Jenyfer Matthews

Vicky Burkholder is here this week to share her Cerridwen Press book Danger on XY-One with us.

As her alter-ego, Vicky has multiple homes all over the universe. Her place in Akashan’te was the first, but other planets drew her away. It’s hard sometimes, though. A lot of cultures are rather closed minded when it comes to “special abilities”. She looks human – for the most part – but when she starts writing about characters being able to move things or flicking fire from their fingertips, or changing the course of rivers, people tend to get a little freaked out.

She’s lost count of the number of places she’s lived over the years, but she has always stayed in Pennsylvania. She found the one guy out there in the universe who loves her for who she is. They’ve been together forever and raised four wonderful (now) adults and are owned by a cat, Pixel. Thanks to him, she gets to write about her fantasy worlds. Her first three books, Akashan’te (fantasy), Prime Time (futuristic romance) and Danger on Xy-One (futuristic romance) are available from Cerridwen Press. And her shape shifter story, Who’s Your Alpha, will be included in the anthology The Shape of Love, coming from Draumr Publishing in late February 2008.

In her human form, Vicky has served on the board of directors for the FF&P and the local Central Pennsylvania chapters of RWA and currently serves on the board for PASIC. Her writing career includes work as a technical writer/editor, a stringer for the local newspaper, and an editor and copy editor for four e-publishers. At various times in her life, she has been a teacher, a secretary, a short-order cook, a computer specialist, a DJ, and a librarian. She’s an award winning newsletter editor and does book reviews for Wantzuponatime.

Blurb:

Aleksia Matthews is an asteroid assayer who would like nothing better than to be left alone. Her life is soon turned upside down when a band of ruthless pirates attack her ship. She manages to escape, but fears the worst for her brother. Ali swears revenge. Although well-trained by Fleet Security, she knows she can’t do the job alone. When she literally runs into Jason Cole, a blue-eyed, raven-haired stranger, she knows she has met the perfect partner—in more ways than one.

Special agent and Bounty Hunter, Jason Cole has spent the past year tracking the pirates that killed his brother Zack and Zack’s family. He’s always one step behind; too late to help the victims. There are never any survivors—until now. It is up to him to keep the golden-eyed, auburn-haired beauty alive and out of trouble until the gang can be captured, and maybe longer.

by

Vicky Burkholder

Ali hurried to the practice arena. On her way there, she realized she didn’t know anything about Jason beyond his name. She paused as she thought about him. He had an air about him that both attracted and repelled her. For years she’d avoided people, especially men. Now that she was on her own, she could no longer afford to be afraid. It had this latest disaster for her to find her backbone again. Maybe something good could come out of this mess after all.

She arrived at the arena and signed in. The courts were almost empty. Only a few players stood around waiting their turns at various activities. She palmed open the door to the weapons arena.

“You’re late, Miss Matthews.” A low, mellow voice came from the shadows, stopping her.

Ali jumped and then reined in her momentary panic. Her old life and the fears that went with it was over. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Jason’s outfit, identical to hers, blended with the flat black walls of the court. Their gazes touched and locked. Lust—that’s all this is, the rational part of her mind screamed. He’s an incredibly good-looking man and what you’re experiencing is pure animal lust–nothing more.

From the smoldering expression on his face, the sentiment was mutual. That one look was enough to make her toes tingle, the feeling traveling all the way up to her shoulders. She took a deep breath and gathered her scattered wits and glanced at her watch. “Actually, I’m exactly on time. Are you in a hurry?”

“Not at all. Shall we?”

Confused, Ali broke her gaze from his. “What?” She blushed as he pointed to the laser pistols in the cabinet by the door.

“Oh. Yes.” For some unfathomable reason, she was disappointed. She had to be careful. If she had any hope of hiring him, he had to take her seriously. She had to regain control of the situation. Somehow she had allowed her emotions to get carried away—something she couldn’t afford if this was going to work.

“I hope you’re qualified for the job and willing to take it because time is of the essence,” Ali said.

Jason grinned. “The Commander implied I was less than welcome here, but your mission intrigued me enough to risk his displeasure. I enjoy a good challenge.”

Ali noted the way he moved with a natural ease, not an act meant to impress. So far, she liked what she saw, but she needed more. Unfortunately, he probably wouldn’t be forthcoming with personal information. She knew almost nothing about him, but instinct told her she could trust him. She picked out one of the weapons from the rack. Like the others, the piece was lightweight and well balanced and shielded for safety. She watched as Jason picked out a second pistol and tested it.

“Computer, half-lights,” Ali called out. The arena dimmed. “Run program Practice Weapons, Level 5, Random Pattern.” The mid-level program would help her judge his skills. “You’re red, I’m blue. Ready?”

Jason nodded and took up his stance. “Begin,” he said.

Floating targets appeared and darted around the room as both Ali and Jason fired at them. A short fifteen minutes later, Ali hit the winning shot a fraction of a second before Jason.

He acknowledged her win with a short bow. “Now that we’re warmed up, do you have anything harder?”

She’d watched him move during the match. He knew his stuff, but how would he be in the field with her in charge?

“Computer, next level,” Ali called out. Again, they hit almost every target, but this time Jason edged out Ali. She didn’t even bother to ask before calling out “Computer, next level.”

Ali enjoyed herself more than she was willing to admit. It had been a long time since anyone had given her a contest in the practice arena. She was very much aware of the man next to her—the way he moved and his skills told her more than words could. He moved with confidence and cunning skill. She began to admire him as an opponent.

By this time, they had a small audience in the viewing area above the arena. Their third game ended in a dead heat, something never done in station history. A round of applause startled them, but they took the kudos in stride and bowed to the gathering.

“What’s the top level?” Jason asked.

“Ten. Are you up to a little challenge?”

He raised his eyebrow and nodded.

“Computer, level ten, random pattern, maximum speed.” She heard a concerted gasp from the audience. As far as she knew, she was the only person to have ever attempted this level at maximum speed. “Begin.”

Thirty minutes later Jason squeezed off his final target a millisecond before Ali hit her target. The significantly larger crowd roared its approval.

“Game goes to red,” the computer intoned. “High score will be amended.”

“High score?” Jason asked as he looked at Ali. “Computer, identify previous high score holder.”

“Previous high score holder was Aleksia Matthews.”

“Seems like I’ve toppled you off your tower, Miss Matthews.” Jason replaced his weapon in the rack and grinned at her.

“Actually I should thank you. It’s such a chore being on top all the time.” Ali wiped a film of sweat from her face and grinned back at him.

He looked her over slowly from head to toe and back up again. “I do some of my best work from the top.” He left no doubt as to his meaning.

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I have another amazing Cerridwen Press author with me this week, Eilis Flynn. Eilis Flynn is a longtime member of the Greater Seattle chapter of the Romance Writers of America, a veteran of the Wall Street wars, has been a professional journalist, a scholar, and even wrote comic books. She lives in a quiet neighborhood with her all-suffering husband and cranky cats.

Eilis is here to share her latest release, Introducing Sonika.

Blurb:

If you had the power to save the world, what would make you give it up?

Trained by her parents to use her unique abilities to fight crime, Sonya Penn gave it all up when her parents were killed by their archenemy, Gentleman Geoffrey. She turned away from what would have been her life, trying instead to be a “normal” person, unable to admit her powers to manipulate speed and sound preclude her from ever being normal.

Her “ordinary” life as a physical therapist comes to an abrupt end, however, when she finds herself falling in love with John Arlen, her newest client, but disturbed by his plans to avenge his father, who was murdered by the son of Gentleman Geoffrey. Drawn to his passion and determination, she agrees to help him in his quest. Sonya finds herself at the crossroads of her destiny: Will she don the uniform she was meant to? Complicating matters is a small thing – someone is trying to kill John. Is it Geoffrey’s son – or someone else?

by

Eilis Flynn

“Wait,” he heard himself saying.

She stopped and turned. “What?”

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he did it anyway. He reached over and kissed her on the lips. “Good luck.”

She smiled, as sweet as the kiss itself. “Thanks.” She spun and started off across the rooftop, her footsteps noiseless. In the dusk, she looked like a panther stalking her prey as she disappeared into the darkness.

Right now, he wouldn’t want to cross her.

He made his way along to the corner of the rooftop and looked down at the ground, where a man was approaching the entrance. He was stopped by the goon at the door, where there appeared to be a conversation, and then he entered.

Arlen heard a scurry and saw Sonya shinny down the side of the building, hanging by her rope. He watched her pause at a window.

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have made him nervous. What did put him on edge was the fact she was hanging upside down as she did it.

More practice, my ass, he mused again. He could barely walk and she didn’t find it unusual to be walking upside down the side of a building.

More and more men approached the entrance as he watched, and more and more were allowed in. Only twice were those who approached turned away. From the gestures he saw, he concluded they didn’t have the ID the goon at the gate was looking for–was it an invitation? But they went away without a word.

Thieves had better manners than football fans.

Something moved at the edge of his vision and he looked in that direction. Sonya had apparently gotten tired of hanging upside down. She was now walking on the side of the building, looking like a Native American traversing a path in the woods. Welcome to the Leatherstocking Tales, modern version.

The trickle of visitors to the warehouse eventually slowed as the hum of activity rose to a dull roar inside. He lost sight of his partner in trespass, first with the deepening darkness and then when she turned the corner. She still had the rope, though it was unfurling, little by little, as she went farther from the spot where it was anchored.

What lesson was that from her parents? Rule One Thousand Five Hundred Thirty-Four, How to Perform Reconnaissance? Had she ever learned whatever it was that little girls learned from their mothers–knitting or sewing or cooking or whatever? He couldn’t imagine it. That would have been too surreal. Superhero by night, happy homemaker by day.

The roar got louder. As he watched, the doors down below burst open and the attendees poured out, weapons drawn, shouting.

“Who was that?” he made out. “The guards up on the roof! Where are the guards up on the roof?”

John withdrew hastily, looking around. This was not good. “Sonya! Sonya?”

No answer. He heard the clang of the ladder, the shriek of rusted metal grinding against itself. That had to be the attendees, and it wasn’t that far up to the top. “Sone!” he finally called out. Where was she?

He heard “What the hell?” Then a shout. Then many shouts.

“We’re getting out of here!” rang out a familiar voice.

Her silhouette appeared at the top of the ladder. She was kicking down, one by one, whoever came up the ladder, almost daintily. But she couldn’t keep it up forever.

He looked around. The ladder was the only way down, except for the locked exit leading down to the warehouse itself. There wasn’t anything on the rooftop to jam the door closed–

Yes! It was a cylinder of what looked like tarpaper, probably left there by roofers to ready the surface for the coming winter, along with a pile of roofing equipment. He hurried over and tried to pull it. It didn’t budge. Finally, he began to push it toward the door, trying to block the entrance.

He heard the rattle of keys on the other side of the locked door. He had to hurry. He gritted his teeth as he pushed, ignoring the pain shooting up his leg and then the twinge when he stumbled. Finally, the cylinder of tarpaper rolled and hit just as the door was cracking open, and he guessed by the shouts their would-be pursuers were knocked off their feet.

That wouldn’t hold them for long. Sonya was going to tire. She wasn’t used to holding off scores of thugs, no matter how much she could do. Once he was satisfied the cylinder wasn’t going to move and the door was wedged closed, he ran to Sonya and looked down.

Even thugs knew when to go around. She was fending them off, but he guessed by the way they were running they had figured out another way.

He heard the clang of metal again, but this one was new. What was it? He limped to the blind side of the building, the side he had assumed was safe because it was smooth, without a ladder.

No, not safe. It was too close to the building next door, which had an emergency ladder. They were scrambling up that ladder, and would, sooner or later, try to jump across.

Some of them wouldn’t make it. But some of them would.

“Got any ideas?” he shouted to Sonya. They were surrounded and sooner or later they would have guests. He had his own rope and he had grappling hooks–they could be used as weapons if need be–but that was all, since Sonya had persuaded him not to carry his grandfather’s Enfield.

Five minutes, tops, that was about all they had. That was his estimate for himself but Sonya could beat them off longer, though she too would tire eventually.

But she didn’t seem concerned. She kicked off one last attacker and then turned to him. “Get ready to do what I tell you.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m waiting for one of the idiots across the way to start shooting,” she answered calmly.

The banging had stopped on the exit door. He didn’t like that. “What are you talking about?”

“I just need–”

A shot rang out.

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I’d like to introduce fellow Cerridwen Press author N. D. Hansen-Hill.
N. D. Hansen-Hill is the author of 32 SF, Fantasy, Horror, Paranormal Suspense, and Romance novels and is published by Five Star, Cerridwen Press, Linden Bay Romance, Red Rose Publishing, and Fictionwise.

About Gilded Folly – from N.D:

Gilded Folly is fantasy, but like all my fantasy novels, it’s grounded in the here and now – yes, this really can happen, and it can happen to you .
The book’s edgy, tense, but cut with humor. I wanted lost royalty, quirky aliens, drama, but most of all, action and thrills. Enjoy!

BLURB

Rom, Wick, and Glys have come to Earth on a mission that will soon have them at each other’s throats…literally.

Their roles are written in blood, and their actions compelled by long-forgotten oaths — oaths, which they would no longer consider either honorable or ethical to fulfill. For the people they’ve become, in the personas they’ve fought so hard to establish, there is no place for a bloody battle between duty and destiny.

Only by coming to terms with their present, and the deadly bloodlust which threatens their futures, can they survive long enough to challenge the past.

by

N.D. Hansen-Hill

Excerpt

I’m out of control…

His own thinking processes were no longer in charge. The realization was daunting, but if Rom had given himself time to think any more about this one, he would never have crept through that mausoleum gate. He was acting on instinct, on some kind of programmed training, but he let it take him.

Nobody with any brains would be here…

He crouched low, his ears straining to hear The Sound over the ruckus outside. Phil was crunching around on the ground as he struggled to extricate himself from under Jeremy, and the annoying crack and crumble of rock and gravel filled the silence.

Dirt rose in a cloud and drifted in through the gateway, mingling with the stink of Mictlampa. Rom choked back his cough, and strained his ears. What the hell was it, that had triggered his response? The sound which had made him fling Jeremy aside without so much as a by-your-leave, and drop Phil where he stood?

He didn’t know until it came again. A scraping noise, like the scratching of a dozen desiccated branches, brushing the block.

Chizletonka, misvet amon, eyriz sen mactz…

The sound of rustling leaves, like a dried husk…

It was the sound of a successful Mictlampa feed, and the reason why Autumn, the season of dying leaves, still struck horror into the religiously-twisted spirits of his fellow acolytes. The memory…the knowledge…filled him with dread, heavy and dark.

His shadow lingered there, breaking the entry daylight, and he hunkered down still more, blending with the walls as he crept inside. He had to fight the urge to flee—not in fear, but in gagging horror. Gone were the arrogant disregard and flippancy which had carried him through the Mict attack on Phil. His thoughts were his own, even if his actions weren’t, and he felt unshielded. Whatever damage Phil had suffered, the attack had been unsuccessful.

Because Phil Butler was still alive.

Nausea churned in Rom’s gut. The Vlizoyksia Mystz was every child’s monster in his world—the terrifying rasp of death. It was the death rattle for the innocent; the purposeless extinction of a long life at the merciless, rapacious suck of the bloodglutchers. If he was hearing it, here and now, it meant he’d come too late. A Mictlampa had quenched its foul tastes with the blood of a human.

And Romulus Donovan, who’d arranged the passage of the evil things, from his world to this, was responsible.

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J L Wilson says: I read my first romance novel in 2004 and haven’t looked back since. Four of my books released in 2007 and I’ll have four more, maybe five, in 2008, including the second book in my History Patrol series for Cerridwen Press.

The following info is for my Dec. 27 release with Cerridwen, a romantic suspense novel featuring an older hero and heroine.

If Not For You is what I call my ‘businessman’ book because it stars Max Lerner, a work-driven corporate CEO whose life gets turned upside down by a chance encounter with Layla Whitford … or is it a ‘chance encounter?’

Max is involved in a merger that’s crucial to the health of his company, Lerner Software. He’s been getting letters that threaten to expose details of the merger that could completely foul the deal. Enter Layla — she gets a letter that’s got Max’s name on the envelope but her address. She doesn’t even glance at the front of the letter. She just opens it and finds a threatening letter inside. Like any good citizen, Layla calls the police, who in turn call Max.

Max knows she got the letter on purpose. Her address is nothing like his so the question is: who wants them to get together and why? And when he meets her, he’s even more puzzled. Layla is like a force of nature, an exuberant, independent and successful woman who’s put her divorce long behind her and has gotten on with her life. She’s not afraid to stand up for what she believes in (like the time she chained herself to a fence to stop the cutting of an old-growth forest) and she has no interest in a relationship with a man who is eerily like her ex-husband: focused on work to the exclusion of all else.

During the course of the book they discover that unbelievable as it might seem, they do have something in common. And that something might just get Layla killed if Max can’t solve the mystery.

If Not For You

by

J. L. Wilson

Excerpt:

Max glanced at the clock. It was five-thirty and he hadn’t finished the contracts. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he’d only had a hotdog to eat that day. Damn good dog though. He remembered how she’d sat in the car and waved her hands in the sun roof, humming that song—

Shit. He suddenly recognized it.

You’re So Vain.

Fuming, Max picked up his cell phone, grabbed the Whitford file and punched in Layla Whitford’s home phone number. It bounced immediately to a voice mailbox.

“Hi, leave a message and I’ll probably call back, but maybe not. Just thought I’d be honest. Bye.”

Instead of a beep, the introductory bars to Eric Clapton’s “Layla” played. In spite of his anger, Max grinned. Anyone who knew anything about rock and roll would recognize those few notes.

“This is Max Lerner. I was wondering if we could get together for coffee tomorrow, maybe after work.” Max stared out his office window in shocked surprise. Where had that come from? “I’d also like to know if you would go to the High Tech dinner with me on Saturday. It’s a charity event and I’d—I mean, I have tickets and—” He ground to a halt. “Please call me.”

Cursing softly, he slapped the phone shut and glared out the window again. Why did he sound like a bumbling fool every time he talked to her? He’d called her multiple times this morning, each time sounding like an incoherent idiot. She’d probably listened to his messages and laughed her ass off.

His cell phone rang. “Lerner,” he snarled.

There was a long pause. “Well my, aren’t we in a happy mood?” Layla Whitford said. “I swear Mr. Lerner, you’re such a sunny boy it does my heart good to talk to you.”

Max clenched his jaw. “I just remembered what song you were humming today.” He stared at his reflection in his office window and wanted to hit himself up side of his head. God, what a gauche remark! Why did he say that?

She laughed. “Nothing personal. You’re a smart cookie, I didn’t know if you’d catch it.”

“Thank you for returning my call so quickly,” he said, dragging the conversation back to the present and away from her choice of humming.

There was another pause. “Did you call? I haven’t checked my voicemail lately.”

There was an odd note to her voice. Max thought it trembled slightly. He stared out at the traffic on the interstate that went by his office building, confused. “I just left you a message.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not calling about that, whatever it was. I’m calling because somebody just called and threatened me. Well, not me specifically, but threatened us.”

Max stepped back from the window, surprised. “What?”

“Yeah, just now. I suppose you were calling me and that’s why you got bounced to my mailbox. I was talking to this weird psycho on the phone.”

Max took a deep, steadying breath. “Are you okay?”

She snorted. “I’m still here, if that’s what you mean. But it was…” She hesitated. “It was spooky.”

He heard the fright in her voice. “Look, why don’t I come over there? This is getting out of hand if someone is calling and threatening you.”

“Well, it was weird. I mean, the person said all kinds of things.”

“I’m on my way,” Max said, suddenly worried. “I can be there in just a few minutes. Tell me all about it when I’m there.” His stomach rumbled again. “Can we get something to eat while we talk? Can I pick up something on the way?”

“I’ll put together something. See you soon.”

Max closed the phone, jammed the contract into his briefcase and was out the door in five minutes. Telephone threats were a definite escalation. Whether she liked it or not, Layla was going to have to deal with him. No way was Max going to let anything interfere with his merger. Layla Whitford would just have to cope.

* * * * *

Layla flew around the house, dusting cat hair off chairs, grabbing food from the fridge then putting beer in to chill. Fifteen minutes later she ran a hand through her hair and stopped, horrified. She dashed down the hallway and peered at herself in the bathroom mirror. What a disaster, Layla thought as she dabbed on powder then put on a bit of eyeliner. She was just putting on mascara when her doorbell chimed.

She looked down at her shorts and T-shirt then at Patti, who was watching this display of human theatrics with amused curiosity. “Damn. I can’t believe I’m still wearing these clothes.” The shorts were indecent and the shirt was old and faded. She really should change.

The bell rang again. With a philosophical shrug, Layla went to answer the door.

Max Lerner would just have to cope.

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I’m pleased to introduce you to Micqui Miller, a fellow author at Cerridwen Press who is here to tease us with her upcoming release of Morning Star – and does it ever sound good!Micqui Miller wrote her first novel at the age of 12, and earned her first byline as a sports writer for a local Detroit newspaper at 15. Since that time, she has published more than 100 articles and short stories and three novels.

Micqui won the prestigious Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America for her first “grown up” novel, and “the silver” in 2003 as Best New Author for her novel Morning Star. In 2004, Micqui’s novel, Holly in the Morning, was named an EPPIE Finalist, the award known as the “Oscars” of electronic and small press publishing.

Micqui Miller

Blurb:

Liz O’Hara, upstanding citizen, widow of a loving husband and mother of two great teenagers, has spent her adult life looking over her shoulder. She fears her past catching up with her — the lost seven months she lived on the run in another time and place. But in her worst nightmares Liz never dreamed she’d have to choose one child over another while a psychopath lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike.

Josh Wilder, disillusioned news anchor, finds his career back on the fast track when he goes out on a limb to help someone close to him. But in order to cash in on his new celebrity, he must risk destroying the woman he hasn’t been able to forget for twenty-seven years, the homeless young hippie known only as Morning Star.

Together, Liz and Josh face the greatest challenge of their lives — racing against the clock to save a dying young woman while trying to stop a madman with murder on his mind.

The phone rang in his hand. The caller ID said UNKNOWN.

“Josh Wilder.”

Silence. Except for the sound of quick breathing coming from the other end of the line.

He didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “This is Wilder. Who’s this?”

And then it happened. Suddenly his mind and heart, like a carnival ride, spun out of control. In faltering words, the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard whispered from the other end of the line. “My name is…this is Star. We have to talk.”

Too stunned to respond, Josh sucked in a breath. The real Morning Star held the phone at the other end of the connection. She didn’t have to say another word to prove it.

Her voice still held the rhythmic, lyrical quality which had enchanted him so many years ago and at times like now, rendered him speechless. No woman before or since had ever had that effect on him.

Josh’s heart pounded so hard he wondered if she heard it through the line. “Is it really you?” A stupid question under any circumstances and even more so coming from a professional journalist who’d spent his life prying information from people who didn’t want to give.

“Josh, I—” He heard sadness and indecision. So similar to the last time they’d talked. She’d sat on the edge of a hospital bed, listening to all of the reasons why she ought to trust him and talk to the police.

“It’s okay, Star, it’s—”

“No, I shouldn’t have called. I can’t do this.”

“Where are you?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.” He couldn’t let her go now. His fingers tightened around the phone.

“This is a mistake.”

“Please don’t go, Star.” Mustering all he’d learned in his many years as a broadcaster, Josh lowered his voice, both the volume and timbre. He had to take charge or he’d lose her. “Star, do not hang up!”

The connection broke.

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