Get Hooked: Luna Marina and the McMachina by G.A. Costa & A.R. Costa

Title: Luna Marina and the McMachina (The Adventures of Luna Marina Blue Book 1)
Author: G.A. Costa & A.R. Costa
Publisher: G.A. Costa & A.R. Costa
Pages: 485
Genre: Young Adult
Format: Paperback/Kindle

Fourteen-year-old Luna Marina Blue has the temper and disposition of a sailor (with the language and the manners to match)!

She's mad at everyone and everything around her, but what has her maddest of all is that it's the first day of school and summer vacation is over. Poor Little Luna has had it with all her shallow friends and the stupid grown-ups who make demands and refuse to listen to her. When one of her classmates recounts her 'wonderful'  summer vacation on an Italian farm, an idyllic place right out of the 1950's, where she told of hayrides, dances, parties and stolen kisses, Luna starts daydreaming about going back in time. She
desperately wants to be in Old Italy during the 1950's, and experience all that for herself.

Luna imagines how she would wow and impress all the poor 'backward' farm people with her beauty, modern look and 'new-age' style; she  would be a little queen and the star of everyone's attention, she just knew it! Later that day, after getting suspended from school and punished at home, Luna gets the chance to have her wish come true. Mad at everyone and convinced that no one cared for her or would even notice if she went missing, Luna accepts the offer, thus  beginning her own Grand Odyssey.

Going back in time to the farming community in and around the Italian town of Pontecorvo during the 1950's, Luna Marina Blue embarks on a journey of personal discovery and realizes that the so-called 'backward' farm people are just as educated, intelligent, and capable as she is (if not more so). She also learns some valuable life lessons and family secrets along the way.

Homesick and desperate to get back to her original family, whom she spurned so easily before, yet learning to love an entirely new family in Old Italy, Luna is torn between her old life in modern times, and the new one she found in the 1950’s.

Luna Marina Blue has a choice to make, one which will echo throughout her entire life and beyond ...Will she stay? Will she go back? What a conundrum!

Teens from fourteen to ninety-four will enjoy taking this journey with Luna, watching her grow from an immature child to a thoughtful and  intelligent young woman, all the while sharing the exciting adventures and wonderful surprises that lie ahead ...

This is a wholesome, feel-good and heartwarming tale that the entire family can enjoy together! Not only will teens and preteens love this story, but adults will as well.

For More Information

• Luna Marina is available at Amazon.
• Visit the book’s Facebook Page.
• Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

Book Excerpt:

Luna Marina Blue is dreaming the most perfect dream ever! On her head she’s wearing a jeweled crown made from solid gold and inlaid with delicate silver designs, passed down through the ages, waiting for the moment it could rest on her pretty head. Her long, dark, and lustrous hair (in real life her hair is short and dark) hangs nearly to her waist beautifully. She’s wearing a long and soft gown of blue velvet which seems to glow with its own inner light, matching her eyes perfectly.  Hundreds of people are there, and they all love, adore and admire her and every last one of them looks at her with great expectation. Luna Marina Blue is celebrating her fourteenth birthday and she’s having the time of her life at this unbelievable party. Her birthday party was organized by her Fairy Godmother, Giselle, and everything was done in pink and blue, Luna’s favorite colors. There are fluffy clouds of pink and white, with red and blue roses growing out of them on long, leafy stems. There are big, bright balloons of bright yellow and green (and of course blue and pink as well).  The multilayered birthday cake is pink, white, and frosted silver, taller than Luna herself, with fourteen bright candles and sugar flowers in all the colors of the rainbow.  Besides her entire family and all her friends, the guests are very famous and important people, all dressed beautifully in every color imaginable and all are happy just to be invited. But the best one would be the secret guest.  Giselle had kept quiet about the biggest surprise of all. She said that his last name was Charming and she had laughed joyfully, her tinkling laugh making everyone smile. Luna doesn’t dare say who she thinks this guest would be, but she’s hoping. Then the secret guest finally reveals himself, and she meets THE PRINCE! She looks up into his beautiful eyes and falls completely in love at first sight. This Gorgeous Prince is humble, charming, tall and dashing. He looks admiringly into her deep blue eyes, kisses her tiny hand, and then he wants to kiss HER.  Luna is anticipating the loveliest kiss in the world, drinking him in eagerly. Then she goes for the kiss slowly, jubilantly, their lips getting closer and closer. Just when their lips start to touch and JUST as they start what Luna knows FOR SURE is the most WONDERFUL kiss ever……….she hears someone yelling in the background:

“LUNA, WAKE UP SWEETHEART! FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!!.......”  Somebody is shaking her awake. Her Mom is pretty and petite, with short dark hair and blue eyes, perky and sporty, always wearing white sneakers and white cotton shirts on the outside of her slim, neat tailored jeans.  She’s usually kind, gentle and loving, and today she’s really proud of her Little Luna Blue for graduating to the 9th grade.  While she bustles around Luna’s room, she keeps telling her how much she will enjoy seeing her friends, meeting new teachers and maybe even meeting a nice boy to date. But Luna is grumpy, tired and irritable. Slow to wake up, she just wants to stay in bed, blast her music and forget about everyone and everything. She was in the middle of the most perfect dream ever, when Mom unknowingly woke her up AT THE WORST POSSIBLE MOMENT!! And even if she hadn’t, she would have awoken some time anyway, it was just a dream and not real after all. Bummer!

It’s the First Day of School, and summer vacation is over. How can her Mom be so cheerful, so sweet, so nice, so HAPPY, while Luna is so grumpy?! How can she be that CHIPPER on an awful day like this?  Doesn’t she know that Luna just wants to be left alone and revel in her bad moods? Luna blames everything on her parents, but actually she’s just being her usual grumpy, spoiled, pouty, pissed-off little self. Let’s face it, petite little Luna Marina Blue has the temper and disposition of a sailor (with the manners and the language to match)!  On this particular morning she desperately wants to stay in her rumpled bed and talk to her friends about how bad things are at home and how pissed off she is that Mom makes her clean her room while continuously telling her to be respectful to her elders. Not all of them command respect, as Luna and her friends well know; some of these ELDERS are pretty mean and stupid, like the crossing guard in front of the school.  She’s forty if she’s a day, and she hollers at them to stay put, even when everyone could see that there are no cars coming.  If Mom tells her to do stupid things, dad talks at her like she’s a child.  He demands that she help with chores, while saying:

“No!”  To her spoiled-brat wishes, wants and ravings.  Her brother Kyle is another story all by himself.  The chubby, blondish, spiky-haired eight-years-old is the bane of Luna’s life.  This morning, when she comes down to breakfast, Kyle is already installed at the kitchen table, the smile on his pudgy little face a prelude of things to come.  Luna scrunches her face at the good and nutritious breakfast Mom made: 

“Why can’t we have pastries, brownies, strawberries in clotted cream and other good stuff for breakfast?” She says. And then, with a little snobbish look, she demands:  “I would like a continental breakfast, if you please!  A chocolate croissant and a cappuccino, thank you!” Mom giggles while she serves her a bowl of creamy oatmeal with a bunch of fresh blueberries sprinkled on top, and a fluffy biscuit split and decorated with a pat of butter and a spoon of marmalade.  Mom puts the food on the table with a flourish:

“You are being served, Ms. Blue!”  She snaps the white kitchen towel she carries over her arm, and she says with a smile: “Luna, Honey, please don’t scrunch up your face like that or it will freeze that way!”  Luna’s blue eyes flash in anger, and her black hair sticking up everywhere gives her the look of an angry little Medusa. This morning she wore her tightest cropped jeans full of holes, and she tied her already short shirt around her waist.  Her midriff is bare, and her petite little figure is showing curves she doesn’t even have yet.  She looks much older than fourteen.  Her dad, tall, slim and handsome, with blondish brown hair and brown eyes, an esteemed podiatrist, frowns at her, and sternly says:

“Show your Mom some respect, Luna Marina Blue!  And go change your clothes! You’re going to school, not a beauty contest!” Then he pecks all their collective cheeks quickly, checks his neat suit in the hallway mirror, grabs his leather bag and runs off to work without another word.  While this was going on, Kyle had been trying to kick her under the table the whole time, forcing her to sit sideways.  So, just before she leaves, Luna drops her spoon, bends down to pick it up, and pinches his leg meanly.  Then Luna runs out to the bus (in the same clothes) with a quick:

“Bye!” accompanied by Kyle’s howls and her mother’s soft and reassuring voice.

On the bus, the little Rug Rat Brats, who get dropped off at the kindergarten in the basement of her school, start getting under her skin immediately, and she’s just mean to them, telling them to shut up and disappear.  She gets even madder as the little brats start making fun of her in response to her Stone Face, calling out:

 “Luna-Tic, Luna-Tic, my Big Sister’s a Luna-Tic!” making faces and sticking out their tongues, making her get redder and redder, whereupon they laugh even harder:

“Kyle, you are SOOOO going to be TOAST when I get home! I Promise You!”  Of course that was one of Kyle’s little ditties, Luna figures, as she fumes all the way to school.

About the Authors

G. A. Costa was born in Pawtucket, RI. He grew up in Seekonk, MA and now resides near Boston.  He attended The Perkins School for the Blind until Junior High, where, as a child, he started learning how to sing and play the keyboard.  After outgrowing Perkins, he attended Junior High in Watertown, MA.  He then came home to Attend High School in Seekonk, MA, where he received High Honors and was inducted into The National Honor Society.  While at Seekonk High, he joined 'The Verdandi Male Choir for Swedish Singers' with whom he traveled the country singing in concerts.  After high school, he was accepted at SMU (now UMASS Dartmouth), and graduated with a B.S. in Computer Science and with a minor in Sociology.  After graduation, he wrote for a computer magazine and designed computer games.  Besides writing, he now plays various instruments, including the guitar and drums, while continuing to sing and write music. Other interests include any and all kinds of science and physics, reading, listening to music, and electric trains.

A. R. Costa was born in Milan, Italy, just before the Second World War, and was raised in Pontecorvo, Italy, in the Province of Frosinone.  She obtained a teaching degree from 'The Fancy School in Town' when she was twenty, and soon after she was married in The San Bartholomew Cathedral, right across from her house.  Since her mother was born in Fall River, Ma, and always talked about her life in America, Alessandra decided to 'come home' to the USA, and her entire family came with her and her husband.  Now the author and her two children, her brother, sister, their children and grandchildren are all spread out very close to their roots, in and around Fall River, Massachusetts, in the Good, Old U.S. of A.  Her parents, Nonno and Nonna, lie peacefully next to each other, near their family and together forever.

Their latest book is the young adult novel, Luna Marina and the McMachina.

For More Information

• Connect with the authors on Facebook and Twitter.
• Find out more about the authors at Goodreads.

Get Hooked: The Temple of All Knowing by Lee Papa #GetHooked

Title: The Temple of All Knowing
Author: Lee Papa
Publisher: WaveCloud Corporation
Pages: 186
Genre: Memoir
Format: Paperback/Kindle

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The Temple of All Knowing is a memoir of one woman’s passage from personal and professional turmoil to spiritual awakening. A compelling straight forward and sometimes humorous account of the most personal of journeys as this 40-something woman finds herself in Sin City with promise of a new life, new husband and elderly mother living with her. She instead is uncovered as a central character in the deepest of possible challenges only to break through to discover her authentic spiritual self through a near death experience and a personal mission in Soul City – Las Vegas.

Book Excerpt:

The phone rang; it was Delphine. It was a Sunday afternoon early 2008. I took the call and moved to the denim-covered glider that was in my 3-year old son’s room to have the conversation.

            My sister calling was not odd, but she opened with “Can you talk? I have an urgent message from Aunt Beatrice.” 

            My sister practices meditation in which she regularly communicates with Spirit beings and our dead relatives. In everyday conversation, Delphine would mention things like, “I spoke to Dad or Uncle John …” (both had passed), and relate a story or an emotional healing process she went through while receiving the communication. I thought this was amazing and believed in the possibility, when Delphine, or De for short, would discuss this other worldly messaging.

I would find myself having an internal dialogue debating if she was actually making this connection or was she delusional. When she would speak of something that she “received” from the Spirit world, and I would come to realize she could not have otherwise known, a fleeting twinge of jealousy peaked in the window of my subconscious. Could she really be speaking with Dad and Aunt Bea? And if she is, how come SHE is the one with this ability? I was not proud of it, but I was most definitely questioning the decision of the Universe to have Delphine be the messenger of heaven. 

            My sister was not the one of the three of us girls whom you would consider to be the “good” one or the most religious growing up, but actually to the contrary. She would have been described as the Bull in the China Shop by my mother, as the one most apt to finger point or cause trouble. Sophia, the eldest, had the first born light shining upon her by my mother and father, even though, she was what some would consider a problem child for she pushed the envelope of life in so many ways. Her antics included jumping out of the 2nd story building of our private high school to skipping class and developing the first female tackle football team in her teenage years, to much more complicated and explorative behaviors that provided my parents with reasons to call on prayer and saintly assistance. 

            Delphine was the quiet one as the middle child of our youth, until she found her voice later in her teens. She was often over-shadowed by the exuberance and manipulation of Sophia when she was being used as a co-conspirator for our eldest sister’s secretive escapades of the 1970s.  When I came around, my role of the “baby of the family” was not always appreciated by my older sisters, and as I matured, the less they liked this pedestal I was propped up on as “the good one.”

            How is she doing it?  I thought. How is De getting these messages from Aunt Bea?

            My elderly Aunt Bea had died more than 10 years earlier while in the presence of my mother, my sister, Delphine, one of my older female cousins, and me in the living room of our family home. I had lived in that house from the time I was born until I got married to my first husband, Anthony, at age 20. 

            Our house was a 3 bedroom, middle class row home in Baltimore City, Maryland. The 12 by 12 foot front room, where I grew up and where we watched TV programs on the console television that offered just three major stations for your viewing enjoyment. Although the room was small, when we were little and the family piled in to watch Sonny & Cher, it felt huge. As the entry room to our family home, I experienced most of my fond memories there. This is where we opened our Christmas gifts under our decorated 5-foot Frasier fir tree that stood seemingly tall, as if it could reach the stars on a wooden platform, to set the stage for this holiday focal point. In reality, the Christmas tree was no taller than the height I currently stand.  

            Christmas was a very special time in our Catholic family. Not overly religious, mind you, but the whole Santa Clause phenomenon was beautifully orchestrated with all the mystery and wonder that a child could hope to receive. The Christmas tree was secretly stored in the basement well of the stairs until we kids were all asleep and then my parents would work through the night to make a spectacular show of lights and hand-wrapped presents from old paper bags and twine adorned with our names scribbled on by “elves.” This was a tradition handed down from my mother’s family who grew up during the depression and fancy wrapping paper was a luxury. Christmas was magical! 

            After my parents would signal that Santa had indeed arrived, my sister Sophia and I would rush down the stairs to witness the light show of the tree, and we would tear through our presents leaving no time for individual gift lingering. Delphine, on the other hand, was not so quick; instead, she would slowly and methodically use her scissors to gently unwrap each gift with all the appreciation of an unwrapped Tiffany blue box that none of us had ever experienced. Later as we became adults, Delphine would prop herself preciously on the couch, and while filing her nails, would direct me to the spots on the tree that were missing lights and Christmas balls.

            This is the same living room where my nature-loving father would let our hamster out of the cage while directing us three children to lie on the floor and make a circular barrier with our arms. That little chubby, furry rodent was a family pet, and we loved him. My dad loved animals, so we had a bunch of them from Dutch rabbits, to hamsters, cats, and frogs - but never a dog. My mother was afraid of dogs. The hamster outing was strategically orchestrated during the time of my mother’s weekly visit to the Farmers Market in downtown Baltimore across from the corner row house where she grew up, and where several of her sisters still lived. Mom would not have tolerated such nonsense and activity on her prized oriental rug. This was the room where my Aunt Bea allowed me to lie down on the sofa when I was a child, and she would stroke my head and rub my back until I would fall asleep. She had such a loving and confident manner. I always felt safe with her. 

            My mother’s side of the family was the most involved and influential in our lives, especially Aunt Bea. She was the family matriarch, our lifeline and leader.  She was loving, intelligent, strong, certainly had her opinions, some may say controlling ones, but if it weren’t for her emotional and financial support, we and her sisters’ and brother’s families would not have had as many essentials provided for and certainly not any niceties. 

            She was a savvy businesswoman, so deferring to her made sense. For her era, Aunt Bea was super cool and open minded, rising to heights in her profession at C&P Telephone Company when women were just starting to be acknowledged in the workforce. She was a petite woman with an incredible sense of style and pep in her step that oozed confidence and excitement for the possibilities of life. It also made it difficult to walk with her as she was down the block before you had taken your first step. Aunt Bea never married, but made her siblings’ families her own. Sometimes the involvement would have been considered today as “too much.” There is usually a price to pay when you are being rescued. But I loved her and I thought she was amazing, just as my mother did.  Aunt Bea was my mother’s best friend.

            Aunt Bea believed in reincarnation before it was an accepted concept to consider openly, as this was the 1950s and 60s when my sisters and I were born. We were raised in a devout Catholic family, and such things were not dinner topics, nor was it on our radar at that time. 

            As easily as it was for me to pull up these cherished memories, it was the hope and promise that communication could continue from beyond death.

Get Hooked: Open Your Heart for Happy Relationships 10 Shift Keys by Eve Picquette #gethooked

Title: Open Your Heart for Happy Relationships: 10 Shift Keys – What Your Angels Have Been Trying to Tell You for Centuries
Author: Eve Picquette
Publisher: Enchanted Eve, Inc.
Pages: 78
Genre: Self Help/Inspiration
Format: Paperback

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How many times have you read or seen something that made you want to change your life and relationships – but you didn’t know how? Introduced by two angels, Hope and Impatience, Open Your Heart for Happy Relationships – What Your Angels Have Been Trying to Tell You for Centuries… answers the “how” question. Eve Picquette shows readers how to:

·        Open their hearts to love

·        Shift their lives, using 10 keys—how-to-do-it ideas created with the help of angels of inspiration—to change in real and satisfying ways.

In this lighthearted, uplifting, and beautifully illustrated gift book, each chapter opens with images of the author’s angels and quotes she believes were angel-inspired sometime in history. Readers may also download companion MP3 Mini Meditations available on Amazon.com. They are “Dared to Shift” their thoughts and behaviors and these shifts will improve lives and relationships: • Shift 1: Always Connect to Love • Shift 2: Just Stop It, Really • Shift 3: It’s All About You • Shift 4: It’s Not About You • Shift 5: Give Up on the Past • Shift 6: Expect the Best Future • Shift 7: Appreciate Everything Now • Shift 8: Re-Choose Your Relationships • Shift 9: Handle Conflict with Grace • Shift 10: Love So it Can be Felt.

If you are ready to try these simple shifts, the results will amaze you. Every encouraging and comforting word in this beautifully illustrated self-help book will lead you to the path of peace, happiness, and fulfillment. A treasure to own, it would also serve as a thoughtful, caring, and loving gift.

 

Book Excerpt:

WHAT WILL I GET OUT OF THIS?

An extra two hours per day!

A British writer for the Daily Mail in 2011 estimated that many Britons fret more than 2.5 hours per day, and they are likely not alone. If that seems excessive, think about the time you think while driving, in the bathroom, and in the shower. Are you thinking positive thoughts of gratitude? Probably not (at least, I don’t always think thoughts of gratitude!). Perhaps you can allow yourself a few minutes of fretting and planning on productive subjects, where some planning or action may change the outcome and make you feel more secure.  If you stopped worrying about the potential global disasters and things totally beyond your control, that would free up possibly two hours a day.  Dr. Siegel cited a study that got my attention – Patients in a control group for a new chemotherapy drug were given nothing but saline, yet they were warned it could be chemotherapy and 30% of them lost their hair.  Do not underestimate the power of your thoughts!  You could be thinking about something positive, uplifting, or fun with your time. Worrying and fretting fall way down the emotional and vibrational scale, somewhere between despair and frustration. Remember—shifting to peace and gratitude will raise your vibration and attract more for which to be grateful.

Get Hooked: Daughter of the Fallen by Madeline Wynn & Win $50 Amazon Gift Card!!!

Title: Daughter of the Fallen
Author: Madeline Wynn
Publisher: Book Baby
Pages: 250
Genre: YA paranormal
Format: Paperback

Purchase at AMAZON

Most sixteen-year olds aren't worried about the fate of their immortal souls. May Krieg should be.

Typically, honor student May's biggest problems have revolved around her super-hot arch-rival, Jack. But when a school project takes them ghost-hunting in a local cemetery, she discovers that an ominous force roams in the darkness around her.

And it follows her home.

It claws its way into her life, burning messages into her wall and imprinting them onto her body. Even worse, she can't tell if it's trying to possess her... or protect her.

May's thoughts soon become actions, causing the target of her anger severe physical pain and giving her a rush the likes of which she has never experienced.  She quickly realizes that she needs to find a way to reign in this power before she kills someone. May hates the pleasure it gives her, hates herself for hurting others, but she can't stop.

As her entire world shatters around her, she is forced to ask what her soul is worth-- and who would she risk losing her soul to save?

Book Excerpt:

This is New England. And in New England, a town without a good witch hanging or ghost story just, well, isn’t considered to be a real town.  So when I walk past the iron gate of the cemetery and feel the urge to bolt riding up my legs like a herd of football players bum-rushing the food counter on taco day, I set my shoulders and do my best to cowboy up.

 Set between imposing stone walls and punctured by large granite fists, Hillside Cemetery definitely looks like it deserves its sinister reputation, making my attempt at bravery rather brief.  “This place sucks. Maybe we should just go.”

“Here, watch your step,” Cay says and holds out his hand to help me over the uneven cobbles just on the other side of the entry. Once we make it over the stones, he drops my hand and pulls the recording equipment out of the duffle.

We’ve been friends ever since kindergarten, when some boy taunted me for living in a “little troll house.”  Cay, the kickball king, told him that it was actually a gingerbread house, and everybody knows that only fairy princesses live in gingerbread houses. 

He was wrong, of course; it was witches who lived in the gingerbread houses, a fact I pointed out to him later, but I gave him props for the effort.  We’ve been “Cay and May” ever since, but the whole dating thing still feels… awkward.

“Is this all from school or is Jack bringing some of his dad’s?” I swipe an errant curl of hair out of my face and cringe at my surroundings as I reach for the big videocamera.  Why does it have to be so dark?  Why can’t people ghost hunt in the daylight?  You can still supposed get sound bites and whatever in the daytime, right?  It’s not like ghosts go anywhere or sleep or, you know, whatever.

          “Well, the big stuff is the professional gear with night vision from school.  And then we have my stuff.”  Cay stops in front of a wide tomb, laying his multiple cameras and his mini video recorder along the top like they are the most precious things in the world. “Weird that Mr. Dowd put both you and Jack on my team.” 

           “Yeah, weird.”  And a nightmare. If it wasn’t for Jack, I’d be ranked first in our year, and, unlike Jack, if I don’t earn a ton of scholarship money for college, then I can’t go. 

Cay fumbles with the equipment, his breath rising in great grey puffs of frost, lingering in his dark bob of curls.  I shiver.  

A BMW pulls up in front of the entry gate, looking sleek and new and out of place.

I run an unsteady hand through my untamable hair…right…Jack.

He gets out of the car and strides towards us, stepping out into the camera’s lights: short blond hair, high cheekbones, and a long neck leading to strong shoulders.  Everyone at school, except for me, that is, adores him because he’s rich, intelligent and supposedly lost his virginity to a Victoria’s Secret model.

Watching the god-like way he strides across the cemetery, you can almost believe the hype.  He lifts his eyes to meet mine as he nods a greeting.  My heart flips.  

Of course, it would be easier to dislike him if he wasn’t so damn… hot.  I shake my head.  I hate that about him, too.

“You’re late.”  I grab the sound gear from Cay and hand it to him, eyeing the orange-clad harpy of a girl trailing after him.

“I had to pick up Alicia.”  He indicates the thing as he straps on the professional sound gear.  “And respond to your post on the AP History board about gun control.”

I huff.  “You think we should arm everyone with a credit card?”

“What I think is irrelevant, Mason.”  Jack’s the only one in the universe who calls me by my full name. “It’s what the Founding Fathers wanted that matters.”  He holds out his hand to help me navigate my way over a broken tomb.  I ignore it.  He smirks, “Or do you not support the Bill Of Rights?”

God, please keep me from throttling him tonight.  Cay clears his throat.

          “WTF, losers?  A graveyard?” Alicia Impestio. Wearing her designer hoodie unzipped so that she reveals way more skin than she has to, her straight brown hair is bleached at the tips and held off of her over-tanned face by some rhinestone-studded catastrophe.  I grit my teeth. 

          “Hey Alicia, glad you could make it.”  Cay holds the minicam out towards her and helps her onto the cobbled path of the graveyard.

          “Whatever.”  Alicia grabs the mini and swats at Cay’s hand as she struggles to gain a foothold.  A challenging endeavor, I’m sure, for someone wearing flip-flops in November. 

          She gives me the once-over, lips curling. 

“You really wore that?”  She asks, mouth open with disdain. 

“Alicia…”  Jack’s voice is low, menacing.

“I mean” –she gives me the once-over and sneers- “Aren’t the Kardashians some of you people?  They at least know how to dress.  But, then again, they also know who their daddy is.”  

          That’s Alicia: hitting where it hurts. I blink through the stinging at my eyes as my mind races to find something snarky to say...something to…

          “Alicia,” Jack snaps. “Stop.”

“Fine, but tell Clay Aiken over there to hurry it.  I’m cold.”

          Jack makes a motion with his head to indicate that Cay should ignore her as he adjusts the weight of the portable boom on his back.

“Okay, I’m filming.”  I say and catch the low-hanging harvest moon before panning down to Cay.  “In three, two, one…”

“This is Cayden Robison of Chase Hills High Broadcasting reporting on site at Hillside Cemetery. In 1734, three witches were reportedly hung just up the road, on the town green and buried, here, in this cemetery, in unmarked graves.”

“Then, in 1864, three men were arrested for grave digging, and ever since, people have reported strange things not only here, but especially out behind the burial grounds, in the woods.” Cay runs his hand along the top of a worn tombstone.

“Reports of paranormal activity really began to pick up in the past thirty years.”  He pauses, and I pan the camera over to the creepy oak and the broken bench beneath it, hands a little unsteady.  “Some people claim to hear voices, others see full-body apparitions, but most convincingly, in the 1980s, some kids back here partying say that they found satanists performing rituals in the woods.  They watched as the group made a make-shift temple of one of the half-buried barite mines in the woods, and claim that the men actually raised a demon.”

He stops, looking intently into the lens of my camera. I flex my fingers, my breath rushed, like I’ve been running.

“Tonight, we’re going to dig for the truth and see if Hillside Cemetery is actually haunted.”  Cays smiles.

          Deep breath, May.  It’s just a story.  Fairytales. There’s no such thing as demons, or ghosts.  

About the Author

Madeline Wynn holds a master's degree in procrastination.  When she's not writing, she can be found ghost hunting, gardening and parading around her home state of Connecticut with her husband, dog and two kids.

Her latest book is the YA paranormal, Daughter of the Fallen.

For More Information

• Visit Madeline Wynn’s website.
• Connect with Madeline on Facebook and Twitter.

GIVEAWAY

Madeline Wynn is giving away a $50 Amazon Gift Card!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter.
• This giveaway begins November 3 and ends January 31.
• Winner will be contacted via email on Monday, February 2.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

 

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Get Hooked: Night Terror by Jeff Gunhus #gethooked

Title: Night Terror
Author: Jeff Gunhus
Publisher: Seven Guns Press
Pages: 400
Genre: Supernatural Thriller/Horror
Format: Kindle

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Ten years after her abduction and near-sacrifice to the Source, Sarah Tremont struggles to be a normal teenager. As much as she’s tried to suppress the power inside of her, it’s grown dangerously strong and has drawn the attention of those who want to possess her power for themselves.

The nightmare that she thought was long over starts again as powerful forces descend upon Prescott City to seek her out. With her parents and Joseph Lonetree’s help, Sarah must stand up to an evil much more powerful than the one she faced in the caves a decade earlier. But in the end, she discovers the greatest danger might come from the power living inside of her. 

Book Excerpt:

The woman didn’t look evil, but there was no better word to describe her. Charlie Winters would wonder later how he could have missed sensing her earlier than he did. It was equivalent to normal people walking halfway through a field only to look down and find themselves thigh-deep in a pile of rotting animal carcasses, the stench hitting them like a wave. After retching their stomach contents, they would question both their senses and their sanity. How could they have missed such a smell? How could they have not felt their feet sinking into the liquefied soft tissue?

Charlie’s senses were better than a normal person’s. Way better.

It had started when he was only a baby, a fact he knew because he still remembered every second of this life since the moment of his birth.  It was a long time before he understood that such a memory was not a normal thing. Other people, normal humans, could not remember the first feeding at their mother’s breast. The hot pain of circumcision. The first glimpse of sunlight as they left the hospital. So many firsts, memories as clear to Charlie as what he’d had for breakfast that day.

Inside those memories, the echoes and shadows of his other unusual senses lingered. The ability to sense emotion. To pick up on intention. Sometimes these abilities strengthened what he observed in the physical world. His grandparents’ cooing excitement over him matched an internal warmth that felt the same as sunshine. His father’s thoughtful stares mirrored Charlie’s sense that his dad would do anything to protect him, to provide for him. Even if there was an undercurrent of trepidation that vibrated like a single out-of-tune string on a guitar, the other intentions drowned it out and gave Charlie a sense of comfort. This was very different from his mother, whose kind smiles and soft features once masked a nearly constant desire to kill him.

Her thoughts alternated between putting a pillow over his head or dropping him down the basement stairs. In darker moments, when his father was gone overnight for a business trip, she would consider carving up her child with a knife. Even going as far as pulling a cleaver from the block and slowly running her sweaty palm down the length of the blade. She never did this in front of him, but that was part of his gift. He could see through her eyes. Feel her emotions. Know her dark intentions. And understand that the threat of violence was very, very real.

But as much as she fantasized about it, his mother didn’t kill him. In fact, she never so much as laid a finger on him in anger. Slowly, over time, the dark thoughts faded, and the light inside his mother came to match her soft eyes and the beautiful mouth that sang to him and called him sunshine. A normal person might never have been able to forget the darkness and might never have trusted the woman who once considered taking a ball-peen hammer to his forehead, but he wasn’t normal people. He was special. And it was that specialness that showed him the truth in her absolute love for him once the veils of shadows had fallen away from her like someone passing through heavy curtains.

Much later, Charlie read about a condition called post-partum depression and understood where the dark had come from. It hadn’t been his fault. Or hers. It was the depression that spawned the evil thoughts. And he liked to think it was her love for him that pushed them back enough to keep him safe.

Even after she recovered, he could sense when she felt pangs of guilt about those days. They were like electric bolts jolting through her. When those moments happened, and they could happen at any time, he would come up and hug her, kiss her on the cheek and tell her how much he loved her. At first, she cried harder when he did it, and he sensed her guilt grow even stronger. Later, she puzzled over how he timed the affection to her thoughts. Over time, the puzzling turned to suspicion, even fear that somehow he knew. After that, like with all of his special gifts, he learned it was best to hide.

But he hadn’t hidden his powers well enough.

If he had, then the woman who called herself Mama D would never have come looking for him.

Get Hooked: Blamed by Edie Harris + GIVEAWAY!!!

Title: Blamed
Author: Edie Harris
Publisher: Harlequin Carina Press
Pages: 155
Genre: Romantic Suspense/Espionage
Format: Kindle 

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Born into a long line of spies, sanctioned killers and covert weapons developers, Beth Faraday carried out her first hit-for-hire when she was still a teenager.

That part of her life—the American spy royalty part—ended one year ago, with a job gone wrong in Afghanistan. The collateral damage she caused with a single shot was unfathomable and, for Beth, unforgiveable. She’s worked hard to build a new life for herself, far away from the family business. But someone, somewhere, hasn’t forgotten what Beth did in Kabul. And they want revenge.

As the Faraday clan bands together to defend Beth and protect their legacy, Beth is forced to flee her new home with the unlikeliest of allies—MI6 agent Raleigh Vick, the only man she’s ever loved. And the one she thought she’d killed in the desert.

 

Book Excerpt:

The blood in her mouth tasted like hot pennies.

Flinching as a secondary arterial spray lashed her face, she kept her fingers clenched in her tormenter’s hair, holding his head aloft for the slice of the blade she’d stolen from his toolkit when his back was turned.

That mistake had just cost him his life.

Her stomach lurched, and she shoved the dead man away, wishing he’d deafened her when he boxed her ears on the second—third?—day, so she couldn’t hear the back of his skull hit the concrete floor with a sickening thwack. Her hand shook, the knife threatening to slip from her mangled fingers, but once it fell, she knew she wouldn’t be able to pick it back up, and she couldn’t afford to be weaponless. Injured knuckles white around the slick rubber grip, she staggered back until her shoulders hit the far wall of her prison.

Her torture chamber.

The blood cooling on her face ratcheted her panic up a notch. Every breath was pure agony, broken ribs prodding like iron pokers against her lungs. Every square inch of skin on her back burned like hellfire. Her body was one giant bruise, her mind a tangled mess. Tears spilled down her cheeks, wet and warm—and silent.

She’d not made a sound when she slit her captor’s throat. Her family would be so proud.

The thought made her tears fall faster. A longing for home and the Queen Anne Victorian in which she’d grown up, the same longing she had buried deep for the past year, threatened to bring her to her knees, but no. No. It was just like the knife—if she fell, she’d never get back up, and eventually, someone was going to come looking for the man she had killed.

John. He’d told her his name was John, but surely that was a lie. Monsters never told the truth.

Swallowing her nausea, she stumbled toward John’s crumpled body. The thick pool of blood was unavoidable, though she shuddered when red seeped between her bare toes. Dizziness swamped her when she dropped into a crouch, the hand not holding the blade searching the pockets of John’s cargos for his key card.

Her victory upon locating the card was short-lived when she remembered what came next.

Each time John had “visited” her, it had become harder and harder to stay conscious. Everything in her hurt as she’d never hurt before. The temptation to let her eyes slide shut forever had been so strong, John singing soothingly while he disinfected his tools from their session.

Lullabies. He sang her lullabies. Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top….

She had always remained awake long enough to watch him leave, knowing he’d be back to resume her torture. The key card was merely half the equation when it came to unlocking the door. John’s fingerprint was the other.

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock….

Dragging John’s body to the scanner mounted next to the door was not an option, not in her weakened state. Her gaze caught on his limp hand, and a tremor wracked her. There was no choice. Flattening his palm against the bloody floor, she lowered the knife.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall….

She couldn’t help it—she vomited. But when her retching ceased, she gingerly picked up the severed finger and rose from her crouch. She almost didn’t feel the wetness underfoot anymore, which meant blessed numbness had nearly arrived. Key card first, then the bloody print on the scanner’s screen, and she held her breath.

And down will come baby, cradle and—

The near-silent snick of the steel door unlatching shook John’s voice from her head. Freedom. Oh, God, freedom from this hellhole was so close, so amazingly close she was dizzy with it.

Her tears fell harder. Fuck. Why couldn’t she stop crying?

With a soft whirring noise, the door slid open, and a bunker-style hallway cast in eerie greenish light was revealed. She was underground, as suspected. A memory flashed, of John using a medical scalpel to dig the GPS tracker out from behind her ear. There had been nothing clinical or precise in how he’d wielded that blade.

Can’t have them finding you before we’re done here, little girl.

She didn’t bother looking back at his lifeless form as she eased through the door, still clutching his finger and key card. They might still prove useful in helping her escape this prison; John would not.

Adjusting her grip on the knife, she crept down the hall, ignoring the black spots clouding her vision and the vicious pounding of her head. It felt as though her brain were trying to punch its way through her skull, and she simply didn’t have time for that nonsense, because someone was watching her. Her hazy thoughts pictured the camera mounted in the corner of her cell, its little red dot blinking, always blinking. Someone would know what she’d done to John, and she refused to wait for retaliation to find her.

Run now. Collapse later.

The concrete was cold beneath her sticky, blood-soaked feet, with a chill that crept up her ankles, her calves, making her knees knock together. She was so tired. It had been at least a day since John had given her anything to drink, and he’d never provided food. As she slowly made her way down the empty corridor, her senses began to fail her, the muted buzz in her ears blocking out the faint echo of her rasping breaths. Her adrenaline rush from the kill was over.

Perhaps…perhaps she wouldn’t make it out of here, after all.

A loud sob escaped against her will.

The sounds of footsteps, heavy and booted, broke through the encroaching deafness, and then there he stood in front of her, limned in the faint glow of the bunker lights, a tall man with ice for eyes and a nasty-looking gun.

“Beth.”

She blinked at him through her tears, her relief short-lived as a wave of bitterness

sweeping through her battered body as she saw where, precisely, that gun was aimed. Her voice cracked, breaking low and hoarse when she spoke. “Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame.”

She hummed the rest.

You give love a bad name.

GIVEAWAY:

Edie is giving away one digital copy of Blamed (formats available: PDF & ePub), ‘I Only Kiss Spies’ t-shirt, ‘Lincoln Park After Dark’ OPI nail polish and one bag of Van Houtte ‘Belgian Chocolate’ ground coffee!· 

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter.
• This giveaway begins October 19 and ends December 22.
• Winner will be contacted via email on Tuesday, December 23.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

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