The Sun Frank F. Weber Publication date: December 10th 2024 Genres: Adult, Thriller
Taytum Hanson, a determined and alluring attorney, steps into the sunlight, as she relentlessly searches for a loophole in her lover’s conviction. Is freeing Tug Grant the answer or the beginning of a new set of problems? Taytum’s passionate lifestyle and willingness to take on the Minnesota Mafia places her life in jeopardy. Jon and Serena Frederick face hard choices in this intense fast-paced thriller with a fierce pulse-pounding ending. If you enjoyed Scandal of Vandals you’ll love how The Sun warms and then burns.
TUG GRANT
6:00 A.M., TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2021
MINNESOTA CORRECTIONAL FACILITY – LINO LAKES
7525 4TH AVENUE, LINO LAKES
The cells in each pod at Lino are dull brown concrete with blue metal doors. I shiver as I glance out the thin side window, waiting for the day to start. Everybody wears two layers because there’s a chill that runs through this cellblock on a cold night that you can’t shake. The common area has blue metal tables and chairs bolted to the floor. It would be impossible to make a seat less comfortable than the flat steel circles mounted too close to our tables.
I’m tempted to call the Innocence Project. Dick Doden mur- dered my wife, Deb Grant. Doden testified that my friend, Roan Caruso, hired him for the hit. And that’s where the evidence ends. How the hell did I get convicted of murder-for-hire? Prosecutor Bridget Bare claimed the circumstantial evidence was over- whelming. But was it? Is taking out an insurance policy on your partner evidence of murder? Ten million dollars might have been a little excessive, but it’s not enough to convict a man of murder.
I had loaned Roan one hundred thousand dollars before Deb’s murder. That loan and the insurance were all they had. It was all circumstantial. Roan never implicated me.
Author Bio:
Frank Weber is a forensic psychologist who has completed assessments for homicide, sexual assault, and domestic abuse cases. His work has ranged from assessing murderers chained to the cement floor in the basement of a prison and assessing psychopaths to providing therapy for wealthy professionals who’ve engaged in multiple affairs. He has testified as an expert witness in numerous sexual assault and homicide cases, written seven different treatment workbooks, and in 2015 published a training series for psychologists which has been accredited by the MN Board of Psychology. He has received the President’s Award from the Minnesota Correctional Association for his forensic work, and recently received an award for excellence in his clinical work. Frank Weber has used his unique understanding of how predator’s think, victim trauma, and actual court cases to create a thrilling mystery. His debut novel, Murder Book, will be available in May, 2017.
Ambition to Savor B.B.E. Gwyn (The Lone Thorn Series) Publication date: February 7th 2025 Genres: Adult, Adventure, Fantasy
When a quest for magical ingredients takes you from kitchen to adventure, you’d better save your appetite.
Dedicated and cautious restaurant owner Jonathan Tessier dreams of crafting legendary recipes—the fame and fortune that might follow is a pretty nice bonus. But it’s all he can do to keep his restaurant afloat. Stolen ingredients, a surprise visit from a food critic, and a damaged reputation put his business at risk.
Jonathan knows he needs to make a change. A big one. Before he loses it all.
He and his eager head chef, Elenora Kerras, soon set off to find the bizarre ingredients that might save his restaurant. This hunt takes them through towns and wilderness, where they encounter dangerous beasts and sly individuals. They face challenges more thrilling than even their busiest dinner shifts.
Each success brings Jonathan ever closer to his lofty goal—until he stumbles upon his most startling discovery yet.
Will his dreams be worth all their luster, or will the revelation shatter his culinary world?
A standalone fantasy adventure in the Lone Thorn series, Ambition to Savor is a fun and whimsical tale that explores a question you never thought you needed to ask—What if a restaurant owner had magical powers and a dream to find flavors from deep within a world of hidden quirks?
Corruption. Mutiny. Absolute villainy was occurring within the walls of his beloved establishment.
Jonathan Tessier had little reason to complain of late. Profit margins were rising, his customer base was expanding, and the recent annual health inspection had wrapped up swimmingly with no findings. After years of fatiguing work and plowing through stress, things were supposed to be looking up for his pride and joy, the Taverne Tessier.
However, walking down the street on this early autumn morning, he was feeling neither proud nor joyous. He could see his restaurant across from him as he stood waiting at the intersection, its pristine exterior of royal blue and beige surrounded by trees of warm hues. When he first renovated the place, he had aimed for a clean and regal appearance inside and out, so even if he could not boast of its size, the feeling of elegance, class, and beauty would still be conveyed.
And now it was filthy. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Author Bio:
B.B.E. Gwyn is an author who enjoys diving into realms of low fantasy adventure. She draws inspiration from tabletop role-playing games, yokai folklore, and all kinds of media featuring characters with fun, bizarre powers. Her novels focus on intricate plots and rich character development without any romance or spicy elements, using the full breadth of her pages to offer thrilling adventures in a mysterious world.
The Garden of Before Ryan Leslie (The Between, #2) Published by: Parliament House Press Publication date: September 23rd 2025 Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Horror
“That’s what happens here, Paul. Every power has its price. It always gets worse.”
For Paul Prentice things have gotten much worse. His house was destroyed in the battle with the Koŝmaro. He’s on thin ice at his job, where instead of working he loses himself in the Between’s computer game, trying in vain to find explanations. His best friend Jay has transformed into a shadowy killer. Corinne and Supriya have vanished. And it appears his wife, Julie, has finally had enough and left him.
Alone and near ruin, Paul receives a familiar visitor with a dire message: they are all back in the Between. Hunted, captured, doomed. For Paul, still wearing the serĉilo’s artifact on his wrist, escape was never an option. The game must be played until the end.
In the harrowing conclusion to The Between, Leslie once again invites readers into a mind-twisting world where the most terrifying monsters are the ones let loose inside of us.
Ryan Leslie oversees research for a large health system, where making stuff up is generally frowned upon. His creative outlet has always been writing fiction. He lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife, children’s author Lindsay Leslie, and their two sons.
Change of Heart Dr. Cristina LePort (A Miner & Mulville Novel) Publication date: February 4th 2025 Genres: Adult, Thriller
In the bustling heart of New York City, a young medical student’s life is tragically cut short, though her heart continues to beat, holding the promise of life for another. Detective Kirk Miner is called to the scene and quickly uncovers a chilling conspiracy involving organ donations and high-stakes crime. As the investigation unfolds, Miner realizes the case is far more complex and dangerous than it initially seemed.
Enter FBI Agent Jack Mulville, who steps in to supervise Special Agent Charlotte Bloom as they join forces with Miner. Together, they unravel a web of corruption, revealing that Amy Winter’s death is connected to a ruthless organ trafficking ring. Amy Winter, a promising pre-med student, is found dead under mysterious circumstances. Her death triggers an investigation that pulls Miner, Mulville, and Bloom into a labyrinth of deceit and desperation. As they dig deeper, they discover that Amy’s heart is not just a donor’s gift but a coveted prize in a deadly game controlled by criminals willing to kill to keep their secrets hidden.
The quest for justice takes Miner, Mulville, and Bloom through the shadowy underbelly of organ trafficking, revealing the lengths to which people will go to secure life-saving transplants. Amidst the danger, they face moral dilemmas and personal risks, pushing them to their limits as they strive to protect innocent lives and dismantle a powerful criminal network.
“Change of Heart” is a gripping medical thriller that intertwines the intricacies of modern medicine with the relentless pursuit of justice. Cristina LePort, M.D., masterfully combines her medical expertise with edge-of-your-seat storytelling, delivering a novel that will keep you turning pages long into the night. Dr. LePort is an accomplished physician with a passion for weaving medical knowledge into thrilling narratives. Her extensive background in medicine lends authenticity and depth to her stories, making the Miner & Mulville series a unique blend of fact and fiction. (CristinaLePort.com)
He examined the blood-smeared paper. Only one typed sentence: I donate my organs for transplant. Kirk stared at the illegible signature. Something begged for attention, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was…
“Any weapons or bullets?”
“This was on the driver’s seat between the victim and the door.” John produced an evidence bag from his backpack. “A Ruger. A woman’s gun. Small, concealable, and accurate.”
Kirk reached for the bag and wrapped his hand around the plastic covering the grip’s checkered frame. In his mind, the weapon’s light weight and John’s words triggered an image of a beautiful young woman, Amy Winter, with no future.
“The bullet,” John went on, “ended up embedded next to the ceiling, on the car’s front passenger side. No other bullets found in the gun.”
“Why next to the ceiling?” Kirk lifted his eyes from the gun.
“It must have hit her cellphone.” John handed Kirk a plastic-wrapped iPhone with a dazzling pink case. “She must’ve been holding the phone to her ear when the bullet exited. We found the phone on the car floor between the two back seats. Screen’s shattered, phone’s dead.”
Kirk examined the phone. The black screen bore a bloody diagonal fracture from top to bottom. That would have been the direction of the exiting bullet grazing a phone glued to the woman’s right ear. Who in hell would she be chatting with while killing herself?
“Who discovered the victim?” Kirk said.
“A man called the hospital ER and 9-1-1 at about the same time.” John extracted a smartphone from his sport jacket and scrolled through his notes. “The call to the ER was registered at 4:41a.m. I’m not sure how precise that is. The 9-1-1 call came in at 4:42.”
Kirk placed his index finger on the phone’s volume button. Nothing happened. Then his thumb pressed the reset button several times. After the third try, the screen lit up. A key piece of a puzzle fell into place, making Kirk feel almost giddy with excitement.
“I’m afraid we’re not dealing with an attempted suicide,” Kirk said, turning the face of the phone toward John, “but an attempted murder.”
“I agree.” John’s brows went up. “But how can you be so sure without any forensics?”
“Several things,” Kirk said. “The note was added later, after the shot. Smears of blood, instead of sprays. Poor attempt by the shooter to make us believe the note was on the seat before the bullet hit.”
“Yeah,” John said, “that’s been bothering me also. You’ve come a long way from your training over ribs and beer.”
Kirk smiled at the memory of their favorite pub. It seemed a long time ago when Kirk decided to leave the police force and John helped him get started as a private investigator. John was more than a mentor. He always cared about Kirk, but cared even more after Kirk’s near-fatal car accident years ago. John had become as protective as an older brother.
The image of the dark pub dissipated and Kirk refocused on the victim’s note.
“I’m no calligrapher,” he said, “but, from the slanting of the signature, I think the victim is right-handed. A right-handed person would shoot her right side.”
“If it’s actually her signature,” John said.
“The shooter could have forced her to sign at gun point,” Kirk said. “Either way, it would point to attempted murder.”
“What else?”
“We’ve got the exact time of the shooting,” Kirk said, waving the plastic-clad phone. “Here in this frozen, undead iPhone.”
John grabbed the evidence bag. He stared at the fractured, frozen screen.
His lips stretched into a grin.
“The bullet froze the time at 4:43,” Kirk said. “One minute after the 9-1-1 call. The man called before the shooting occurred. It’s unlikely someone would notice the shooter, figure out what he was going to do, call the police, and leave without talking to them.”
“The witness could have left because he was afraid the shooter would come after him,” John said.
“Or perhaps,” Kirk said, “the caller knew the shooting would occur because he himself was the shooter. And he wanted the victim to be found as soon as possible.”
John referred again to his notes. “The caller said that someone had been shot. Not someone is going to shoot, or is shooting, somebody. The woman had gun powder residue on her left hand, but the shooter could’ve placed the gun in her hand before throwing it in the car. We’ve got a few prints on the handle. I bet they’re all from her. But I still think you’re right.”
Kirk nodded. “The shooter made sure she would be rescued in time for her organs to be saved for donation and subsequent transplant.”
Kirk turned toward the hospital ER entrance. A vivid memory materialized. A plastic bracelet around his wrist, from six years ago, in a different hospital. The bracelet classifying him as an organ donor. After his prolonged coma, doctors had given up on Kirk. Luckily for him, he had woken up and retained his organs.
The woman who had crossed the ER threshold earlier that morning wouldn’t be so lucky. Someone wanted her organs badly enough to put a bullet in her brain.
Author Bio:
Dr. Cristina LePort was born in Bologna, Italy. She attended medical school at the University of Bologna and then completed her medical training at Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn and at the University of California, Los Angeles. She is board certified in Internal Medicine and Cardiovascular Diseases and has been practicing medicine for more than thirty years. Cristina is also the Chief Medical Officer and co-founder of Genescient, a biotech company devoted to genetic research on aging and the amelioration of chronic diseases. Medicine and fiction are her twin passions, and she is absolutely thrilled to be able to share her medical thrillers with the world.
Cristina LePort currently resides in Orange County, California, with her husband Peter LePort, a general surgeon. They have three children and three grandchildren.
Eternal Ashes Janelle Marie (Ash & Rage, #1) Publication date: January 21st 2025 Genres: Adult, Thriller
One night. One moment. One mistake. Now life will never be the same.
In her hometown of Auburn Village, Sofie Collins has built a good life for herself and her teenage daughter, April.
Sofie’s business is growing, and they are both happily in love, with April about to graduate from high school in only a few weeks.
Life – although far from perfect – is good. But one moment is all it takes.
Just one moment and now Sofie’s world will never be the same again.
Instead of building a brighter future with each passing day, Sofie suddenly finds the happiness she found slipping further and further through her fingers.
And it seems as though all the blame and guilt lies with her…
Or does it?
This mesmerizing drama is the compelling first chapter of a story of heartbreak, betrayal and cold revenge. When her world breaks, will Sofie find the strength to rebuild the pieces? Or is she about to send it crashing down?
Sofie stared out the window of Chief Edison’s unmarked police car, a cold sense of dread spreading through her chest as she awaited her daughter’s fate. The local hospital wasn’t far, but the ride felt like it was hours. They had left immediately after throwing on some clothes. Sofie wasn’t sure what she had grabbed, or if she should bring anything for April. What had happened? What could’ve possibly happened? Why hadn’t she come home?
The night was still and silent. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, in such stark contrast to the turmoil raging through Sofie’s whole body.
Please, let my baby girl be okay. The thought repeated itself in her head, right along with the last image she had of April walking hand-in-hand out of the pub with Drew. April’s last words to Sofie had been “I love you.” But Sofie couldn’t remember if she’d said those all-important words back to her.
Sofie’s breath clutched in her chest, her gasp disturbing the silence inside the car. Chief Edison glanced back at her through the rearview mirror, concern in his eyes despite his blank expression. Beside her, Parker took Sofie’s hand, interlocking their fingers.
Chief Edison hadn’t given them many details beyond the fact April and Drew had been in an accident. He’d shared no insight into their condition. He didn’t need to though. Sofie could read between the lines. If the kids were okay, they would have been driven home.
April would have called.
If the kids were okay, Chief Edison would have said so instead of staying tight-lipped. His silence was a red flag. A bad omen.
Please, let my baby girl be okay…
Sofie’s vision blurred and she blinked back tears, refusing to let any fall yet. She was convinced crying prematurely would only bring bad luck. Sofie was fearing the worst, but she needed to hold on to some kind of hope. At least now, before she knew for certain how bad it was.
Maybe the kids were banged up and in shock. Maybe there were some broken bones. Maybe some concussions. Scrapes and scratches. Bruises. A bunch of stuff would heal quickly…
And maybe one day, a few weeks or months from now, they would remember this incident as a scary close-call they’d overcome. A minor setback.
Someday in the future, April and Drew would be married and in their forties, telling their kids about the bad crash they had weeks before graduating high school. Their yearbook would have pictures of all the signatures they’d gotten on their matching casts.
There was no need to panic.
No need to panic. Sofie let these words replace the chant in her head, wanting so badly to believe them. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to cling to some optimism, the prolonged drive provided ample time for dread to take hold again.
Author Bio:
Janelle Marie is a distinguished voice in the realm of thriller-suspense fiction. Residing amidst the towering evergreens and cascading mountains of the Pacific Northwest, she infuses her stories with the essence of her surroundings, creating a unique and immersive experience for her readers.
With a talent for weaving tales, Janelle embarked on her writing journey, driven by a love for a great book. She discovered her passion for crafting stories that send shivers down the spine, skillfully spinning narratives that are tapestries of suspense, where unexpected twists and turns keep readers guessing until the final, gripping conclusion.
Janelle Marie invites readers to join her on a journey into the heart of suspense, where the landscapes are as unpredictable as the twists in her tales. Through her evocative prose, she aims to transport readers into a world where danger lurks in the shadows and the only way out is to keep turning the pages.
Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver D. Wallace Peach Publication date: January 9th 2024 Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
“Already the animals starve. Soon the bonemen will follow, the Moss Folk and woodlings, the watermaids and humans. Then the charmed will fade. And all who will roam a dead world are dead things. Until they too vanish for lack of remembering. Still, Weaver, it is not too late.”
In the frost-kissed cottage where the changing seasons are spun, Erith wears the Weaver’s mantle, a title that tests her mortal, halfling magic. As the equinox looms, her first tapestry nears completion—a breathtaking ode to spring. She journeys to the charmed isle of Innishold to release the beauty of nature’s awakening across the land.
But human hunters have defiled the enchanted forest and slaughtered winter’s white wolves. Enraged by the trespass, the Winter King seizes Erith’s tapestry and locks her within his ice-bound palace. Here, where comfort and warmth are mere glamours, she may weave only winter until every mortal village succumbs to starvation, ice, and the gray wraiths haunting the snow.
With humanity’s fate on a perilous edge, Erith must break free of the king’s grasp and unravel a legacy of secrets. In a charmed court where illusions hold sway, allies matter, foremost among them, the Autumn Prince. Immortal and beguiling, he offers a tantalizing future she has only imagined, one she will never possess—unless she claims her extraordinary power to weave life from the brink of death.
In the lyrical fantasy tradition of Margaret Rogerson and Holly Black, D. Wallace Peach spins a spellbinding tale of magic, resilience, and the transformative potency of tales—a tapestry woven with peril and hope set against the frigid backdrop of an eternal winter.
A wicker basket of colorful spools rested at my feet. I picked through the bewitched thread my mother had hand-spun long before my birth. No matter how many seasons passed, the spools unwound and unwound, and I no longer fretted about reaching their ends. There was no end to magic, no end to the seasons, no end to my place on the cusp of two worlds.
A delicate pink caught my eye, a color crafted from the cherry blossoms bordering my garden. I held it against the tapestry, testing its suitability for flowering plum trees and coral bells I’d stitch into the meadows and along the forest’s edge.
“Should you desire my opinion, Erith,” a small voice piped up, “it requires a touch of carnation and a shimmer of sunshine. On the dogwood blossoms as well.”
“I wondered about those.” My gaze rose to my knee-high hospet. He sat cross-legged on the hearthstone in front of our shrinking fire, cracking walnuts with his sharp teeth. The creature blinked at me with eyes as clear as spring water, his waistcoat buttoned, cheeks rosy, and cinnamon hair parted in the middle like a magistrate. Nobbin kept my wood and moss cottage tidy, expecting little beyond customary respect and an occasional outfit when his garments aged past mending.
He also took it upon himself to offer artistic advice since my mother had chosen to join my father in the underworld.
“I might leave them as they are,” I said. “Dogwoods are white.”
Nobbin’s eyebrows tilted up in an expression of devilish skepticism. “Spring’s princess will agree with me. Give it a brush of magic. I know you dabble when I’m otherwise occupied.”
“You spy on me?”
“I’m observant. And I’m charmed.” He flicked his handcloth at the window. “Snow doesn’t glitter like that without your touch, my girl. You added that sparkle to your mother’s tapestry, and it impressed the Winter King.”
“Do you think so?” A blush heated my cheeks. “From what I’ve gathered, he’s not one to dole out compliments.”
“None of them are.” Nobbin held up a nut as if inspecting a precious gem. “Such is the nature of immortals. Add a layer of royalty on top, and we are lucky they don’t dismember anyone or anything tarnishing their crowns.”
“Dismember?” I cringed at the grisly thought and drew my black shawl around my shoulders. “My mother told me the courtiers are kind and cruel in equal measure. Without good reason for either.”
Not one to speak with his mouth full, Nobbin raised a finger and swallowed a morsel of walnut. “Indeed, they’re notoriously whimsical. But you are their weaver, and every artist must begin somewhere. You will earn your place, Erith, though it is no simple task to prove your power and demand respect. Spring is the first tapestry you may claim as your own creation, and it is a glorious start. I have untold faith in you.”
I smiled gratefully and stifled a shudder at the challenge ahead. Despite Nobbin’s trust in me, my confidence wavered like a weathervane on a gusty day. I’d done my best, and it would have to serve. The seasons’ rulers wouldn’t dismember me on a whim. I hoped.
Author Bio:
Best-selling author D. Wallace Peach grew up surrounded by her father’s well-loved paperback books. Fantasy was a staple, but it was Tolkien’s The Hobbit that planted the seeds which would grow into a passion for writing.
Peach started writing later in life when years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books. She was instantly hooked.
In addition to fantasy books, Peach’s publishing career includes participation in various anthologies featuring short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. She’s an avid supporter of the arts in her local community, organizing and publishing annual anthologies of Oregon prose, poetry, and photography.
Peach lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon’s rainforest with her husband, two owls, a horde of bats, and the occasional family of coyotes.
Inked in Blood and Memory Allison Ivy Publication date: December 3rd 2024 Genres: Horror, LGBTQ+, New Adult
Recluse Sophie Vanguard’s winter cabin retreat turns ominous when blue flowers mysteriously appear. They’re everywhere. On her front porch, in kitchen cabinets, and even on her pillow. It isn’t long before chilling whispers echo in the halls, and her journal repeats seven unsettling entries.
Enter the bloodied and beautifully eccentric Ly Thi Ren. Though Ren seems familiar, Sophie refuses to believe the girl’s insistence that they are trapped inside a book.
In a land of fiction, truth and lies blur together, clear decisions are marred by doubt, and shared family trauma lurks just below the surface.
Can Ren and Sophie make it out alive? Or will they end up nothing more than words inked in blood and memory?
With elements of gothic horror, splatterpunk, romance, and fantasy, Inked in Blood and Memory is a self-aware LGBTQ+ horror that wraps its clutches around the reader and doesn’t let go.
You never forget your first ritual sacrifice. So why had I? That seems like something you’d remember. It’s not something most American families gather for.
Hey, Má. Could you pass the rau răm? Oh, and what time is the sacrifice tonight?
And yet, I had forgotten. I had forgotten the little things, too. My mother’s laugh, her abrupt chortles that often devolved into giggles. My childhood nickname.
We eat pho the night our own parents sacrifice one of my best friends. It’s weird what sticks with you after years of trying to forget. We eat in silence, though I haven’t yet realized the reason for the solemn mood. My nine-year-old brain doesn’t quite grasp the idea of “sacrifice.” I can’t wait to wear my new ceremonial cloak. I begged my parents to let me wear it through dinner, but they refused.
“It’s too special,” they say. “You don’t want to ruin it, do you, con gái?”
No, I don’t want that. Still, my eyes wander to the piece of clothing that hangs on the coat tree next to the front door. The intricate symbols fascinate me. The only other place I’ve seen them is on the book. Not just any book. The book.
I get to see it on special occasions during the four months out of the year our family guards it. The other eight months are split between two additional families. My best friends’, Sophie Vanguard and Jeremy Berg-Nilsen.
We’ll join them later for the ceremony or the “thanksgiving,” but not that Thanksgiving. We are not pilgrims, but our three families are special. Chosen. And today, Jeremy is the most special.
“Ông xã, are you sure this is the only way?” Má squeezes Ba’s arm.
Ba remains quiet for so long I almost ask him if he’s heard Má. I’m not sure what she means by her question or why it’s gotten even quieter than before.
Ba answers before I speak. “It’s too late to back out. Maybe we could have years ago, but not now. This is how we keep our family safe.” He kisses my mother’s hand and stands to clear the plates.
I knit my brows together. Why are they so serious? It’s like they’re sad. But it’s the day of the thanksgiving. They should be happy.
Later that night, I beam proudly in my cloak with the strange symbols, relishing the feel of the velvet hem between my fingertips. Incense burns in a corner, permeating the air with a smoky aroma that I’ve always hated, but it reminds me of the days we celebrate the four equinoxes.
The adults hug and talk amongst themselves excitedly. All but Mrs. Berg-Nilsen, Jeremy’s mom. She stands against the wall, keeping to herself. Her long blonde hair covers most of her face, but I can tell her cheeks are wet.
I ponder this as I sit cross-legged on the antique rug with Jeremy in his family’s living room. We sip Capri-Suns and talk about what we think will happen in a few minutes.
“Happy birthday, Jeremy,” Sophie says after arriving with her parents and barreling through the adults’ legs. She holds a cloak that matches mine out behind her as she runs like she’s a superhero or a bat and plops down on the rug between us.
“Thanks, Sophie,” Jeremy mumbles, staring at his Capri-Sun.
Of the three of us, Sophie is the most frenetic. I think that’s the word Ba used. The adults are always hiding the sugar from her. She channels her chaotic energy for good most of the time. At school this past week, a couple kids from our grade cornered Jeremy. Sophie took me by the hand and came to Jeremy’s aid, not letting up until the kids backed off.
“Why is your mom crying?” I ask Jeremy.
His eyes move from his drink to his shoes, and he tugs at the laces. “Dad says she’s happy, but she won’t look at me.”
“Grownups are weird,” I say, watching Jeremy’s parents lead the rest into the kitchen.
“I think I did something real bad,” Jeremy says.
The door swings closed, and I’m on my feet, ignoring Sophie’s questions and drawn to the conversation happening behind the closed door.
Author Bio:
Allison Ivy writes under a pen name and grew up reading a book a day. She graduated from Penn State with a B.A. in English and a Creative Writing certificate. She currently lives in Connecticut and listens to far too many show tunes and DVD commentaries. The Dragon and the Double-Edged Sword is her first novel.
I spent the next two days nursing a chill fever and watching the fires engulf pockets of the city—more slowly than you might expect, with prodigious walls of steam wherever fire met the Missouri floodwaters. Despite the vivid show, there was something anticlimactic about the way the town died so gradually after everyone in it had died so fast.
The amoxicillin and painkillers aided the convalescence, but they did nothing for my mental health. Whether awake or asleep, I obsessed over my wife and son. I also immersed myself in a sea of questions that had no answers, questions that begat other questions, borne of illness of the body and mind. Some of the more obvious ones:
What to do now? Go find survivors? Stay here and make sure I’m visible when the National Guard comes?
Some were darker: Did Ronnie and Evan suffer, or did everyone everywhere really drop dead at the same time?
The biggest question of all, which I asked myself every few minutes: What the hell happened?
And that question’s obvious cousin: Why didn’t it happen to me?
A fact that ruled out positive answers: No rescuers had come to the aid of the 60,000 souls of Great Falls, Montana. This, combined with the death of all radio signals from near and far, told me this plague or, I don’t know, supercharged virus or whatever had a potentially planet-wide scope. But since I was alive, other people were alive too, right? At the very least another skydiver. A deep-sea diver. Someone who was immune to this … to this what? Was it a virus? Bioterrorism? How could it kill the people on the ground and the people in my plane but spare me? Did my high-speed fall—115 miles per hour—was that what saved me? My unique movement within a certain pocket of air pressure shielded me from a blast from an otherwise apocalyptic pathogen or radiation pulse or microwave beam? If so, were other jumpers still breathing? Or climbers up on Everest? How about miners and spelunkers and sailors in submarines? I couldn’t be the only one left.
Author Bio:
Steven Owad is an award-winning writer and editor living in Calgary, Canada. His novels have been praised in publications such as Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine and Kirkus Reviews, and his stage plays have been produced in theaters throughout North America. In his previous life as a newspaper editor, Steven lived in Thailand and Poland, where he begged journalists not to use “impact” as a verb. Before that, there was a degree in English, with a lot of thousand-page Victorian novels. These days shorter modern novels and plays are more his speed. Steven loves the outdoors when there’s no risk of frostbite. Connect with him on Facebook or at stevenowad.com.
Remembering Demons J. Cornelius (The God Cycle, #1) Publication date: May 9th 2024 Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Paranormal, Thriller
Have you ever wondered what lurks in the mirrors?
Daryl doesn’t have to wonder… he knows.
But why do they stalk him? Why can’t he remember anything?
It’s enough to drive a guy crazy!
Meanwhile, the eerie asylum seems to know more than an old pile of rock and mortar has any right to and his therapy is uncovering a blood-stained past of pain and death, alongside something dormant within him of disturbing power. When Dr. Walker teaches him how to face his demons, the psychoses and dreams conspire to warn him of something even worse stalking him. Something ancient and evil.
To survive, Daryl must confront the repressed memories that drove him insane.
For madness—is a blunt instrument.
This dark fantasy epic and paranormal thriller with a Shutter Island’esque vibe will have you questioning what is real. The story mixes dark and traditional fantasy with horror and science fiction elements to explore mental health, guilt, and a world where the physical realm of our experience blends seamlessly with the fantastical realm of monsters and gods. Perfect for fans of The Gunslinger, The Dresden Files, and the TV series Black Mirror.
“Dad,” she said imploringly, “please don’t make me show you again.”
A shiver ran down his spine. “No, of course,” Daryl said quickly. “No need for that.”
“Why did you go?”
“I . . .” he halted, unsure. “I thought I could have both.”
“And then what happened?”
“I . . .” His mind blanked, and he looked out the window, petrified.
“You have to face this, it’s not—” The pitch of her voice rose in alarm. “The butter is burning!”
Daryl whipped around, depositing the smoking skillet at the back of the stove before cranking up the extractor hood.
“Thanks,” he said, about to turn back around.
The sound of small feet pattered across the floor, coming for him.
“This is not how it happened,” she said from right next to him, the accusation in her voice like a discordant note, slashing the air. He knew what was coming, fearing it with every fiber of his being. Still, her voice ignited a deep ache to turn around and hold her, but he knew that was impossible.
The smoke from the burned butter grew in intensity, and he looked down. The tabletop was beginning to char. Wisps of smoke were gently rising from the crack where the counter met the wall. She jumped onto the tabletop, bringing herself level with him, reaching out for him with arms starting to blister from the heat.
His vision was blurring, as if sweat was dripping into his eyes, and his mind reeled. She grabbed him, causing him to stumble and seize hold of the now smoldering counter.
“Dad,” she said softly.
He tried to resist, but she forcibly turned him around, facing her. Facing those terrible eyes . . . eyes which held the truth.
“No,” he muttered.
“Listen.”
“Please no,” he repeated meekly.
She leaned in as if to speak, but instead opened her mouth wide and screamed. It tore through everything, cutting at his very soul. He knew why she screamed. He knew . . . Daryl felt a sudden sharp pain in his mouth, followed by a jolt as the dream receded. His surroundings grew foggy, her face retreating down a well. The dream dwindling, dwindling, gone.
Author Bio:
J. Cornelius is a medical researcher of pathogenic viruses by day and a writer of fantasy/sci-fi fiction by night. He is also: An equal responsibility father of three, a loving husband, an avid lover of many types of mountaineering, especially rock climbing and snowboarding, and a DIY maker of herb and fruit flavored spirits.
Sign up to his newsletter on his website to get a free copy of the God Cycle short story, ‘Catching Spiders’.
How Well Do You Know Your Husband? M.Q. Webb Publication date: November 15th 2024 Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller
Aria’s seemingly perfect life begins to unravel when she suspects her husband, Ethan, is having an affair.
As she navigates her feelings of betrayal, Aria starts to notice someone is following her. When her best friend Isla is murdered in a dark bar bathroom, Aria is left grappling with the chilling possibility that Isla’s death was meant for her.
Amidst the police investigation, rising paranoia, and Ethan’s increasingly suspicious behavior, Aria is forced to question everyone around her, including herself.
In this gripping psychological thriller, the lines between trust and deceit blur, leaving you wondering: how well do you really know the people closest to you?
I’ve been watching her for three weeks now. She hasn’t noticed, perpetually focused on herself, lost in her thoughts. Not for the first time, I struggle to understand what he loves about her. I suppose it could be the obvious things. Anyone can see she’s beautiful, but so are a million other women in New York City. She’s caring, but everyone cares about something. What makes her so special?
Her gray knit dress moves with her as she walks, accentuating the way her slim waist curves into round hips. He wasn’t supposed to fall for her, but I think he has. She was supposed to be temporary, a fleeting chapter in his life, but she has become a permanent fixture.
I watch her as she lines up at a street vendor and orders a pretzel, refusing the change offered by the mustached man who delivers the freshly baked knot with a smile that reaches his eyes. She doesn’t appreciate the life she has been given. She spends his money as if it’s hers to waste, buying new things for their home. Treating herself to expensive clothing.
People who do bad things shouldn’t get away with it. There are meant to be repercussions. I’m not superstitious enough to expect justice, but she did what she did, and now there should be consequences. Order maintained. Rules followed.
Tonight may be the night I end her life, like she ended mine.
I slip a hand into my pocket and feel the smooth metal, imagining what it would be like to sink it into her side. I would leave her there for everyone to see who she really is instead of the perfect avatar of a loving wife she’s created. She’s hiding her true self now, but all she needs is a nudge for her real nature to surface. He won’t love her once he sees that.
The smell of unemptied trash in the alleyway fills my nostrils, growing more pungent, but I press on. I curl my fingers around the knife and increase my pace to catch up. She’s fast, but I’m taller, lengthening my strides so I don’t lose her.
I’m close now. Much closer, and I risk being noticed. I promised myself that if that happens, my choice will be made, and I will kill her.
Author Bio:
M. Q. Webb writes psychological thrillers and suspense novels, including the Oscar de la Nuit series. Her books have hit the Amazon best seller chart in the US. She studied psychology and business.
How Well Do You Know Your Husband is a stand alone psychological thriller, and her third release.
