Been fantastic as usual, ladies. See you Monday after classes, Becky. Next weekend, Shannon. Ciao.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eEven Shannon had to laugh to herself.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eOh, for the untroubled energy and irreverence of the very young.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSilence resettled on the fish house, broken by the periodic scratchings of Becky filling out the daily paperwork and Shannon scrubbing buckets.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“You want to talk about it?” Becky asked at last.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“No.” The angry edge to Shannon’s abrupt answer surprised even her. Becky raised her hands as if to deflect her words.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Okay. Don’t bite my head off.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“I’ll deal with it,” Shannon said.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBecky nodded at her and kept right on nodding. “When’re you gonna get it through that brilliant yet thick head of yours that (a) some things come along that one person just can’t deal with alone, (b) even if people\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ecould\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003edo some things for themselves, others would love to share the load and thus make the load lighter, and (c) even if people could do some things for themselves, if they try, they make a piss-poor job of it? Not to mention any names, Shannon.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon muttered to herself. She wasn't\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003esome people.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShe’d deal with it. She always did.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“If you say so,” Becky said, and returned to her paperwork.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe minutes stretched on without the usual banter between the two friends at the end of Shannon’s weekend volunteer duty. Was it Shannon’s imagination or had the second hand on the wall clock started ticking like Big Ben? She listened, poised for each next click, as if hoping that something, anything, would disrupt the rhythm of the clock’s beat.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eTick. Tick. Tick.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eTick.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eOdin’s eye, as her Norse grandmother would say, and as Shannon always said in loving memory of the kind, patient old woman.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eEnough.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“What’s called for here,” Shannon said, “is some non-toxic glue to keep these scales\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eon\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ethe fish.” She glanced over. Did Becky take the bait?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eHer friend didn’t look up from her paperwork. “Mmm hmm,” she said.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon made a face at Becky and returned her attention to her fingertips. She needed just one fingernail long and stiff enough to pry that last stubborn fish scale off her stainless steel bucket. A difficult task for a woman whose fingernails sported the tensile strength of wet tissue. Those damn scales stuck like a bad reputation on a fun-loving girl.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Ah ha,” she said, spying an eighth-inch of nail, little finger, left hand. She applied it to the sticky translucent oval. “Victory is mine.” She dried the bucket and added it to the stacks on the rear shelves of the fish house.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“I will wash absolutely, positively, and unconditionally no more buckets today,” she said, trying one more time get a rise out of Beck, who looked up from her log sheet and said, “Okay,\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eMs.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eKendricks, what if I absolutely, positively, and unconditionally will no longer permit volunteers to fraternize with any creature in the Ocean City SeaQuarium Marine Mammal Center unless said volunteers wash as many buckets as I say? That ban would include the sea otters, the\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eseals, the sea lions, the orcas, and yes, my dear, the beluga whales.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon ran her fingers through her long dark ponytail, as if pausing to ponder Becky’s words. “Then\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eI\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003ewould say—hand me another bucket.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Thought so. Lucky for you everything’s clean. Go away.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“I still need to wash this counter….” Shannon said without enthusiasm. She’d worked her patooti off today. She slumped against the counter searching for one last tiny spark of energy. No luck.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe sighed. And yet, even a hard day at the SeaQuarium rated higher than the one facing her tomorrow. Back to her “real” job. She must finish a difficult legal brief on one of her cases, conduct a deposition, attend a staff meeting with her petulant, petty, pasty-faced boss, who was, unfortunately, the head of the County Legal Department, and work her way through a mountain of legal paper sitting on her desk. She once loved days like that. Where had the joy gone?\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAh well. Who needed joy? People admired her, respected her. Some of the jokers she faced in court even feared her. Satisfaction enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBecky bent over her logs, her feet curled over the bars between stool legs, her head nodding to music she alone could hear. After a moment, she put down her paperwork and looked at her friend. “You sound tired. Why don’t you skip Juneau tonight and get on home to your big-eyed kitty and giant dog—what kind of dog is Indy again? Elephant dog?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Elephant dog?\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eElephant\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003edog?” Shannon crumpled a wet paper towel sitting on the counter and aimed at Becky’s head. “Sofa-sized, max.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBecky watched the wad fly off to her left. “You are one lousy shot, lady. That the best you’ve got?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“I missed on purpose. Lucky thing I know you love my babies as much as I do, or—right between the eyes, kiddo,” Shannon said.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“You dream. So go home and feed your sofa.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAs Shannon opened her mouth to protest, Becky lifted her hands in defense. “Don’t say it. What was I thinking, suggesting you go home without your dose of SeaQuarium’s most stubborn, most intelligent, chubby white whale? You’re addicted, sweetheart, might as well face it. Go see the spithead.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAddicted.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eTrue.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eNo need to ask twice. “All righty then,” Shannon said. “And thanks.” She picked up her backpack and headed for the door. As she left, she turned and caught a glimpse of Becky burying her face back in her paperwork, one hand waving in Shannon’s general direction, a leg jiggling to that unheard beat.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon called a farewell, pushed the fish house door closed and made her way down the behind-the-scenes pathway.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eEager to see Juneau, the infamous spitting beluga, she struggled to pick up her pace.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eWouldn’t happen. She’d run out of pizazz. A squashed-flat penny on a train track. She surrendered to her exhaustion, and ambled past the equipment lining her route, taking comfort from its familiarity.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe whales’ enrichment toys—hoops as blue as the deepest ice, slick and squeaky balls, hose sections, buoys.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe stretcher designed for the belugas, with soft padded holes for short beluga fins, hanging on the generator room wall. For emergencies. Never needed during the ten years Shannon had volunteered. With any luck, it never would.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eHeading downhill, she could see Juneau floating alone in the middle of the back whale pool, the rounded top of her head, her blow hole, her wide, white back, bobbing above the water. The other four belugas lingered out front in the big public pool; Juneau chose to remain in the private pool. A loner, Juneau, just like Shannon.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Becky called you a spithead,” she said as she approached the rim of the aqua-colored tank. “Feel free to give her a whacking big spit bath next time she comes down. But you won’t spit at me, right, my bright yet moody friend? I’m your favorite volunteer, right? And you’re, no question, my favorite whale. Pals don’t spit at pals, right?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eRight. Odds, maybe 50\/50.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAnd the worst part—the staff biologists had started it all by design, when they encouraged the belugas’ natural ability to press ice-cold mouthfuls of water through their lips in forceful streams, creating lovely upward spraying fountains. The belugas performed the behavior on cue, a good husbandry measure and crowd pleaser. However, Juneau would often spit without warning to send messages like “take a hike.” Shannon’s kind of girl. Except when the whale lobbed a torrent of salty water right at\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eher\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eface.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon reached the rim of the tank, three feet high on her side, and twenty feet down on the whales’ side. Juneau swam to greet her, the whale’s snow-white, plump body gliding through the water. The beluga raised her head, with the broad, unmarked forehead, ebony button eyes set well back on each side, short soft curving nostrum, and the mouth that reached so far around each side she always appeared to smile. Beautiful as ever. Shannon grinned at the sight—she couldn’t help herself.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon studied her for a moment. No sign of her pebble today. Shannon had no idea where the whale hid it. For safety reasons, the staff removed rocks of any size from the pool area whenever they spotted one, yet they’d never found this little round pebble the size of a pea that Juneau loved to bring to Shannon. Clever girl. Shannon should’ve taken it from her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Often she would take the little stone off Juneau’s tongue and drop it for Juneau to dive and find. Perhaps she found the pebble hunt more of a challenge, preferring to search for this tiny dull-colored object rather than for those big bright rings and buoys the trainers sent her to retrieve. In any case, Juneau had elected not to play today. Today she wanted rubs along her back and fluke, and scratches under her small pectoral fins. She did love her back rubs.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon reached out to give Juneau’s smooth white head a gentle stroke.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe whale floated closer to the pool’s edge.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eFingers met forehead.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAt that instant, a bolt of lavender lightning flashed over the pool and surrounded them. A jolting pain, like the electric shock of grabbing a live wire rippled through Shannon. The crackle of a hundred firecrackers erupted. A strong scent, spicy and exotic, filled her nose. The taste of salt water bit her tongue. Her ears rang as if the lightning had touched off sirens.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eWhat the—? Can’t move, can’t breathe.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eA second piercing shock ripped through her, shaking her like hands on a jackhammer. She jerked as shimmering, lavender energy captured her and Juneau in a tight net. Flashes of lavender branded miniature strands of light on the inside of her eyelids and scalded her eyes. The pool began to slide up.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eCorrection.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe pool remained stable;\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ebegan a rapid collapse.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eNo!\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShe gripped the rough, rounded pool rim until she couldn’t feel her fingers. She fought the dizziness.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eNo good. Blackness circled inward from the edges of her vision, stealing the view of a hazy twilight sky. Her legs buckled.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShit.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShe\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003enever\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003efainted.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe dropped to the concrete like an anchor in shallow water.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e* * *\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon fought her way from a thick black void toward light. Her head hurt. Thor had taken his hammer to her skull and continued to pound. She raised a shaky hand to explore her scalp. Her fingers found a hard lump the size of a dinner roll. She must have cracked her head when she fell. An exotic aroma floated on her skin, mingling with the familiar bleach-washed smell of the pool deck.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eWhat had happened? Why was she sitting on her keister next to the back beluga pool with a knot on her head and her mind imitating twirling helicopter blades? So confused…she was missing something important…oh no, Juneau!\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eWhat had happened to the beluga when the lightning hit her? Shannon grabbed the pool rim with aching fingers and pulled herself to her feet.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSo weak.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ePanic bubbled toward the surface. She clung to the rim of the pool.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSteady.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSteady.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe squinted down into the well-lit tank.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe water. Dive into the water. Safe. Cold water. Go. Now.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eNo! That made no sense.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eShe stiffened her arms and pushed hard against the rim. She took a deep breath, then forced out the air and tried to push her head fuzzies out with it.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe surveyed the results. Urge to swim gone. Good. Head fuzzies just where she’d left them. Crap.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eForget that, focus on Juneau.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShe peered down again. One of Juneau’s listless eyes stared at her. The beluga’s body floated on its side, sinking, the blow hole inches from the water. Water in Juneau’s blow hole meant water in her lungs. And that meant death.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Juneau,” Shannon said, her voice a whisper. She listened. The whale exhaled a weak breath.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eStill alive.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShe pulled the whale’s head toward her. Juneau’s tail fluke sank another few inches. No good. Shannon spun and stumbled toward the fish house, screaming for Becky and the SeaQuarium vet Andy Fernandez.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe wind had picked up. It pressed her back, like an ocean wave. She leaned into it, but too far—she fell forward, flat on her forearms, skinning them on the rough cement.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eTired. Dizzy. Hurting. Hungry.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eWait. Hungry? At a time like this? Forget hungry.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe rested her head on the pavement for a moment.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eHer mind swirled and jumped, as if a greyhound ran around a race track inconveniently located in her mind. As if something inside her fought to escape.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eHer head would explode. No joke. She would shatter.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAfraid, so afraid…water, get in the water….\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThen, out of nowhere, a humming rose in her whirling mind, slow, calm, like a rich, musical blanket to warm her shivering spirit. Shannon’s wild thoughts quieted. She experienced the strangest sensation, as if some small…something had brushed across her mind with a velvet glove.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe chaotic internal bouncing and battering departed. Not so much died down as\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003ewent away,\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003edeep into her mind somewhere.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe humming hadn’t dissipated the confusion, dizziness, nausea, and headache, though, so she continued to rest her head on the walkway. The cool concrete soothed the side of her face. She’d just lie here until she stopped hurting and her head stepped off the merry-go-round.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSo tired.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eShe closed her eyes. Lavender lightning flashed through her vision. Her eyes flew open.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eRight. Juneau needed help.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eGet up and move. To the fish house.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eGo.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon pushed herself to her hands and knees. Shaky. She scooted over to the generator room and pushed with her hands and legs until she could lean against it and stand. Still woozy, but she could walk. Her ponytail whipped in the wind. She kept one hand on the uneven unshimmery gray wall as she took one halting step at a time.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eUnshimmery?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe wove back and forth and faltered, her steps unsteady, as she advanced toward the fish house. “Becky,” she shouted, her voice straining, “Juneau’s in trouble.” Her words blew back in her face, thrown by the wind as if by a petulant child.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eJust as she reached the fish house, Becky opened the door. “Get Andy, it’s Juneau,” Shannon said, exhausted, leaning on the nearest counter. Without a moment’s hesitation, Becky whipped out her radio and called the vet.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Come down to the pool and tell me what happened,” Becky said as she raced by Shannon.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBecky would handle it. Shannon relaxed. What little energy she’d mustered seeped out the soles of her boots.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eCan’t rest. Get back down there and help. Well. Maybe she would grab an energy bar from Becky’s stash.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003eShe pushed off the counter with a groan, stumbled to the cabinet where Becky kept her snacks, unpeeled the energy bar, and began the slow, unsteady journey back to Juneau.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eAndy rushed her way from the walrus pools. He charged past as the hare would pass the turtle, but she kept moving, wobbling, the wind swirling around her. At last she reached the pool. Becky barked into the radio she held in one hand, and into the cell phone she held in the other.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe didn’t shimmer either.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003eThis troubled Shannon.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBut why?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon found herself looking at Becky’s legs. Andy’s too. Two legs. Her eyes wandered to her own legs.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eYes, two.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShe blinked.\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSo strange, these thoughts.\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eBecky stepped in front of her, grabbing her under both arms and easing her to the ground. “You sit, girlfriend. Our friendly neighborhood paramedics are on the way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThen Becky turned back to Juneau. More staff arrived, other people Shannon didn’t recognize.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon chewed on her energy bar and tried to focus on bits of conversation over the next few minutes, voices raised above the noise of the wind, but she couldn’t concentrate for more than a second or two.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“…some kind of biochemical leak?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“…getting hazmat down here right now.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Juneau can’t breathe on her own. We haven’t got the equipment to deal with it….”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“The research center has agreed take the whale; they’ve got their water tank truck coming.”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e“Where’s the woman who saw it happen?” an unidentified voice asked. Becky pointed at Shannon and took a step over to her. “Are you feeling better? Can you tell us what’s wrong with her?”\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eShannon mumbled, but didn’t know if anyone understood her, didn’t even know what she’d said.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eSomeone, maybe Andy, said, “…don’t see anything obvious, but\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003esomething\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003ehappened here.”\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Bublish, Inc.","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41737472442538,"sku":"9781950282906","price":12.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/PowerofThree_ebook.jpg?v=1666191315"},{"product_id":"misfits-and-heroes-west-from-africa-revised-version-9781453755037","title":"Misfits and Heroes: West from Africa - revised version","description":"\u003cp class=\"p1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e“5\/5 stars. \u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s2\"\u003eMisfits \u0026amp; Heroes\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s1\"\u003e approaches a historical confluence of human exploration and geographic configuration from the viewpoint of two ordinary people thrust into extraordinary circumstances. Rollins has created an entirely believable prehistoric world with genuine characters and exciting adventures. The text is both lyrical and stark, where required, and Rollins' style is effortless and highly engaging.“\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"Apple-converted-space\"\u003e  \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cspan class=\"s2\"\u003e—Janine Stinson, ForeWord Clarion Reviews\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA thief offers a woman a chance at a new life by cutting her bonds, beginning a journey that will take both of them downriver and out to the coast of West Africa. The time is 12,000 BC, and war is breaking out between the villages on the coast. Frantic to escape, the two travelers join others fleeing the chaos of battle. They think they'll be safe if they head down the coast by boat, but the sea sweeps them out into a new, very different world and a destiny they couldn't have imagined.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter receiving her Masters degree in English, Rollins taught composition and literature, including World Literature and Latin American Literature, and became fascinated by the extraordinary wealth of ancient Mesoamerican culture, which is often overlooked in history books. This research, as well as travel to ancient sites in Africa, Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras, provided the inspiration for this book. It deals with early explorers in the Western Hemisphere - amazing people who dared to leave everything they knew behind and create a new life in a new world.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Createspace Independent Publishing Platform","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":41992180596906,"sku":"9781453755037","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/42DB8560-84C5-4472-BB02-0C763A05101D.jpg?v=1641432472"},{"product_id":"a-meeting-of-clans-9781494986704","title":"A Meeting of Clans","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eShe slumped against the rock and hugged her arm close to her body. \"Do I have a clan? I bear the marks of my clan, my history from the day I left childhood behind to the moment I was accepted as a fully initiated member, right here, written for all to see, yet I ran away from my clan before they could finish killing me.\"\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e \u003cp\u003eLured to the mysterious rock by prophetic dreams, Nulo the dwarf discovers what he always knew he would find: a sign that his South Pacific tribe is not alone in the new land.\u003c\/p\u003e \u003cp\u003eBut not everyone welcomes the news. Some, including Nulo's wife, want to ignore the strangers, but Nulo knows they must meet the people who left the message carved on the stone. He doesn't know that others also roam the wild country, men pushed out of their villages and left to survive any way they can.\u003c\/p\u003e \u003cp\u003eThe third entry in the Misfits and Heroes series, \u003ci\u003eA Meeting of Clans\u003c\/i\u003e follows a group from the north coast and one from the south coast as they push across the wild interior of what is now southern Mexico, 14,000 years ago. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAbout the Author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKathleen Flanagan Rollins worked as a composition and literature professor at Mott College in Flint, Michigan. While there, she developed an interest in early explorers in the Americas.\u003c\/p\u003e \u003cp\u003eThis interest only grew when she traveled to ancient sites in Guatemala and Mexico. Inspired by her adventures, Rollins began her popular Misfits and Heroes series. This includes \u003ci\u003eMisfits and Heroes: West from Africa\u003c\/i\u003e, which was listed as one of Kirkus Reviews' Best of 2011, and \u003ci\u003ePast the Last Island\u003c\/i\u003e. 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The romance is slow burn but leads to moderate steam. \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eCurse of the Wolf King\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e is a complete stand-alone novel set in the same world as \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Fair Isle Trilogy\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e. Journey back to Faerwyvae or begin your adventure for the first time with this enchanting tale. Each book in the \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eEntangled with Fae\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e series can be read on its own and in any order. Happily ever after guaranteed!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Crystal Moon Press","offers":[{"title":"Paperback","offer_id":42422270492842,"sku":"9780578868707","price":16.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0440\/3626\/0000\/products\/img_2edc3d61-7360-4389-96d6-7bcbd0c1f344.jpg?v=1643669839"},{"product_id":"the-winding-9781647043919","title":"The Winding","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\"An expansive, genre-bending story for readers craving romance combined with gripping sci-fi.… [T]he thrilling plot is as expansive as it is gripping...\" \u003cem\u003e—\u003c\/em\u003eBookLife\u003cem\u003e \u003c\/em\u003e\u003cem\u003e(Publisher’s Weekly)\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003eWould you change reality for love?\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eMorally complex, orphan, and absolute genius Vincent Abajian is hellbent to uncover all he can on Artificial Intelligence. 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And for that, \u003cem\u003eThe Winding i\u003c\/em\u003es an absolute must-read.”\u003cstrong\u003e —\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eVincent Dudlado for \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eReaders’ Favorite\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“An intelligent, transporting time-travel tale brimming with music, ideas, emotion, imagination, and possibility. This is a stunner.”\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cspan data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e—\u003c\/span\u003e\u003cb data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003ci data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003eThe BookView Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“Avi Datta spins an intricate and inventive sci-fi narrative that engages the mind and merges several interesting themes...\u003ci\u003eThe Winding\u003c\/i\u003e does a fantastic job of portraying the emotions and thoughts of the protagonist through comprehensive internal dialogue.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Manhattan Book Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e“The Winding\u003c\/em\u003e captures you from the first page and keeps you hooked until the end...and you find yourself\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan\u003e \u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003eglued to the pages as the reveals keep churning out with each turn of the page.” \u003cstrong\u003e—\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003ePikasho Deka for \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eReaders’ Favorite\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“A compelling, extraordinarily readable book…Datta skillfully uses usual time-travel tropes mixed with the elements of an alternate reality, but where this book really shines is in its cleverly constructed plot and immaculately drawn characters...The cliffhanger ending will raise readers’ fervor for the next installment. Fans of morally serious hard SF will be greatly rewarded. Datta is an author to watch.” —\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eThe Prairies Book Review\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e“A story that pleasantly teases your ability to grasp and perceive information with every flip of the page… With a gripping and engrossing plot, Avi Datta adopts a complex style of writing, presenting his thoughts and ideas through random flashbacks and digging back and forth into the story…”\u003cstrong\u003e \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e—Keith Mbuya for\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cspan\u003e Reader’s Favorite\u003c\/span\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"The Winding\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/em\u003eis an innovative science fiction tale that mixes action with deep introspection to create an engaging and sometimes surprising narrative. It'll be interesting to see what Datta has in store for readers in the next volume in the Time Corrector series.” \u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e—\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cem\u003e\"The Winding \u003c\/em\u003eis an intricately detailed story full of deep emotion. It also makes the improbable seem possible. However, what really stands out is not just how well the plot is constructed with all of its connections but how deeply the characters connect to one another.\u003cem\u003e \u003c\/em\u003eIf you enjoy love stories with a bit of science fiction such as \u003cem\u003eThe Time Traveler's Wife \u003c\/em\u003eor books like \u003cem\u003eThe Great Gatsby\u003c\/em\u003e this book is an excellent read and well worth the time. If you just love great stories, this is a must read book. And the best part is this is only the first in the series. It will be exciting to see where it goes from here.”\u003cstrong\u003e —Adam Wright of \u003cem\u003e\u003ci\u003eReedsy Discovery\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/em\u003e\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eAuthor Bio:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eDr. Avi Datta is the author of the genre-bending sci-fi series, Time Correctors. \u003cem\u003eThe Winding\u003c\/em\u003e is his debut novel and the first one in the series. He is a Professor of Strategy and Entrepreneurship at Illinois State University. He is also the director of the University’s Center for Entrepreneurial studies. He researches and publishes in Radical Innovation, Management of Innovation, Technology Strategy, and Strategic Entrepreneurship. 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