Mystical Mystery Series Book Bundle

Because… and yes I did just start a sentence with because… I like to spoil you I have a triple whammy – three books on sale and to give away. Check out the details and don’t forget to enter the rafflecopter below for a chance to win!

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Three Award-winning Authors—Book Giveaway and Sale

Discover a touch of the mystical and an innovative take on mystery from an international trio of authors. Australian Virginia King, American Amber Foxx and British Marion Eaton – all B.R.A.G. Medallion winners – have teamed up for a giveaway and over a week of discounts from April 21 – 30.

Win a Paperback of Each Book

Enter the drawing below to win a paperback copy of the first book in each author’s series.

Buy each e-book during the sale for only $1.99 US.

The Calling – Amber Foxx

The first Mae Martin Psychic Mystery

Obeying her mother’s warning, Mae Martin-Ridley has spent years hiding her gift of “the sight.” When concern for a missing hunter compels her to use it again, her peaceful life in a small Southern town begins to fall apart. New friends push her to explore her unusual talents, but as she does, she discovers the shadow side of her visions – access to secrets she could regret uncovering.

Gift or curse? When an extraordinary ability intrudes on an ordinary life, nothing can be the same again.

The Mae Martin Series

No murder, just mystery. Every life hides a secret, and love is the deepest mystery of all.

Website & buy the ebook for $1.99: https://amberfoxxmysteries.wordpress.com/buy-books-retail-links/

When the Clocks Stopped – Marion Eaton

The Mysterious Marsh Series, Book One

When lawyer Hazel Dawkins decides to write some wills while she waits for the birth of her first child, she unwittingly triggers dramatic consequences. Mysteriously, she encounters Annie, a woman whose tempestuous life took place more than two centuries earlier when Romney Marsh was a violent place, dominated by smugglers. Soon that past collides with the present, and Hazel finds herself pitted against an evil that has stalked the marsh for centuries. As her destiny intertwines with Annie’s in the shifting time-scape, Hazel confronts a terrifying challenge that parallels history – and could even change it. If she survives.

Website: http://www.marioneaton.com/ Buy the ebook for $1.99: amzn.to/17THZ83

The First Lie – Virginia King

Selkie Moon Mystery Series, Book One

Selkie Moon is a woman on the run. In a mad dash for freedom she’s escaped her life in Sydney to start over again in Hawaii. But her refuge begins to unravel and she’s running from something else entirely. A voice in a dream says that someone is trying to kill her. Not that she’s psychic, no way. But the messages and threats escalate until she’s locked in a game of cat and mouse with a mysterious stalker. Entangled in Celtic and Hawaiian mythologies, the events become so bizarre and terrifying that her instinct is to keep running. But is she running from her past? Or her future?

Website: http://www.selkiemoon.com/

Buy the ebook for $1.99: http://www.amazon.com/First-Lie-Selkie-Moon-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00K1VC20Y/

All three books will be on sale for $1.99 US from April 21 to 30.

Enter the drawing now to win paperback copies of all three books

When you click on the Rafflecopter link you’ll be invited to choose which series you would like to learn more about. This will enter you in the drawing. To get an additional entry, click on the option to tweet the give-away. The raffle runs from April 21 – April 26. The winner will be announced on April 27.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Presence (Phillip Brunn Stories Book 1)

Let’s start the week with an interview from B D Fiala who is talking all about Presence, the first book in his Phillip Brunn series.

You write a series of short stories about Psychologist Phillip Brunn, can you tell us a bit about Phillip and the type of man he is?

Phillip is basically a lost soul. He is still trying to cope with the fact that he lost his job and his marriage, even though it happened almost two years before the story begins. He is doing what a lot of people do when they can’t deal with reality; they look for refuge in drinking and that’s what Phillip does as well.

Phillip encounters a ghost in your first story Presence, how does this affect Phillip?

It scares him, but he tries not to think about it as he keeps thinking about his past more than about his present. This ghost is not the first he encountered and it reminds him of tragic events that happened couple years before the story begins, but they are not completely revealed to us and we learn about them as the story progresses. He doesn’t seem to understand what exactly is going on and even though he is skeptical about ghosts, he feels that there is something there and that there is something strange going on.

Where is your story set, what is the feel of the location?

Story goes on mostly in England and also some other parts of Europe like Prague (some parts have not yet appeared in the published material). It goes on in everyday environment, there are no old abandoned houses or anything cliché like that. Everyday homes by everyday people who for some reason encounter the unexpected and disturbing events and Phillip ends up looking for explanations.

Are there any other characters in the story that are important to Phillip and can you tell us about them?

There is Lisa. That would be Phillip’s ex-wife and probably the only important person to him even though his agent and his assistant seem to care about him since they regularly take care of him and help him get out of trouble. Lisa is special for Phillip, she is the love of his life and she is gone, out of his life for good. Phillip has a hard time accepting that.

Presence is a short story rather than a full length novel, why did you write it this way and what do you think makes it better than reading a full length novel about Phillip Brunn?

There are two reasons. Number one is that I am an impatient person and since I decided, after a few years of preparation, to finally start writing and publishing stories online, I simply could not make myself wait until I finish a full length novel. Writing a short story each month and publishing it right away seemed like a better idea. Also, the reader gets to read a part of the story (depending which part he stumbles on over the internet) and he has a chance to decide whether to read the rest or not. I guess I’m saving money for someone who decides to give it a go but then realizes the story is not for him, so he doesn’t have to pay $5 for a novel, but instead pays $0.99 for a part of the story.

Do you ever plan to write a full length novel, featuring Phillip Brunn?

So far I have five stories planned and I intend to finish them. It’s possible that there will be additional stories in the future, so a novel is a possibility as well.

Outbreak is book 2 of your Phillip Brunn series, where he is encountering more ghosts – without giving any spoilers how has Phillip changed in this later novel?

Outbreak is setting up the rest of the story. There’s less ghost action perhaps and more meeting some new characters and starting certain subplots. Phillip realizes that being a paranormal investigator is a job that he has to do in order to make a living. He doesn’t really change his opinion, but he accepts the situation he is in.

What is your favourite part of the series so far (feel free to use a snippet)?

I like the general idea that was the basis for the series. The ideas is that I am trying to find a different answer to the most common question every man asks himself: ‘’What happens after death (if anything)?’’. Even though I’d describe myself as agnostic atheist, I am proposing an idea of an afterlife that people might find intriguing. I find it intriguing, but I don’t want to say anything more, just read it and wait for it to develop.

There are five books due in the Phillip Brunn series, when is the next book out?

The idea is to publish a book a month. ‘’Presence’’ came out in August, ‘’Outbreak’’ in September, so the new book named ‘’Voice’’ is coming out in October. ”Frequency” will follow in November and the grand finale ”Collision” is due around Christmas.

And finally, after Phillip Brunn what is next for B D Fiala?

I am writing a Sci-fi novel that goes on in the future, on a colonized Earth like planet. It’s called ‘’Brand New Earth’’ and it’s a story about a small tribe that is trying to survive deep in the woods, as far away from other people and Earth’s old technologies as possible. Of course, things are never that simple, and people are more or less always driven by the same needs, a need for love and a need for power and consequently end up fighting wars and suffering because of it.

I am also developing ideas for three different novellas, writing poems and trying to find someone who would like to draw a comic based on some of my crazy ideas, so if someone happens to be reading this and wants to collaborate, look me up as I’d be glad to hear from you. I am open to different genres, but I would like to work with someone who draws fast since ideas seem to be coming to me on a daily basis.

All in all, I’ve got a lot of creative work in front of me that I’m looking forward to.

In the end, I wish to thank you for this interview and wish you luck with your web page!

You can pick up the first and second book of the series here: http://www.amazon.com/Presence-Phillip-Brunn-Stories-Book-ebook/dp/B00MHYJHE2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1407473449&sr=8-2&keywords=b.d.fiala

Or add the books to your Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8440690.B_D_Fiala

 

Murder Between the Worlds

Today we have an exclusive from Morgan Daimler and her book Murder Between the Worlds.

 

After work Wednesday she decided to visit an old friend so she stopped at the town’s Chinese restaurant on the way home to grab food to share. It was never a bad idea to show up to visit a creature of Fairy bearing a gift, and she knew this one had a weakness for sweet and sour chicken and pork egg rolls. Dynasty Moon was run by a pair of Hulijing, Chinese fox spirits, and it was widely agreed that they made the best take-out in town. They were pricey though, and Allie couldn’t eat there very often, but she felt like splurging a little, despite her worries over her anemic bank account.

After picking up her order she headed home in a better mood. She parked her little car in its usual spot and hiked around the house towards the woods behind the backyard with the bag of takeout in one hand. The wards on the perimeter of the property extended to cover the expanse of yard from the curb to the stone walls that bordered the other three sides of the lawn, but the property itself actually went back almost a dozen acres. It just wasn’t worth the energy and effort to keep wards up on the entire area all the time, so they didn’t bother. Reaching the stone wall that marked the back edge of the yard Allie climbed over easily, feeling the customary tingle as she crossed from the warded to unwarded side. Her shoes crunched in last year’s leaves and she whistled cheerfully, ducking low branches and weaving through the underbrush. There was no path to follow but Allie knew the way.

After several hundred feet she could see the open sky through the trees and the ground beneath her feet was noticeably softer. A dozen feet more and she was standing on the banks of the pond. The water stretched, black and still, as large as a football field, with the occasional clump of trees or half submerged log jutting up from the surface. She carefully sent out a tendril of focused magic to caress the surface nearest where she stood, like knocking on a door, and then waited. Within a few moments the still surface rippled, the dark, dripping head of a large horse emerging. Where the horse’s eyes should have been were dark concave hollows and he turned his head to stare at her from one of these eyeless sockets for a moment before the head disappeared beneath the water again. A moment later the surface heaved and broke as the entire fairy horse emerged, walking onto the shore to her left. The kelpie stood there, water dripping from his mane and tail, and Allie smiled widely, proffering the bag “Good afternoon Ciaran, I thought you might be in the mood for some excellent Chinese take-out.”

The huge form rippled and shifted like the surface of the water a minute before and as she watched the horse’s dark form changed into that of an equally dark haired man. Seemingly oblivious to the late spring chill and totally unabashed by his nudity Ciaran sniffed the air appreciatively.” Is that sweet and sour chicken?”

“And two pork egg rolls.” Allie agreed.

The kelpie smiled widely, “Nice to see you again Allie.”

“And you.” Allie had met the kelpie when she was wandering the woods as a child and although he normally could be quite a dangerous creature he seemed to have developed a rough sympathy for the lonely child over the years that eventually grew into a friendship. He often wandered the woods in the form of a large black dog, but he always hunted in his horse form; she had learned over the years that his humanoid form was a sign of trust with her, although she didn’t doubt he would also use it to seduce the unwary if it served his purposes. Allie had been very clear with the other people living in the house that no one else was to go back into the woods; she doubted their friendship would keep him from eating one of her roommates, and while it was unlikely that he would risk the consequences of such an action, she didn’t want to take the chance. These days the Elven Guard maintained order by ensuring none of the creatures of Fairy were allowed to harm humans. But in the old days Ciaran had fed on murderers and oath-breakers. Even as a child Allie had wondered if he occasionally still took human victims along with his animal prey and was just clever enough not to get caught, but she had never quite dared to ask.

“How have you been doing?”

“Not bad. Winter’s always a slow time though, nothing much to do, no good hunting.” He shrugged as she handed him the bag.

“Well I hope this helps a little, and you know anytime you want to borrow a book or five to read I’ll be happy to lend them.”

“That would be kind. I haven’t read anything new in ages. I’m not picky, anything will do as long as it’s a good story.” He pulled out the package of eggrolls and eagerly began devouring them in a way that she would have found disturbing if she’d let herself think about.

“Sure thing. I’ll try to get out here in the next week or two if I can, with some for you.” Allie made a mental note to go through and pick out a selection of books for him to try. She certainly had more than enough to share.

“Allie, be careful with yourself.” Ciaran said unexpectedly.

She cocked her head to the side “I’m always as careful as I can be Ciar. Unless you know something I don’t?”

He shook his head. “Not really, but there are rumors going around among the lesser Fey. Everyone’s agitated and with the Elven Guard out searching in the Borderland for someone, we should all be extra cautious. There is death in the air, and it would…pain me…to see harm come to you.”

“Well you’d certainly be seeing a lot fewer egg rolls,” Allie quipped, stalling for time.

She was touched that Ciaran cared enough to pass on any warning, since it was certainly not in his nature, and she was not at all surprised that the Guard were upsetting the Fey in the Borderland, many of whom lived in the Bordertown precisely to try to avoid the elves’ control.

“The Elven Guard has already spoken to me about their investigation. They want me to help them find out why these murders are being committed.”

The kelpie looked thoughtful as he chewed his chicken, eating it with his bare hands, “If you can help them, you should. That would put the Guard in your debt and that is not an insignificant thing. But be very careful Allie, very careful. It’s a dangerous game to play.”

She nodded “I will certainly take your excellent advice as always. Now, do you have time for a game of chess?”

Later, as she walked back through the woods to the house she found herself hoping that her part in this particular dangerous game was already over.

 

You can find the rest of this story and more of Morgan’s work on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Morgan-Daimler/e/B0047QW0WY/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

And don’t forget to like Morgan’s Facebook page and let her know where you found her: https://www.facebook.com/wodenswanderingwitch

Blow Up The Roses

Here’s an exclusive extract from a dark novel called Blow Up The Roses, by Randy Attwood. Let us know what you think.

It was one of the most wonderful hours of her new life, the post-Mr. Keene life. She liked watching Mr. Califano’s silver head pop down as he reached out to touch a rose and call its name. He seemed enraptured by his rose garden. His hands were muscular and tanned. Strong. Yet they caressed the roses. His knowledge about them was amazing. He proudly showed some varieties that he himself had created. He was obviously proud of the deep red variety he had made and named Annabella. “My Annabella,” he called it and told her he worried that at rose shows, inside, away from natural light, the deepness of the red might not be really noticed and truly appreciated by the judges. “You’ve just got to see her in the sunlight to appreciate her. And here, here’s the one I named after Janet because its color was like her hair. I made a bouquet of them for the funeral.”

They walked down another path with roses on both sides.

“There are more meanings for roses in the language of flowers than any other flower,” he told her.

“Language of flowers?”

“Giving flowers and bouquets used to be a kind of shorthand for saying things you couldn’t say outright.”

“Like a single red rose is supposed to mean ‘I love you?'”

“Yes, that’s about the only flower telegraph that people know. Giving a white rose and a red rose means ‘I love you silently.'”

“And a yellow rose?” she asked touching the one next to her.

“A decrease in love, or jealousy. That’s my Glenfiddich. It’s a nice yellow, like butter.”

“What do some other flowers mean?”

“A daisy stands for innocence and hope. Daffodil is unrequited love. Rhododendron is grave danger. Different geraniums have meanings from deceit and stupidity to true friendship.”

“Best to know your geranium varieties.”

“Yes, indeed. Some of us play the flower language game at the rose shows by sending each other bouquets. I once sent a woman a red rose and a geranium to mean ‘I love your true friendship.’ But I sent a horse-leaf geranium, which meant ‘I love your stupidity.’ I knew something was wrong when she sent back just a simple sprig of basil, ‘I hate you.'”

“So other plants have meanings?”

“Oh yes, not just flowers. Rosemary is remembrance, mint stands for virtue. Corn means riches, unless it’s broken and that means quarrel. Dead leaves means sadness. Weeds, too. Dandelion means depart. Fruits, too. Apple means temptation, easy to understand where that one came from, Eve and the apple. Trees, too. Elm stands for dignity, the way the tree looks, don’t you think. Just as Cypress stands for death.”

“And that bouquet you brought this morning?”

“Well, yes,” he said and felt himself blushing. “Blue periwinkles mean early friendship and I took the thorns off the single rose so that means hope for an early attachment. Thorns taken off a rose also means there is nothing to fear.”

“That’s sweet.”

Now he really was blushing.

“Ready for that coffee?”

“Yes,” she said.

The coffee he served her was better than any she had ever made. The deck behind his house overlooked the rose garden and the mixed scents of the roses floating up to her were almost intoxicating. The aroma of the roses were lifting her up like a soft gentle hand raising her head to see the morning sun. They were quiet for a while, sipping at the coffee, listening to the birds, watching the sunlight begin to strike the garden.

“My wife suffered from depression and agoraphobia,” he interrupted the quiet and there was in his voice a tone that captured her full attention. “You know, a fear of open spaces, of going out. Only I didn’t know that name then. People didn’t seek help, or even

know help was available, back then. Our child was stillborn and she couldn’t have children after that and I think that affected her. We just always lived in midtown apartments where everything could be delivered to her. Then in the early 1970s she got Alzheimer’s, only they didn’t call it Alzheimer’s then, they called it early dementia, but I’m sure now that’s what it was. I had to put her in a nursing home and it was bankrupting me. I had to divorce her or I would have lost everything, I couldn’t even support myself and pay her bills. There was no family to help. So I had to divorce her. She didn’t know who I was anyway. She became a ward of the court and they put her in a state hospital. I used to visit her. Saddest place I’ve ever been. She died there. At least her body died there. Her mind died years before. I don’t know about her soul.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Keene said and really was because she could see the pain in his eyes. She wanted to help him and could think of no way other than to voice her own grief.

“The cul d’sac knows about it, so you must, too. I’ve never talked about it, except to the police, maybe because I still can’t admit it myself. My husband, Mr. Keene,” how stupid she thought, of course my husband is Mr. Keene. “Michael, his name is Michael. You know I haven’t spoken his first name since he left, disappeared, deserted me. It’s easier if I think of him as Mr. Keene. I’ve tried to understand why Michael left, but now I don’t really care anymore. I’m glad he’s gone. I wish he’d left years ago.”

Mr. Califano was looking at her and his blue eyes filmed with water. “I wish I would have left my wife years before she got ill. It’s like my life was tied, constricted by her miseries. But ‘in sickness and in health.’ I just wish she would have died years earlier than she did. Isn’t that a terrible admission?”

Read more: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Blow-Up-Roses-Randy-Attwood-ebook/dp/B00A7LJL3O/ref=sr_1_7_bnp_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409949906&sr=1-7&keywords=randy+attwood

The Silver Bell

Take a look at this exclusive mystery story The Silver Bell from author June Winton.

“Hi Lacy, hope you’ve arrived safe ‘n well in Canada.  Just to let you know, Jake had his operation yesterday and he seems to be okay apart from feeling a bit dizzy.  The doctors say this is normal.  Will have to wait a few days to try out the implant.  Hope the skiing goes well, love, J xxx”

 

“Jake’s had his op,” I told Mum.

 

“Poor little love, fingers crossed it’ll work.”

 

“Yes, I hope so too.”

 

It would be like a miracle, I thought to myself, if he could hear again.  I quickly typed back a response saying that we were both well and wished Jake all the luck in the world.  Next I sent Karina a funny message about the food we ate on the plane, which I knew she would appreciate, and uploaded the photo from my mobile phone.  Finally, I sent my friend Annabelle a note saying I hoped all was well with her and the family.  I knew she had problems at home as her mum wasn’t coping too well after a family bereavement.

 

We heard people talking downstairs and realised that Carol and Trevor were awake.  Mum and I took it in turns to get washed and dressed, then Carol came upstairs.

 

“Did you sleep well?” she asked us, looking at me in particular.

 

“Oh, like a log,” I lied.

 

Carol looked pleased.  “How about you, Debra?”

 

“Oh yes, it’s so lovely and quiet.  We were admiring your garden this morning.”

 

Carol laughed.  “Not that you can see much of it, it’s buried under a foot of snow.”

 

“Do you think I could have a ski in it?” I asked.

 

Carol and Mum both laughed.

 

“I don’t see why not.  Don’t see as it would do any harm.”

 

“Oh thank you!  I haven’t used my skis on real snow yet,” I explained.

 

“Well, you’d better come downstairs and have some breakfast,” Carol replied, “You’ll need some energy.”

 

“I’ll just get you your present,” I said, rushing back into the bedroom.  I handed her three photographs of the family placed in silver frames.

 

“Why thank you, they can join the others on the stairwell.”

 

I went back into the bedroom and collected the half-eaten toast and cup of cold tea.  Carol laughed.

 

“Your mum was right, you were out like a light by the time I came back.  I noticed you’ve put the photo of John and his family on the dressing table, alongside your silver cross.”

 

“Yes, I hope that’s okay?”

 

“It sure is, they look like they belong there next to the photos of Mom and Dad.”

 

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” I agreed.

 

We followed Carol down the stairs.  She paused half way down by the windowsill, which was covered in framed photographs, looked round and tutted.

 

“Fallen off again.”  She picked something up from the stair carpet and shook her head, then placed a small yellow ribbon onto one of the framed photographs.  It saw it was of a girl of about my age.

 

“Who’s that,” I asked, “one of your daughters?”

 

“No, that’s Ann, my best friend’s daughter.”  Carol carefully rearranged the photos so that they all fitted on the sill.  “Come downstairs and I’ll tell you all about it over breakfast.”

 

We followed her into the kitchen.

 

“Morning, Trevor,” Mum called out.

 

Trevor was already sitting at the kitchen table, pouring himself a black coffee.

 

“Mornin’ all.  Please, sit down.”  He indicated to some chairs beside him.

 

I gasped at all the food on the table, which was groaning under the weight of orange juice, cereal, yoghurt, scrambled egg, bacon, toast and pancakes.

 

“I haven’t forgotten your tea,” said Carol, bringing over two cups and placing them in front of us.

 

“This looks wonderful, thank you,” Mum said to her.

 

“Wow!” I agreed.

 

“That’s how we do things over here,” laughed Trevor.  “Have to stave off the cold.”

 

I didn’t know where to start, so watched what Trevor did.  First he took a couple of pancakes, put scrambled egg and some bacon on top, then squeezed the whole lot with maple syrup.  I looked at Mum in horror.  She gave me a look back which meant ‘don’t you dare say anything’, so I placed a couple of pancakes on my plate and tried out the maple syrup minus the eggs and bacon.

 

“Mm, this is really tasty,” I remarked.

 

I noticed Carol watching me with amusement, and noted all she was having was cereal with yoghurt poured over the top.  Not too outrageous, I’d seen that done before at Annabel’s house.  I noticed Mum sticking with toast, eggs and bacon, which appeared all very nice without syrup.

 

“Lacy wants to have a ski in the garden,” Carol mentioned.

 

“I think it’s best if you don’t,” said Mum, “we’re all nicely packed now.  You can wait, can’t you?”

 

“Your Mom’s right,” Trevor agreed.  “In a couple hours Judy and Beth’ll be here, and a couple after that you’ll be on the slopes.”

 

“Okay, I guess so,” I said ungraciously.

 

“Oh, I still haven’t told you about the photo,” said Carol, swiftly changing the subject.  “Ann was – is – my best friend Maria’s daughter.  We have a tradition in America – I don’t know if you have it in England, but when somebody goes missing we tie a yellow ribbon somewhere – maybe on a tree or a fence, and when they come home we untie it.”

 

“So Ann went missing?” I asked, forgetting about the skiing.

 

Carol seemed reluctant to continue.  “Well the truth is, my father always blamed himself.”

 

I waited patiently while she took a sip of coffee.

 

“He was working on the early shift one morning and it was heavy snow, a bit like it is here now.  Anyhow, he was sitting high up in the signal box – in those days it was all manually operated, and the 5.30 mail train was due to arrive at any minute, when he looked across the street and saw a young woman – who we found out later must’ve been Ann – pulling a heavy suitcase and slipping and sliding in the snow.  So he felt sorry for her and he kept the signal on red so as she could catch the train, which she did.  And that’s the last anybody’s seen or heard of her in 40 years.”

 

“Oh no, that’s terrible!” I replied.

 

“Poor William,” Mum murmured sympathetically.

 

“My poor friend, too.  She’s never been the same since.  She blamed her husband for driving Ann away, and he blamed her for spoiling her, so they split up.  And of course Dad was always saying he was sorry and wished he’d let the train go, and Maria was always telling him it wasn’t his fault.  You’ll probably see Maria before you go home, she’s here a lot.  A few years later her brother married my other daughter, Heather, so they’re family.  Now, can I get you anything else?  Another tea?”

 

Read more of this story:

http://amzn.com/B00M039IFS

And more about June Winton:

www.junewintonauthor.co.uk