Haunted by insurmountable grief, the nearly indestructible Susie Drake
temporarily sacrifices all memories of her human friends. Unbeknownst to
her, Ren Pith, a semi-immortal plagued by seizures and OCD, snatches her
remembrances in pursuit of a time traveler, with the hope of rewriting the
past.
Meanwhile, recruited by the grandchildren of her forgotten friends, Susie
confronts a murder investigation intertwined with her purloined past and
teams up with a private eye to unravel a perplexing link between her stolen
recollections and a man who taunted her nearly a century prior. Racing
against the possibility of total memory loss, Susie and the detective
navigate time and space to follow a lead and venture into the future of an
alternate Earth.
Susie’s quest intertwines self-discovery, justice, and a high-stakes
race into a tangled web bridging past, present, and parallel worlds.
After foiling the political ambitions of a would-be American dictator,
time-traveling lovers Marta Hamilton and Marshall Grissom return to their
life in the Caribbean only to confront the murder of a friend and inherit
responsibility for a gutsy 10-year old boy. Throughout their unlikely and
tumultuous relationship, Marta has harbored suspicions that her
time-traveling companion is not being honest with her. Is Marshall really
the bumbling, good-hearted klutz she has come to love and trust? Or is he
the cunning, cold-blooded assassin Gillis Kerg suspects him to be? In this
fifth tale of physics, lust and greed, a bizarre parallel universe and a
monstrous product of artificial intelligence will impose a costly
consequence requiring both Marta and Marshall to face the truth of her most
haunting question: “Who are you, Marshall Grissom?”
Excerpt
Everyone familiar with Marshall Grissom and Marta Hamilton knew Marta was
the scary one.
Marshall towered six foot seven and was as wispy as a soda straw. Clumsy,
self-effacing and kind. In contrast, Marta stood barely five feet, sinewy,
built like a marathoner. Although her romantic liaison with Marshall had
softened some of her bristles, she could be as mean as a mamba snake and
unforgiving as a loan shark.
Once she’d allowed someone to pick their way through her tangled
emotional defenses, though, her loyalty was fierce. Which was why she was
quick to respond when she heard a man yelling from the dock beside
Cecil’s boat, Somewhere Over China.
“Come on, old man! Come out here!”
Marta scrambled to the deck of Dontchaknow—a thirty-two-foot Bavaria
tied bow to stern with Cecil’s ketch-rigged Tayana in Grenada’s
Prickly Bay Marina. On the dock a hulking man, his belly peeking out from
under a T‑shirt that strained to contain beefy biceps, swayed a little, like a
long-distance sailor who hadn’t quite found his land legs.
“Come out, you, and bring Baptiste! His mama want him home right
now,” Cecil’s would-be assailant bellowed in a Caribbean-Creole
accent.
Cecil emerged onto his boat’s deck, brandishing a speargun.
“Stop right there, Ignace Aguillard,” Cecil said.
“Baptiste doesn’t have to go anywhere with you. You hit this
boy. Go away, or we’ll call the constable.”
“I’m da only father he got,” Aguillard answered.
“Boy sass me, need to get hit. Boys gotta learn respect. Put down that
toothpick you holdin’, you, or I come up there and stick it up your
ass.”
Marshall clambered up on deck after Marta. “What’s
going—”
The question died on his lips as Baptiste peeked from behind Cecil,
revealing a black and purple shiner that closed his left eye.
“Marshall,” Marta said, “go below and get the flare
gun.”
Instead, Marshall vaulted over Dontchaknow’s lifelines, landing with
surprising agility onto the narrow dock.
“Marshall, no!” Marta called.
Aguillard turned to confront this new threat.
“Now you in trouble, you!” Baptiste shouted with all the venom
a ten-year-old could muster. “Dis da one I tell you about. He a famous
killer, not afraid a’ da likes a’ you.”
Aguillard glanced at Cecil, still pointing his speargun, then back to
Marshall. He laughed. “You who dis boy been yappin’ about? I
break you like a stick.”
Marshall looked around, blinking, as if surprised to find himself in the
middle of this confrontation but quickly collected himself. “You hurt
Baptiste? He’s just a little boy.”
“Believe me,” Aguillard said, “gonna hurt you a lot
worse.”
Aguillard took a step forward.
Bugger, thought Marta. Her only weapon, a flare gun, was below deck. She
saw Cecil lean forward, the speargun steady in his hands.
“What are you doing, Marshall?” she said. “You
can’t—”
Aguillard charged with Marshall dead in his sights.
“Run, Marshall!” she yelled.
Marshall appeared frozen, paralyzed with fear.
“Oh no!” Cecil called, tracking Aguillard with his speargun,
finger on the trigger.
Marshall flinched but stood his ground as Aguillard gathered
momentum.
Marta wondered if Marshall wanted flowers at his funeral.
At the last instant before impact, though, Marshall stood tall—almost
on tiptoe—and executed an elegant spin, like a matador’s pase
natural, allowing Aguillard to brush past him, only a whisper of space
between them. As he passed, Marshall gave Aguillard a backhanded nudge with
just enough pressure to alter the big man’s trajectory.
Aguillard careened off the dock into fifteen feet of warm, green water,
then came up sputtering and cursing. Marta appeared at Marshall’s
side, carrying an aluminum dinghy oar. Aguillard swallowed a mouthful of
seawater and gagged. Marta swung the oar with all her might, striking him on
the head.
Baptiste had leapt onto the dock and stood beside Marshall and Marta as
they watched Aguillard sink. Bubbles drifted to the surface, their wet
little pops waning in frequency.
Eventually, Baptiste said, “Somebody don’t do somethin’,
he gonna drown.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Marta said.
Cecil joined them. They regarded her with imploring eyes.
“Oh, all right,” she said. “Marshall, go to the
beach.”
Marta dove in, grabbed Aguillard by his hair and kicked toward shore.
Marshall helped haul him onto the gleaming sand where Aguillard lay
unmoving, turning a curious shade of blue.
“Um . . . shouldn’t we, you know . . . do mouth-to-mouth or
something?” Marshall asked.
“Not my mouth,” said Marta. “And not yours either, if you
want it to have anything to do with mine.”
“We can’t just let him—”
“Oh, I suppose not,” Marta said.
She jumped into the air, then using her whole weight, slammed her elbow
onto Aguillard’s chest, which made a cracking sound. Water spewed from
his mouth as he gagged and gasped.
“Roll him onto his side,” Marta said.
“Okay, now what?” Marshall asked.
“If he doesn’t get up and walk away in an hour, we’ll
call someone to haul him off.”
“I think,” Marshall said, “the tide’s coming
in.”
“Then I guess he’d better hurry.”
About the Author
Mike Murphey is a native of eastern New Mexico and spent almost thirty
years as an award-winning newspaper journalist in the Southwest and Pacific
Northwest. His debut novel, Section Roads, has been recognized by Indie
Reader Discovery Awards, Reader Views Reviewers Choice Awards, The IAN Book
of the Year Awards, the Somerset Contemporary Fiction Awards, and the
Independent Publishers Book Awards. His novel, The Conman has been
recognized by the International Book Awards, the eLit Awards and the
Manhattan Book Awards. His award-winning Physics, Lust and Greed Series
includes Taking Time, Wasting Time, Killing Time and The Outlaw
Gillis Kerg. “We Never Knew Just What It Was… The Story of the
Chad Mitchell Trio” is his first non-fiction work. Mike loves fiction,
cats, baseball and sailing. He splits his time between Spokane, Washington,
and Phoenix, Arizona.
“First rate sci-fi novels. Atrium’s worlds compel both in their alien detail—and what they reveal about our own world.” — BookLife
HOME RULE was named a finalist in the Book Excellence Awards announced in April 2024.
**All books are half price at $1.99 in celebration!**
The Bush Clinic
The Tribal Wars Book 1
by Stella Atrium
Genre: Science Fiction, Space Opera
A space colonization story about seeking independence and home rule in the face of corporate greed. Tribal women bind together in a war zone where they are discounted as not important enough to save or keep safe.
On Dolvia, Lt. Mike Shaw demands Dr. Greensboro’s doctoring skills at the hospital, forcing the closure of her bush clinic. She witnesses forced labor, forced migration, and the threat of an epidemic from bad water. She sees how tribal women–often wearing burkas–find solutions for saving the children in a conflict zone, and she commits to the their cause for Home Rule.
Brianna Miller is an isolated girl–a mixed-blood orphan–among the Dolviet tribes. With the lessons from Dr. Greensboro, the abuse from soldiers, the sisterhood among victims, Brianna prepares for a future she will choose for herself. But first she must travel offworld.
Brianna Miller returns to Dolvia where tribal women protest the oppressive rule of Rabbenu Ely by self-torchings in the Cylay Square. Brianna re-establishes her tribal schools and takes on assistant Kelly Osborn who is mixed blood and also a poet.
Kelly visits a neighboring planet Cicero where her aunt Carline Bryant takes over her education. While returning to Dolvia, Kelly meets the Australian adventurer Hershel Henry who has signed on for a tour of Dolvia as a photo-journalist. Henry takes an opportunity to interview the khalif on the opposing side of the tribal wars.
Brianna Miller and rebel leader Karlyhi emerge as leaders uniting the tribes against the offworld mining cartel. Reporter Hershel Henry opens a local newspaper to report a more honest version of events leading to regime change. But will bringing down Rabbenu Ely only stir more violence and unrest?
Unity starts at home. How can the tribes bind together as a nation-state after fighting among themselves for generations? Inspiring leaders are needed, and a flashpoint act that binds individuals to a single cause. When Henry witnesses (and broadcasts) the ninth death-by-fire, this one by respected teacher Kecouroo, all the tribes feel the outrage and call for Rabbenu Ely to step down.
From Paris, Jesse Hartley jumps back to Dolvia in the galaxy’s Westend. A bloodless coup on Stargate Junction interrupts her travel plans and sends her in a different direction. Hershel Henry is tasked with rescuing abandoned conscripts after the abusive Company withdraws from asteroid mining.
A change in leadership on Stargate Junction makes all characters question how the future will shape. How to survive the shifting loyalties among the city-states? Will my home even be there when I return?
While on a deep space rescue mission, Hershel Henry misses karsci on Dolvia the Abydian khalif steps down. Within the turmoil, will Henry connect with Jesse Hartley, or is that romance lost forever?
Stella Atrium presents planet stories about female protagonists of diverse ethnicities who encounter obstacles relatable to our lives today. How do women in a conflict zone gain voice in the public square using the few tools available to women?
THE BUSH CLINIC received an Editor’s Pick from BookLife, a 2022 Artisan Book Review Award, and a 2023 Independent Press Award for Science Fiction.
The second novel titled THE BODY POLITIC also received an Editor’s Pick from BookLife and a Artisan Book Review award.
HOME RULE debuted in the Top Ten Amazon rankings for the genre category in August 2023, securing an Editor’s Pick from BookLife, a Literary Titan medallion, and another coveted Artisan Book Review Award for Science Fiction.
TRIBAL LOGIC: Book IV of The Tribal Wars was released in January 2024.
Also be certain to pick up Atrium’s standalone novel SEVEN BEYOND that won a 2014 Reader’s Favorites Award in Science Fiction.
The Omega Archives: Escalation Erik Melendez Publication date: January 31st 2024 Genres: Science Fiction, Young Adult
Alex Connors returns for a new mission in The Omega Archives: Escalation. But this time, he must take on the most dangerous man in the world: Axel. A super soldier with years of combat experience, Axel is seemingly one step ahead of Alex in every way. What Alex thought would be a breeze turns out to be anything but. He’s still fighting the brainwashing from his training in the Omega Project, which prevents him from feeling fully human. Alex must figure out a way to outsmart and stop Axel . . . without losing what’s left of his humanity.
We sprinted after the last guy who was running through the desert area. My heart pounded as I sprinted after the guy. All I could think about was tackling this guy to the ground and beating the shit out of him. The field seemed like an endless desert of sand and dried-out plants. The last guy made a hard turn into what looked like a cave entrance. The entrance hand a big concrete shaft leading inside with black water pouring out of it. We stopped and shined our flashlights into the cave, but saw nothing. Barns and I went inside. It was dark and smelled like a port-a-potty that hadn’t been cleaned in years; we heard rats squeaking and the echoes of water dripping in the distance. Being in there made my stomach feel like it was going to blow up and I felt like I would never eat again. We walked on until we arrived at a very large room. I went in, and the gate slammed shut behind me. The slamming echoed throughout the room and it froze my heart.
I turned and ran towards the gate. “Hey let me out!” I said. I tried pulling on the bars and kicking the gate down, but it was too strong. “Come on, let me out!”
I tried contacting Max on my radio. “Max, do you copy?” I asked.
“Alex… can you hear…” Max said. My radio went static.
“Long live the Union,” Barnes said as he backed off and sunk into the darkness of the cave. My heart dropped into my stomach as he backed off.
“Long live the Union, indeed!” Another man said in a British accent.
Some lights flashed behind me. I slowly turned around.
it was Axel.
“Alex Connors, we meet at last,” he said in a soft voice as he took a few steps towards me. “I have been looking forward to this for so long.”
A wave of anxiety hit me like a truck. He was a lot bigger in person, but not too big just big enough to pose a threat. I couldn’t take my attention off of how much bigger he was in person.
All around was rock and water. I could hear water flowing nearby only to pour out into a drain. I immediately pulled out my rifle and aimed it at him, ready to shoot as that feeling in my stomach came back.
“Please put down the weapons. You can’t kill all of us,” Axel said.
I looked up, and saw the next level up; a large group of Axels’ men were armed with machine guns and assault rifles. My entire body was covered with laser sight dots like a Christmas tree. My heart froze up as I pictured myself getting blown away.
“They all have armor-piercing bullets, and clear shots,” Axel said.
I put down my rifle, pistol, and knife. The clank of my rifle and pistol hitting the ground echoed in the room. I stood there feeling naked as I took some breaths, trying to calm myself down.
“So you’re Axel? What do you want?”
“Ah, straight to business huh?” he said, smiling.
“You know I have orders to bring you in, right?” I said.
Axel walked closer to me, seeming to grow bigger with each step. “Oh, I am aware of your mission, indeed,” he said “You think I don’t know you, Alex? I’ve been watching you for some time now,” he said while still speaking in his soft voice.
I started to sweat. I wiped my head while I tried to process my thoughts. I continued to try and get my mind off my feelings as I focused on Axel.
“Yeah. Well, to me, you are just another terrorist on some kind of mission. An anarchist,” I said as Axel laughed.
“Ah, so young and still so much to learn. I have been doing this far longer then you have,” he said.
“Age does have its advantages,” I said.
“As well as its disadvantages,” Axel replied.
“Why did you attack the Pentagon?” I asked as I walked closer to him.
Axel started to walk to me. “Easy. I needed to draw attention.”
“By killing innocent people?”
“Ha! Just another stereotypical word: Innocent. Please, Alex, those people were just expendable assets, just like everyone else.”
“We will see about that,” I said as I walked towards him.
At that moment, all I thought about was beating Axel to a pulp. I ran up to him and struck at him with all the strength I had. His steel-like body just absorbed the strikes, taking little to no damage whatsoever. I threw another right hook. He blocked it and threw an uppercut elbow to my face, knocking me back, then a spin kick to my chest, kicking me into a pile of bricks. I felt like someone had hit my solar plexus with a sledgehammer as I tried to breathe. All I could think about was the pain as I lay there like I was a plant being eaten by rodents. I rubbed my jaw, trying to ease the pain, and my body was covered in sweat and dust. The Mercenaries just stood by and watched.
“Your confidence has gotten the best of you. You have been fighting so much of these mere humans that you believe yourself to be unstoppable. You proclaim that you are a super-soldier. But really you are just a boy,” he said.
As I laid there, feeling like my body was crushed by a wrecking ball, I kept thinking about my training. I could still hear the trainer shouting at me to control my emotions. I closed my eyes and breathed, trying to get my mind off of my feelings.
“I’ve beaten people like you before,” I said as I got up slowly, trying to fight through the pain.
I did a spin kick to his face with Axel leaning back, slightly dodging it. I then did a spin side kick to him, with him blocking it, followed by a spin jump kick to his chest, which seemingly did nothing to him. I threw more hooks to his face with every bit of strength I had. When I went to throw the third, he grabbed my fist and started squeezing it like an empty Coke can; several snapping sounds emerged from my hand. I could feel the bones in my fist being slowly crushed like wood, and it was all I could focus on. I screamed in pain as I slowly dropped to my knees. I tried to break his grip, but it was as strong as steel. My right hand was practically destroyed.
“All this strength and no coordination. You are truly an amateur,” he said as he pushed me to the ground. He then did a powerful bottom fist strike to my back, which felt like being hit by a pipe wrench.
I took another breath, trying not to explode with anger so I don’t throw up, then got up and went to do another spinning jump kick. While I was in mid-air, Axel punched me directly in the solar plexus, knocking me down. All the air was knocked out of me again, and I could barely breathe. He then picked me up and threw me into a wall. A bang followed as I hit the floor. My body felt like all the bones were broken into bits, and I could not get up. My mind was glued to the pain as it settled. As I lay there, Axel walked up and crouched next to me.
“I understand what you are going through. You’ve spent half of your life training, and now you are split. Every day you contend with adapting to human life. These humans have corrupted your mind, but I can help you. I can save you from them. Please let me help you,” he said. His voice was pretty calm and soothing for a terrorist.
I slowly picked myself up, feeling like my body was going to break into pieces at any second. My arms felt like they were weighed down by trucks, and my chest weighed a ton. I gripped my broken wrist as I tried to find my balance.
“I don’t need your help!” I said, standing ready.
“Very well then,” he said as he did a spinning heel kick to my face, knocking me out. From there it was just blackness and nothing.
Author Bio:
Erik Melendez is a young adult novelist, graduated from t Henry Ford College, and martial arts enthusiast. He holds a black belt in Kung Fu and is skilled in firearms and other weaponry. In high school, he worked his way up to a cadet lieutenant junior grade for the NJROTC program, where he participated on the drill team, physical fitness team, and academic team. An avid fan of Star Wars, Star Trek, and Doctor Who, Erik gleans plenty of inspiration for writing action-packed sci-fi stories. He is the author of The Omega Archives and lives in Livonia, Michigan.
Brigita Nowak has only ever wanted one thing—her freedom. Labelled
psychotic and committed to a mental institution at seventeen, she missed the
chance of a “normal” life. She never held a job, owned her own
place, or experienced love. Until now.
After awakening sprawled on the common room floor—the hospital in
ruins, the staff and patients missing—she realizes it’s her
chance to escape. Seeking sanctuary with her sister, she meets “the
boyfriend” Renner Scholz, a vile yet brilliant geneticist. He has
developed a bioweapon, the Code of Reanimation, destined to destroy the
world. Or so Brigita believes. She’s been seeing zombie hallucinations
as of late, a sure premonition of the highly contagious bioweapon getting
out of hand. Why the connection? Because the bioweapon reanimates dead
organisms into bloodthirsty killing machines.
Brigita has typically experienced death-based hallucinations, blamed on her
mental illness. She, however, always felt they were psychic premonitions.
Convinced that Renner intends to release the bioweapon at a public
fundraising event, she teams up with a handsome love interest to thwart the
catastrophe. But, as Brigita’s visions kick into hyperdrive and
timelines blur, she must determine which events are based on reality or
delusional constructs of her subconscious mind…
before it’s too late.
About the Author
Lanie Mores is the award-winning author of the science fiction and fantasy
book series, Father of Contention. She has an Honours Bachelor of Science
Degree, a Masters Degree in Clinical Psychology, and she is an active member
of the Canadian Authors Association. When she isn’t writing, you’ll find her
reading, binge-watching Netflix, baking, and slaughtering zombies and other
monsters on her Xbox. She lives in Ontario with her family and forever
barking fur babies, Batman and Petri.
The Vessels Anna M. Elias Genres: Adult, Science Fiction, Supernatural
The Vessels is a supernatural sci-fi trilogy by screenwriter Anna M. Elias. In this thrilling and emotionally captivating novel series, police detective Tallulah Davis loses everyone that was ever important to her. Ready to end her life, she is saved by a secret Vessels program in Reno, Nevada and leads a diverse group of equally broken strangers who become human Vessel hosts for spirits that return to seek forgiveness, restore love, and right wrongs from their past. By doing so, the spirits elevate humankind and earn their place in Elysium. But — not every journey goes as planned, not every spirit seeks redemption, and not every Vessel survives. Especially when the spirit of a serial killer returns and goes rogue in his quest for revenge.
In The Coin: Book 2, the Vessels brave their most life-threatening journeys yet. Tal is forced to the brink of death and a new Vessel arrives with a shocking surprise. Meanwhile, Eric’s spirit fights to come back through one of the ancient Vessel coins.
In The Return: Book 3, Eric is back and bonds into a new Vessel whose vicious desire for power and revenge equals his own. Until a new and powerful Spirit Guard arrives to help stop Eric’s rising tide of evil for good. But doing so will come at a price that pits spirits against Vessels, love against hate, and father against son in a war only one side can win.
Excerpt from “The Vessels” (Book 1) — Chapter 27, The Rogue
(Eric is the serial killer spirit that returns and goes rogue for revenge. He is the primary villain throughout the series.)
Flesh and mist swirled together until they painfully regrouped into Matheus’s sick and weakened body. He collapsed on a filthy sidewalk just off a back alley, organs sliding back into place, heart struggling to beat. Horns honked and traffic flew past while Eric waited for Matheus’s scrambled brain to fire up his parasympathetic nerves and bring things back online. Transport was as easy as breathing in a Vessel, but in an average human, especially one this feeble and infirm, it was like trying to hurl a tornado.
The nearby dumpster dribbled foul juices. Homeless people and prostitutes walked the dirty streets of gang-tagged stores, and a pawnshop’s neon sign flashed advertisements for slot machines.
Downtown Reno.
Eric recognized it from trips he’d taken in human life. He’d transported them here from San Francisco, targeting that new Vessels Program the Spirit Guard had mentioned. They must be close.
In India, where he’d entered this plane, the Program was based in an orphanage forty kilometers from the lake. Here, it must be that homeless shelter on the corner, the one with the soup kitchen entry on one side and the gated courtyard. All these Programs were alike—based in some kind of overlooked business that served others, near a lake owned by an indigenous tribe, and run by a bunch of do-gooders out to make the world a better place. The whole thing made him sick. Only the strongest, toughest, and most self-serving would survive, so why bother with anyone else?
Outside the shelter, a petite woman with wavy hair leaned against a SUV, a hybrid, of course, from the looks of it. She spoke to a thirty-something, blond man behind the wheel. The Rogue felt the tattoo around the man’s ankle, as well as his inner strength. This man was a Vessel, albeit newly marked, and he didn’t yet have the coin.
Perfect.
Author Bio:
Anna graduated from the University of Florida and began her career as Don Johnson’s assistant on the TV series, Miami Vice. She worked in production for years on feature films like Nell, 12 Monkeys, A Time to Kill, Practical Magic, and My Dog Skip before turning her hand to screenwriting. She has written many films and TV scripts, paid indie assignments, short films, and a book adaption with and for a legendary actor. “The Vessels” marks Anna’s debut novel series.
Anna’s passion for justice is integral to her writing. She loves to create entertaining and inspiring stories for stage and screen where her diverse, underdog characters defy the odds and buck the system for unexpected impact and change.
Utopia Marie-Hélène Lebeault Publication date: January 15th 2024 Genres: Adventure, Post-Apocalyptic, Science Fiction, Young Adult
A Clean YA Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction Adventure
Three extraordinary teenagers, each an outcast in their worlds, unite to reshape the destiny of a utopian society. Ryn, who couldn’t adapt to life under the sea, Eira, born above the clouds but unable to breathe the thin air, and Aiden, rejected by the subterranean civilization, embarks on a thrilling journey to Vancouver’s utopia. They’ll challenge the elders, confront hidden truths, and discover the power of unity in a fast-paced young adult sci-fi adventure that explores the boundaries of human resilience, and the promise of a better world.
Utopia is a What Happens Next? novel developed from the Under the Ice short story.
Marie-Hélène is a Canadian Speculative Fiction author. She writes young adult quest and adventure stories rooted in fantasy, magic and time travel. With important coming-of-age lessons at the core of her writing, teens and adults alike will revel in the fantastical journeys of her characters. When not immersed in magic and mystery, you’ll find Marie-Hélène hiking, cycling, or lying on the beach with a good book. She lives in Quebec, Canada with her grown children.
Virch Laura Resau
Published by: Owl Hollow Press
Publication date: March 4, 2024
Genres: Science Fiction, Young Adult
Mind-bending, fast-paced YA sci-fi with heart.
In the year 2154, virtual reality is an enticing escape… but just for the privileged. For others, like sixteen-year-old Liv, reality means living by a contaminated bay that’s sickened her little sister to the brink of death.
Liv is determined to find a cure. She ventures to a mysterious tropical island to infiltrate a tech empire owned by the world’s most powerful man. When she encounters his son, Wolf, she’s shocked. He isn’t the shallow celebrity portrayed in the virtual world—he’s an idealist with heart, committed to righting his father’s wrongs. And when Wolf promises to help save her sister, he might just capture Liv’sheart, too.
But as Liv and Wolf confront a danger beyond anything they could have imagined, they must unravel the deadly scheme at the core of the tech empire. And their world starts to crumble . . . just as they’re falling in love.
I’m the author of the young adult novels The Queen of Water (with Maria Virginia Farinango), Red Glass, What the Moon Saw, The Indigo Notebook, The Ruby Notebook , The Jade Notebook, and the middle-grade novels Star in the Forest, The Lightning Queen, and Tree of Dreams. My picture book collaboration with Patricia Gualinga, Stand as Tall as the Trees: How an Amazonian Community Protected the Rain Forest, was released in Summer, 2023. My YA sci-fi novel, Virch, will be released in Spring 2024. I grew up in Maryland, then moved around for ten years (as student, ESL teacher, and anthropologist), making my home in New Orleans; Aix-en-Provence, France; Oaxaca, Mexico; Tucson; and now, Fort Collins, Colorado, where I’m staying put for a while. I live here happily with my husband and son and beagle and husky. Most days, you’ll find me drinking tea and writing novels in a little silver trailer in my driveway. I love camping in the mountains, and I travel whenever I find an excuse.
The Withering Trials of Gwendolyn Gray B.A. Williamson (The Chronicles of Gwendolyn Gray, #3) Publication date: November 18th 2023 Genres: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Young Adult
She Saved the City, But Lost Her Life
What would you do if your parents disappeared? How would you live, barely scraping by, lying to everyone in your life?
Two years ago, Gwendolyn Gray saved the City. But The Blackstar stole her parents and took them to another world. She lost her powers, her portals, and even her hair. So while the rest of the City is reveling in its newfound freedom, Gwendolyn has spent two years dodging the clutches of the Childkeeper and the Home for Unclaimed Children. Balancing work and school and impersonating her own parents hasn’t been great for her bipolar disorder, either.
So when a school bully and a vengeful faerie bring her carefully constructed lies crashing down around her, Gwendolyn seizes the chance to travel through the realms of story again, trying to find the world where her stolen parents are hidden. But battling bills is nothing compared to the gothic vampires and eldritch horrors she’ll meet along the way. And on a world of smoke and lightning and metal, a teenage rebel holds the key to saving her parents and getting back the life she lost.
Because growing up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
The phone rang, and Gwendolyn squealed in surprise. She sprang out of bed and dashed into the ruined living room, but she tripped over something dark and furry, and fell flat on her face.
The black cat rubbed itself against her cheek.
“Ugh.” Gwendolyn shoved the cat away and got to her feet. “As if destroying my home wasn’t enough. This is the last time I take in a stray.”
The cat bounded away and Gwendolyn started toward the phone in the kitchen, but at that moment, there was a knock at the door.
She froze, torn between the ringing and the knocking. But an unexpected knock was almost certainly a sign of trouble, the kind that made scratched up furniture seem tiny in comparison. The kind of trouble where polite men would politely tip their pointed caps and politely pack her away to the Home for Unclaimed Children.
But when Gwendolyn opened the door, it was not to a man in a blue uniform and shiny badge, but one in a grey suit and black bowler hat.
“Excuse me, Ms. Gray, er… Gwendolyn, is it?”
Gwendolyn squinted warily. “Yes? Can I help you?”
He took off his hat and held it in front of his chest. He had thinning hair and round features. “My name is Mr. Mason. I’m here on your mother’s invitation. Might we come in?”
An icy rush of terror swept over her. Mr. Mason was her publisher, and one of the richest men in The City. Well, he was her parents’ publisher, or so he thought. Gwendolyn had never actually met the man before. All their correspondence had been by mail (and one awkward phone call where Gwendolyn had done a passable job of imitating her mother’s voice). If he was here, he would know that his star authors were really a fifteen-year-old fraud, and would find out that her parents were missing, and he would call the police, and the Childkeeper would come and take her away—
But a word tripped her racing thoughts.
“Invitation? What invitation?” She darted into the hall and closed the door behind her, blocking his view of the wrecked apartment.
Mr. Mason took a startled step back, and produced a card from the inside pocket of his coat. “Your parents’ dinner invitation. I would have RSVP’d earlier, but I didn’t see it in the mail until a few hours ago. I’d have overlooked it completely if my daughter hadn’t found it just in time, thank goodness.” He stepped aside to reveal a girl Gwendolyn’s own age, but taller, slimmer, blonder, and prettier in every way.
Cecilia Forthright. Standing at Gwendolyn’s door with the posture of a gladiator who has scored a lethal blow on his opponent, and is preparing to feed him to the lions. It was a very specific sort of posture.
“Ce—Cecilia, what are you doing here?” Gwendolyn tried to adopt some semblance of normalcy, but her hands decided that this was the time to start trembling violently, and had persuaded her legs to join in the shaking. It seemed Cecilia would not confine her bullying to the walls of the School. “Mr. Mason, I didn’t know… I mean, my parents never mentioned that you had a daughter.”
A wicked gleam shone in Cecilia’s eyes. “Silly Gwendolyn, I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before. After all, he knows your parents so well.”
Mr. Mason nodded. “I must say, I was quite flustered when Cecilia brought me your invitation. I hope you’ll excuse the state of me.” He gestured to his wardrobe, which was perfect in every respect as far as Gwendolyn could tell. “And since the two of you are such good friends from the School, I didn’t think you’d mind if I brought her along. She did quite a bit of begging, and I can never seem to say no to her.”
He gave his daughter a adoring smile, and Cecilia beamed up at him, as innocent as a baby. Then she turned back toward Gwendolyn, innocence melting into malicious glee.
“But…” Gwendolyn murmured. “Your last name is Forthright, not Mason.”
Cecilia’s grinned even wider. “Oh, Mason is just the name he uses for business. Daddy hates it when people make a fuss over him. Always pestering him to read some manuscript or other.”
Mr. Mason shifted his weight. “Er, may we come in? I’m quite anxious to meet your mother and father. They’re so terribly secretive. Between you and me, I was hoping to convince them to do some book signings. Did you know they’ve never made a public appearance?”
“No!” Gwendolyn shouted to absolutely everything he had just said. “Father isn’t feeling well. I’m sure they wouldn’t want company just now, I’m sorry—”
“Oh, pish-tosh. Go and fetch your mother darling, Marie and I can sort this out.”
“No, but—”
His tone turned hard. “Stop. I will not have my business dealings dictated to me by a child. Go and get your mother.”
“I can’t! I mean, not yet. Mother’s not done straightening up, and I know she wouldn’t want you to see an untidy home. So, forgive the awkwardness, but if you could just wait out here for one moment…”
“It’s no trouble, we’re more than happy to wait in the living room—”
“Take your time, Gwenny!” Cecilia said, her voice dripping with sickening sweetness. “Believe me, we’re in no rush. We’re looking forward to a very enjoyable evening. Oh, and here. You dropped this at the School today. I begged Daddy to let me come along just so I could give it to you in person.”
Cecilia held up a notebook. It was blue, with white flowers on it. She let the front cover flop open, and there the words Property of Gwendolyn Gray were written in a flowing hand. “I know how important it is to you. I couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you got it back.”
The phone rang again.
“Oh! Excuse me, I have to get that.” Gwendolyn snatched her notebook, darted back inside, and slammed the door before either of them could get a good look. She pressed her back against the door and tried to slow her breathing.
Gwendolyn flipped through the notebook, noting her drawings, her stories, and more importantly, her journal entries. No doubt Cecilia had read every word. How her parents had been taken by the Faceless Gentlemen, and how Gwendolyn had spent the last two years impersonating them, making a living as a writer under their names, and dodging the clutches of the Home for Unclaimed Children. And likewise, there was no doubt as to who had written this “invitation.”
Knowing all of this did nothing to fix the situation. Gwendolyn looked at the apartment. The place was an utter disaster. The torn furniture bled stuffing, the dining room was in disarray, and the kitchen wasn’t so much cluttered as it was downright unhygienic. She hadn’t exactly been the best housekeeper before the cat had ripped the place to shreds.
But how long could she stall them? And what sort of dent could she make in this war zone? And that blasted phone just wouldn’t stop ringing.
Maybe she could whip something together in the kitchen. She’d just gone to the store, so she could pretend both of her parents were sick in bed and send Cecilia and her father away after a quick bowl of oatmeal—
“Oh, poor Rosecap, what have we here?”
Gwendolyn whirled to see someone sitting on the counter. A man, barefoot and clad in tight black trousers and a tight black jacket over an orange tunic that was open nearly to the naval. He was androgynous and beautiful, the very picture of eternal youth, with rich brown skin and a tousled mop of dark hair. He glowed, quite literally, filling the kitchen with a soft orange light. His pointed ears twitched as he casually flipped through Gwendolyn’s copy of The Annals of the Fae. He looked up, cocked one eyebrow, and gave her a fox’s grin.
“Dost mischief come and pluck my ear?”
Gwendolyn could not have been more surprised if a dozen dwarves had shown up on her doorstep. She stood frozen, with nothing but the incessantly ringing phone to break the silence.
“Puck Robin!” she cried out when she had found her jaw and picked it up again.
“A fellow now, as you can see, so Goodfellow is what I’ll be.” Robin gestured to indicate that they were currently in their male form, when they went by Robin Goodfellow. When in their female form, they preferred Puck Robin. Of course, there were those times when Robin was somewhere in between, but everything about Robin was fluid and unpredictable. For example, turning up uninvited in Gwendolyn’s kitchen.
“Where did you come from?” Gwendolyn asked. Then she noticed the green book he was holding, full of the stories of the Fae. “Did you come out of the book?”
Robin hopped down from the counter. “No, I’ve been here since the break of day, you brought me in and bade me stay.”
“What? You certainly have not, I… No, no, no, you were the cat, weren’t you?”
“You’ve seen that I can change my shape, it’s not just biped forms I take.” He started rifling through the cabinets and plucking out all the dishes.
“Stop that!” Gwendolyn snatched a plate from his hands. “You ruined my apartment!” She slapped him on the arm, which she knew was only possible because he chose not to dodge the blow.
Robin grinned again. “A bit of fun is all I’ve had, and what’s more fun than being bad?”
“Is that why you’re here? For fun?”
The faerie began juggling cups and plates, a dozen at a time. “A favor, I recall you owe. It’s time to pay, so off we go.”
“I can’t leave now! This is a very inconvenient time for me to have a faerie in my kitchen, and—oh, for heaven’s sakes, hang on—” She picked up the still-ringing phone and slammed it back down again, silencing it.
Robin stopped juggling, and the dishes crashed to the floor and shattered. “An inconvenient time? Do tell. Have I the chance to raise more hell?”
“I don’t have time for this, I have to…” But Gwendolyn had a sudden idea. “Robin Goodfellow… How would you like to help me play a little trick?”
Robin crossed his arms. “A trick, you say? A game to play? On whom shall we this mischief lay?”
Gwendolyn put on a somber face. “On a girl most foul and loathsome. She has brought her father here to trap me and take me from my home. You say you can take any shape you wish. So how about my mother?”
“I’m no ones’ mum, you little sprite. That is not my kind of night.”
“But think it through! You can pretend to be my mother, help me with dinner, and play a grand game of pretend to fool these… uh, foolish mortals. Such good fun. And then, once our trick is played, I’ll take you to the Revels.”
Robin put a finger to his chin. “A revel, eh? That just might do. Show me a good time, and I’ll help you.”
“And then we’re square, yes?” said Gwendolyn. “No one owes anyone anything?”
“If I have a night of fun, then we’d be square, our bargain done.”
Gwendolyn was about to clarify what Robin’s idea of fun was, but there was a sudden banging at her front door. She groaned in frustration. “Just… stay here! I’ll see if I can stall them a little longer.” She dashed out of the kitchen and through the living room. “Though I’ve no idea what we’ll do for dinner…”
But no sooner had she turned the handle than Mr. Mason burst through the door. “Young lady, I won’t be made to stand out here in the hall like some common salesman. I demand that you fetch your mother, and—” He stopped, glancing around the room.
“Let me explain—” Gwendolyn whirled around. Then she nearly fell over in shock.
The apartment was clean. More than that, it was immaculate. It hadn’t looked this good since Gwendolyn’s mother had been here to clean it. And maybe not even then. The black leather upholstery had been restored, the glass topped coffee table was clean enough to be nearly invisible, and all the chrome furniture legs had been polished to a high sheen. Pictures hung on the walls again. The carpets were free of the stains that had built up over the past two years. Even the air was fresher, carrying a hint of the woodlands of Faeoria.
And then Gwendolyn’s mother came out of the kitchen.
“Oh. Hello there. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Of course, it was merely Robin Goodfellow under one of his glamour spells, the image of Mother no doubt plucked from Gwendolyn’s mind by magic. But knowing this did nothing to stem the impact of seeing her mother for the first time in two years, standing right there in a red evening dress with white polka dots, her platinum hair styled up and sculpted into large curls that framed her face.
Gwendolyn felt as though she’d been hit in the gut by the monorail. She couldn’t breathe, her throat tightening, her eyes stinging.
I don’t have time for that, she thought. She had to stay in control of herself, and the situation. She’d had enough trouble balancing her bipolar disorder today, and she couldn’t afford an anxiety attack.
Yet, she still found herself throwing her arms around the woman and giving her a fierce hug. “Mother. You look lovely.” And even if it wasn’t really her mother, it still felt wonderful to hold her, to feel her, to smell her. Good lord, she even smelled right. If it was all an illusion, she might as well enjoy it while it lasted. But if she wasn’t careful, she would slip into a manic phase and start glowing as brightly as the faeries.
Mr. Mason and Cecilia traded an awkward glance. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Right. Er, did you say you weren’t expecting us? I have your invitation right here—”
Robin-Mother pulled away from Gwendolyn and swooped toward Mr. Mason. “No, I only meant that I wasn’t expecting you so soon. What a pleasant surprise.”
Mr. Mason looked down at the phony invitation Cecilia had made, then at his watch. “But you said to be here at six, and—”
“And you are right on time.” Robin-Mother took him by the arm and patted his elbow. “But punctuality is such a rarity that I’m surprised when anyone is on time for anything. There is an appalling shortage of manners these days, don’t you agree?”
Gwendolyn marveled at the speed and cleverness of Robin’s lies. Of course, to Robin lies were as natural as breathing. Faeries couldn’t tell an outright falsehood, but they could bend and twist the truth in ways that would make a contortionist blush.
Robin turned toward Gwendolyn. “Darling, you haven’t properly welcomed our guest.” She raised an eyebrow and gave a subtle nod at Mr. Mason.
Gwendolyn took the hint, and prepared to drop some names. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Mason. Mother, I don’t believe you’ve met his daughter, Cecilia.”
“Charmed.” Cecilia gave a snarky smile that was anything but charming.
Robin shot back a look of mocking disdain, one that was safely hidden from Mr. Mason’s view. Then she led him to a door in the hall. “Come, Mr. Mason, I’ll show you around and we can give the girls a chance to catch up.”
“This is a coat closet.”
Robin shot a glance at Gwendolyn. “Of course it is, I was only offering to hang it up for you.”
“But I’m not wearing a coat.”
“And yet it is still polite to offer, isn’t it? I pride myself on being a gracious hostess…” And their voices trailed off down the hall.
Cecilia whirled on Gwendolyn and planted a finger on her chest. “All right, oddling. What are you playing at?”
Gwendolyn swatted her hand away. She wanted to snap back, to shout at Cecilia for starting all of this, but now that she knew Cecilia was her boss’s daughter, shouting hardly seemed wise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily.
“Yes, you do!” Cecilia seemed to have no problem shouting. “I read your diary! I know that’s not your mother. Your parents are missing. You’ve been living here, all by yourself. Playing house, pretending to be a grown up, living off my daddy’s money, you lying little—”
Gwendolyn forced a laugh, which stopped Cecilia mid-rant. “Oh, that! A bit of fiction. All those stories of monsters and men with no faces kidnapping my parents. Surely you’ve wished the same thing sometimes.” She put on a look of mocking concern. “You didn’t think it was real, did you? Silly Cecilia.”
Cecilia’s eyes flicked side-to-side and she bit her lip. “No. You weren’t making that up. You… it was too real…”
Gwendolyn laughed again. “Don’t be so gullible.” She leaned in close, right into Cecilia’s face. “But making up fake dinner invitations? Whatever it is you’re planning, it’s not going to work.” At least, Gwendolyn hoped it wouldn’t. There was no telling what Robin might do. And she hoped Cecilia hadn’t noticed how her hands were shaking.
Cecilia narrowed her eyes. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Well, you’re not the only one who’s clever. Just you wait and—”
Laughter interrupted the two girls’ argument, and Gwendolyn’s not-mother came back into the room, leading Mr. Mason by the arm. “What an amusing anecdote. I had no idea that a publisher’s accounting practices could be so funny!”
“Thank you for that… little tour,” he said. “It was a very interesting, er, hallway.”
Robin shot a withering glare at Gwendolyn that looked all too much like her actual mother. “Yes, this place does have much fewer rooms than one would expect… hard to imagine how one could live in such a cramped little hovel. Now, if you could all have a seat in the living room, I’ll get dinner on the table.”
Robin went into the kitchen, and Gwendolyn followed. “What are you doing? We don’t have anything to feed them. Do we?”
“Double, double, toil and trouble, cauldron burn and cauldron bubble,” Robin said with a wink. She did entirely too much winking for Gwendolyn’s taste.
“Is that a yes?”
Robin rolled her eyes. “Please, child. Who do you take me for? So far, this night has been quite a bore. Your revels best be quite the show, or my displeasure you shall know.”
Gwendolyn frowned. “You’re speaking in rhymes again. You weren’t doing that a moment ago.”
“That would ruin the trick, wouldn’t it? I’ve told you before, I can speak however I please.”
Gwendolyn gave a groan of exasperation. “Then why do you do it at all?”
“Because I’m terribly clever. Now, go care for our guests, young lady!” And she pointed to the living room.
“All right. Don’t get too into character.”
Author Bio:
B. A. Williamson is the award winning author of The Chronicles of Gwendolyn Gray. When not mining the unfathomable depths of consciousness for new words to sling, he can be found wandering Indianapolis, directing plays, taming children, and probably singing entirely too loud. Direct all complaints and darkest secrets to @bawrites and bawilliamson.com.
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