Jenyfer Matthews

Hey there!

I’m J L Wilson, and I write mysteries and paranormal/reincarnation/time travel books. I’ve got several books out with several different publishers, but today I’m going to talk about the paranormal books. I’m psyched to say my first paranormal book, Forgiveness, placed 3rd in a rather tough contest — the PRISM award for published novels, run by the Romance Writers of America FF&P chapter. I was up against some heavy hitters and my little e-book came in 3rd! No wonder I’m excited!

The second book in this paranormal series comes out in a month, so I’ll tell you about the series and what you can expect. The series is “The History Patrol” and it’s available from Cerridwen Press. It’s about a group of people from the future who travel back in time in the service of a group, the History Patrol. Each History Patrol Guide sent back in time is accompanied by a Companion, a shapeshifting animal who is really a human, but who can’t be seen in human form until they perform penance for a crime they committed. There’s a catch (of course): the penance involves the Guide, who knows nothing about the crime.

Who said God doesn’t have a sense of humor?

Here’s the blurb for the first book, Forgiveness

What would you do if you caused the death of the woman you loved?

In 1876, James Benteen caused the death of Penelope Albright. Choosing to serve penance, James is reincarnated in 2168 as Jim, a shapeshifting Companion to Penelope, a Guide with the History Patrol. Penelope doesn’t know about her past connection to Jim. He’s simply a soul she’s learned to love through dozens of trips through time.

They’re sent to 1876 America to observe history and assist in the capture of Franz Mueller, a 22nd-Century murderer who escaped through God’s Portal. It’s here that Penelope meets James Benteen, a cowboy with a dark past. If history repeats itself, Penelope and James will fall in love before James betrays her, causing her death. But this time Jim is there. If he can save Penelope, he can attain forgiveness and his penance will be served.

Jim will have to battle his former self, the Jesse James gang and God to accomplish his purpose. But in the end, it’s Penelope who must intervene with a higher authority to find happiness with the man she’s come to love across time…

The second book in the series, Endurance, is coming in November:

Imagine being torn away from all you know and love. And now imagine being torn away from your place in time.

That’s what happened to Nico Haidess who is trapped, not just in time, but in a reincarnation gone wrong.

He’s a Guide with the History Patrol, sent back from 2190 and now stranded in 21st century America. He’s been reunited with the love of his life, Lucinda Delacroix who has been reincarnated in this place and time. There’s only one problem: he doesn’t recognize her as his lost love and she doesn’t recognize him.

To Lucinda, Nico is just a handsome stranger, a man who seems oddly familiar. And to Nico—a paid assassin—Lucinda is just an assignment, a suspected traitor. He must kill her on Easter morning and make it look like an accident.

Luckily one other creature can help. Cerberus is a telepathic dog on special assignment with the History Patrol, sent to bring these two lovers together. Cerberus has a vested interest in the fate of Nico Haidess and he’ll do whatever it takes to see Nico and Lucinda reunited—even if it means dying and defying God to accomplish his purpose.

But the clock is ticking for all of them and time is starting to run out.

If you want to know more about the History Patrol, check out my website. I have background information about the Patrol there and information about the other books in the series, coming next year (and in years to come). There are seven books planned for the series, and four written, so you’ll have lots of novels to entertain you in the future!

Buy Forgiveness now!

I began writing novels nearly twelve years ago…and had no idea what I was getting myself into! Most of us don’t realize how obsessive we can be until we discover our “passion”, and then (be it sport or art or ?) we become mad things, single-minded and compelled. Well, that’s me…sometimes. Crazed, compulsive, get-up-at-4 am, obsessive-writer personality type unclassified (I write across the genres, you see!)

How did it all begin? With something completely sane - a visit to the local library. I took home eleven books, but couldn’t get into any of ‘em - so I decided to write what I wanted to read. For the most part, that’s held true ever since.

The Hollowing is my second novel with Cerridwen Press, and my 23rd? 24th novel overall? I really enjoyed writing it. Action, suspense, with a little time travel tossed in. Great fun.

I have two writing names: “N. D. Hansen-Hill” and “Melody Knight“. ND writes SF/fantasy/horror/paranormal suspense, while Melody writes romantic and erotic versions of the same genres. I now am lucky enough to have 35 books contracted with a variety of publishers.

“This is an exceptionally, spine-tingling, gut wrenching thriller that takes you by the seat of your pants and have you gripping your chair while you turn each page. From ghosts to time-traveling you are always entertained by the adventure and excitement of this plot excellent dialogue and fabulous description gives you a great seat up front to all that is happening. This is a phenomenal read, and I recommend it highly.
Coffeetime Romance

The Hollowing
by N.D. Hansen-Hill

Shawn Walsh’s problems don’t arise from his own troubled past but from someone else’s. Fires, floods, battles, bone-rattling quakes — he’s frequently an unwilling and horrified participant in events long gone. For when The Hollowing claims him, his present dissolves.

Unfortunately, his problems have everything to do with family and his rather questionable heritage — with a birthright he’d rather know nothing about. Lost and tossed about by destiny, trapped and extorted by those long deceased, he’s tired of playing a victim.

And he refuses to give up hope. There is still a chance he’ll be able to resolve his issues without dying, given the right place… And enough time.

Excerpt

Jack was running flat-out when his world unexpectedly tilted and dipped. He was scared shitless but he couldn’t stop. If he let Shawn die, when he could have stopped it…

Don’t go there.

And then he was lost. On a straight stretch of dimly lighted hallway he’d lost his bearings. He was disoriented, nauseous, with a head suddenly full of clouded spirals. The floor canted, his balance went but his momentum carried him forward. He slid the length of the corridor and out into the warehouse.

The dizzying spin went on, even worse now than before. Jack gripped a table leg and hung on while his world moved around him. His eyes were scrunched shut and there was an ache in his head he’d never experienced before. His heart pounded as he put a name to the fear—hemorrhage. Vomit was fighting its way up his throat, inspired by the stink that was already redolent in the room.

There were noises and shouts in the background but he couldn’t afford to look. The flooring was shuddering beneath him now and it felt as though the building was moving.

Earthquake.

Get out. He’d smelled the rot. The building was going…

“Shawn!” he bellowed.

He opened sore eyes to slits. The giant had recognized the danger too. He was backing across the room. He was the one howling in terror now—not Shawn. Jack had scarcely lifted himself to his knees when the fleeing kidnapper slammed into him, and they both went sprawling.

The rumbling beneath them increased. Dust scattered from joints in the woodwork and echoes of falling plaster mingled with the tap dance of furniture on flooring.

“Shawn!” Jack shouted it again, inhaled a lungful of dust for his trouble and coughed his head off as he crawled on all fours across the room. The giant with the bad temper was behind him somewhere…

Jack spotted Shawn on the far side of the room. He was sprawled across an old conveyor belt. Jack pushed himself to his feet, very conscious of human frailty as the world around him jiggled apart. Shaking almost as much as the building, he upped it to lopsided run.

If anything the gyrating upheaval, the tilt, the cant, the terrifying, nausea-generating dizziness were worse here. It took all Jack’s effort to get to Shawn’s side. He felt like he was running uphill. He dove over the conveyor that Shawn had obviously been tossed across and reached out to grip Shawn’s arm.
Only to experience one of those moments of insight—of sometimes terrifying self-discovery—that sometimes hits when you need it least.

It’s not the place, Jack realized in sudden horror. It’s Shawn.

Shawn was staring back at him, his eyes glittering weirdly in their sockets, somehow giving back more light than they took. This wasn’t a frightened Shawn, insecure about his failings. This man was centered. Solid. Locked in place.

Melded to his surroundings.

While the world went to hell around him.

Taking Jack Riley with it. Jack could feel himself slipping now, and he could never afterward find the words to describe it

But he knew he couldn’t fight it anymore.

At that moment Shawn reached for him. His broken fingers grasped Jack’s and held on

And Jack Riley’s personal cyclone abruptly ceased. Jack buried his face in his arms while the madness carried on beyond him. He could hear it all, the rumble, the jolting, the clatter of flying debris, the giant’s shrieks and curses.

Don’t look.

He had this horrible fear that lifting his head might drag him back in.

Jack lay there, clinging desperately to Shawn’s hand—the only island of calm in a hurricane sea.

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I don’t know what it is - there has been sour cream available on an almost continual basis all year, but the minute I need to make a cheesecake, it all disappears!! That’s Cairo for you. I went to three different grocery stores this morning with no luck. There are a few more places I could try but with tennis lessons, soccer games, and two birthday parties on schedule for the weekend - in addition to the man’s birthday - I just don’t have the time to look anywhere else. There is a swanky bakery in the neighborhood that has NY style cheesecake to die for, but it’s $$$ and way bigger than we need to have around the house. So I’m falling back on plan B.

Homemade strawberry sorbet and brownies. Not such a big sacrifice really!

I went to Curves yesterday and did my water aerobics this morning so I’m taking the weekend off. I probably won’t be able to move anyway!

Don’t forget to stop by tomorrow when N.D. Hansen-Hill will be here with an excerpt of her fantasy book The Hollowing. Norah is a prolific writer and has a huge backlist so if you like her writing, you’re really in luck!

Hailed by reviewers as “Janet Evanovich’s heir apparent” and an author who “weaves romance and suspense wonderfully”, Liz Jasper is the award winning author of Underdead, a cozy vampire mystery about a middle school science teacher who is bitten by an inept vampire and becomes almost undead. The sequel, Underdead in Denial, is available as an ebook from Cerridwen press.

Most of Liz’s early writing was of the dirty limerick variety (one finds fun where one can while getting an MBA and an M.A. in Economics), but she progressed to short stories and now writes mysteries. And why paranormals? After years of teaching middle school science, writing about blood-sucking demons was only natural. She lives with her family and cranky grey cat in Northern California where she is hard at work on her next book in the Underdead series.

You can read excerpts, reviews and maybe win something in a contest over at her website www.lizjasper.com.

Underdead in Denial
by
Liz Jasper

In the sequel to Liz Jasper’s award winning Mystery novel, Underdead, gorgeous enigmatic vampire Will is back and almost undead Jo Gartner is more determined than ever to avoid all things vampire and maintain a normal life. And what’s more normal than doing community service to help a lovesick friend? But getting dressed up in a Halloween costume for a haunted house fundraiser is not what Jo had in mind. Especially when one of the extras turns up dead…

Excerpt

“Something’s going on with you.” Crossing her arms, Becky gave the demo counter a quick, automatic check for spills and leaned against it. “And I think I know what it is.”

I started in disbelief. “You do?” It came out as a whisper.

“Yes. Let’s look at the symptoms, shall we?” She ticked them off on her fingers. “You haven’t gone on a date in months, you get here at dawn, leave at dusk and spend your weekends sitting alone inside your apartment eating nothing but takeout burgers and chocolate, when you eat at all.”

She narrowed her dark almond-shaped eyes. I swallowed convulsively, unable to look away.
“You’ve got chronic PMS,” she said.

“What? I do not have—”

She grinned and then her expression sobered. “I am worried that you’re depressed.”

I grunted in dismissal.

“Not that I blame you,” She looked around my classroom at the solar system dioramas, sagging volcano posters, and dusty mineral display and curled her lip. “Teaching eighth grade earth science would depress anyone. But I have a plan.”

“Oh no.” I knew her plans. It was because of one of them that I now occupied the strange and lonely world between normal human being and vampire. I sank deeper in my chair and closed my eyes, trying to ignore the sharp bite of disappointment. I longed to tell her—tell her what? I couldn’t explain what was really going on. It was too fantastical.

I was too tired today to make one of my usual excuses. Maybe if I fell asleep she’d go away.

“Better yet, I’ve already set the wheels in motion.”

My eyes snapped back open. “Becky, what have you done?”

Buy Underdead in Denial!
Prefer print? Liz’s first book Underdead is also available in print!

Reading Dracula at the age of twelve ignited Margaret L. Carter’s interest in a wide range of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. Vampires, however, have always remained close to her heart, beginning with her first book, CURSE OF THE UNDEAD, an anthology of vampire stories. Her vampire novel, DARK CHANGELING, won an Eppie Award in 2000 in the horror category and its sequel, CHILD OF TWILIGHT, was an Eppie finalist in horror in 2004. Margaret doesn’t limit herself to writing fiction either - her monograph DIFFERENT BLOOD: THE VAMPIRE AS ALIEN was a 2005 Eppie finalist in nonfiction. Her first mass market novel, a vampire romance entitled EMBRACING DARKNESS, was published in 2005 by Silhouette Intimate Moments and her latest dark romance is a Lovecraft-inspired novel, WINDWALKER’S MATE.

Visit Margaret’s website to learn more about her books and sign up for her newsletter.

Prince of the Hollow Hills
by
Margaret Carter

When Fern’s sister, a single mother whose lover has disappeared, is murdered, Fern has to care for her orphaned baby nephew. Until the supernatural invades her life, she has no idea her sister’s lover was an exiled elven noble. Now two princes from the Hollow Hills pursue Fern, one to protect the baby and the other to destroy him. But both want to take him away from her.

Excerpt

Bev emerged from the bookstore’s back room and stepped up to the counter beside Fern. “What on earth was all that about?”

Fern shook her head. “Says he’s looking for Ivy. Strange detective, come to think of it. If he’s that anxious to get in touch with her, why didn’t he give me a card with his number in case I reconsider, as he put it?”

“I heard him mention warning her.”

“Yeah, well, I can do that, and for all I know, he’s what she needs warning about.” After that cryptic conversation, Ivy’s premonition sounded a little more plausible.

Fern pushed the thought aside. Getting sucked into that kind of nonsense would turn her into a nervous wreck like Ivy, not to mention distracting her from her concrete goals. An aspiring businesswoman couldn’t waste time on New Age woo-woo. She dialed Ivy’s cell phone and got no answer. After leaving a message on the voice mail, she tried her sister’s apartment phone, with the same result. With a sigh, she left another message and hung up.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Bev said. “She’s probably on her way home.”

“Who says I’m worrying?”

“Don’t try to kid me, hon. You’ve made a second career out of worrying about her.”

To Fern’s relief, they had to drop the conversation when a flock of teenagers wandered in to buy mocha lattes. After a pause to pet the cat, they headed down the street toward a nearby music shop, leaving the bookstore, it seemed, even quieter than before they’d come. Fern dialed both of Ivy’s numbers again. Still no answer. “Why doesn’t she turn her cell on?” she grumbled.

A few minutes later, while restocking a rack of brochures about Naval Academy tours, she glanced up at a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. She caught sight of a man on the sidewalk peering in through the display window in front. Her chest constricted at the sight of his platinum hair, rippling almost to his shoulders. She dropped the pamphlets she was holding and rushed to fling open the door. “Adair!”

The man whirled around to stare back at her. Anger welled up like bile in her throat. She charged at him with clenched fists. “How dare you vanish off the face of the earth like that? You’ve got a newborn baby who needs you, not to mention the woman you claimed you loved!”

He grabbed her forearms to fend her off. From her modest five-foot-five height, she tilted her head to gaze up at him. Eyes of a deep moss-green snared hers.

Recognition hit her like a punch to the head. She pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart thudded frantically against her breastbone. “No. I’m sorry. You’re not him. But you look so much like him.” This man had the same greyhound-slim, graceful build as Adair and the same chill beauty like a marble sculpture, but the bleak lines of his face suggested a harsher outlook on the world. He wore a long-sleeved, loose shirt that looked too warm for midsummer, with sleekly fitting trousers of the same smoky gray material.

When he let go of her arms, she stumbled. He clutched her elbow to steady her, and a shock like static electricity sparked on her bare skin. “My name is Kieran,” he said. “We have met before.”

Freeing her arm from his clasp, she said, “Oh, right, that one time at Ivy and Adair’s place.”

He nodded. “You’re Ivy’s sister, yes?”

“Fern MacGregor. Yeah, I know, Fern and Ivy. What can I say? Our mother was a late-blooming flower child.” He arched his eyebrows in apparent bewilderment. She let the implied question pass, not in a mood to discuss twentieth-century social movements. “And you’re Adair’s cousin.”

That fact triggered a more detailed memory of their brief meeting. No wonder Kieran’s hawklike profile looked familiar, not only because of his resemblance to Adair. “We all had lunch together, and then you dragged him out back for a shouting match.”

The visit had occurred in September, early in Ivy’s pregnancy. They’d shared a simple meal of homemade vegetable soup, fruit salad, and whole-grain bread. Before lunch, with Ivy and Adair busy in the kitchen, leaving Fern and Kieran together on the tiny, fenced patio, she’d tried to start a conversation with him. He hadn’t volunteered any information about himself, but the two of them did agree on how frustrating their younger relatives’ carefree lifestyle could be. “Adair does not seem to grasp the seriousness of his family responsibilities,” Kieran had complained.

Fern had sympathized, with the comment that Ivy and Adair made a perfect match that way. “She’s always been a little out there.”

“Out where?” His voice held a faint an accent, nothing she could identify, only a hint that English wasn’t his first language.

“Wherever it is,” she’d said with a wry laugh, “I’ve never visited, but I guess it’s wherever Adair comes from.”

Only after lunch had the pleasant atmosphere deteriorated into a fight between the cousins. Fern and Ivy had sipped iced tea at the kitchen table in silence, while the argument raged outside on the patio in a foreign tongue Fern hadn’t recognized.

At the time, she’d appreciated Kieran’s exotic good looks, in a purely aesthetic way, of course. She’d enjoyed watching his long, graceful fingers peel and chop the apples, pears, and peaches Ivy had assigned the two of them to cut up for the salad. When he’d licked peach juice off his fingers, she had let her thoughts stray into fantasies of how those hands and lips would feel on her skin. She wouldn’t have considered replacing fantasy with action. She had goals that left no time for pursuing any male, especially one she hardly knew, no matter how gorgeous. In fact, she’d thought Kieran’s maturity made him even more attractive than Adair, who she couldn’t deny was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, even if he had seduced her sister off the straight and narrow path. She had actually started to like Kieran, until she’d overheard that fight on the patio and Ivy had later translated the gist of it for her.

She still appreciated Kieran’s physical attributes, but this was no time to goggle at a luscious man. She wanted to know what he’d come here for and why his cousin hadn’t shown up. “You do know Adair disappeared before Ivy had the baby?”

In a cool, cautious tone, he said, “Yes, and that is part of why I need to speak to Ivy as soon as possible.”

“If you know where he is and why he left, she deserves to be told.”

His expression turned still more remote. “Where can we discuss this?”

“What’s to discuss? Right here is fine with me.” She waved toward a bench on the sidewalk in front of the shop in the shade of a crepe myrtle tree. She took a seat, and as soon as Kieran joined her, she said, “Okay, what’s the story?”

“I need to speak to your sister as soon as possible. I thought I might find her here.”

“What made you think that?” Fern wondered how he even knew where she worked. “As you can see, Ivy isn’t here. She’s probably home by now.”

“Then I had better look for her there.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about or not? Where the heck is Adair?”
His mouth tightened to a grim line. “I’m sorry, I believe Ivy has the right to hear that news first. As for the other reason I’ve come, it is on account of her child. He is in danger.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Counting Ivy’s premonition, this warning made three in one day. “From who?” she asked.

“That is connected to what happened to Adair.” He stood up. “I’m going to your sister’s home. If you see her before I do, please give her my message.”

*What message? I’ve met more informative clams.* Instead of voicing that protest aloud, Fern limited herself to a cautious nod. The detective, if he really was one, had warned her against one of Adair’s relatives trying to snatch the baby, and here a relative had shown up a few minutes later. Until she found out which if those men, if either, she could trust, she’d better volunteer as little as possible. She wouldn’t mention the first visitor to Kieran, much less bring up Ivy’s dire predictions. Why let him know she had a crazy sister? He might pigeonhole Fern as nuts, too. Even though she didn’t expect to have much future contact with him, she didn’t want to leave a negative impression with the first man who’d made her pulse flutter in months, if not years. *It’s just a matter of pride, not like I have any reason to care what he thinks of me.*

He said a curt goodbye and walked up the street toward downtown. No car, then. Maybe he’d come here in a cab. When she reentered the store, Bev said, “Who’s the hunk? Have you been holding out on me, girlfriend?”

An annoying blush warmed Fern’s cheeks. “He’s Adair’s cousin. This is only the second time we’ve met.” She phoned both of Ivy’s numbers again and still got no answer. Hanging up, she said to Bev, “Ivy needs to know those guys are looking for her. Why isn’t she answering? She’s had more than enough time to drop off Baird and get home.”

“Listen, you should go to her place and make sure she’s okay.” Bev held up a hand to ward off the protest Fern started to make. “We’re not exactly overrun with business here. Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

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Always good advice, no matter where in the world you are!

I am in Italy at this moment. Send me good vibes for the conference please. And don’t forget to drop by this weekend when Margaret Carter will be here with an excerpt from her paranormal/thriller romance Prince of the Hollow Hills. See you next week!

Author Jane Beckenham found literature at a young age. In books she discovered dreams and hope, stories that inspired in her a love of romance, and travel. Years later, after a blind date, Jane found her own true love and married him eleven months later.

Life has been a series of ‘dreams’ for Jane. Dreaming of learning to walk again after spending years in hospital. Dreaming of raising a family and subsequently flying to Russia to bring home her two adopted daughters. And of course, dreaming of writing.

With her family growing up, life is a round of playing mum’s taxi service, all the while wondering what her hero and heroine are up to behind her back! Writing is Jane’s addiction - and it sure beats housework.

Love in Waiting
by
Jane Beckenham

Adventure and love has always come from books for Jayne Seatoun until she wins a competition to visit England. But breaking and entering a crypt wasn’t on the agenda, nor was traveling back nearly five hundred years and being caught up in the politics of King Henry the 8th’s Court as she searches for a way home and ends up running for her life.

Tired of battle and bloodshed Lord Callum Broderick’s loyalty is divided. Does he save his sister, his lover or his neck from the executioner’s block? Love, honor and loyalty are codes Callum lives by…until he has to choose.

“Love in Waiting - a tale of eternal love, nearly lost in time. A wonderful new read from historical romance author, Jane Beckenham.” (Melody Knight, author of GlassWorks, In Trysts, Of Dragons)

Excerpt

Jayne Seatoun vacillated. It felt sacrilegious to be treading over this ancient spot, and yet she had to be here, the pull to enter so great she could not have retreated from the threshold. Hands trembling she reached out and trailed icy fingers across the engraved tombstone. Though her voice a hushed whisper, she read the inscription.

The past and the present so long entwined
Where hearts shall meet, time shall wait
And to love, is to mimic life
Take hold. I wait for thee.

Amidst the silvery blue lights of a shadowed moon filtering through the crumbling crypt walls, the words, cast in stone, were almost ethereal.

Her eyelids lowered and she repeated the words, each one more alive than the next. The tips of her fingers caressed the engraved stone. Pitted by the passing years, it felt warm to the touch.
Her eyes flicked open.

“Don’t be fanciful, Jayne,” she chided aloud. How could stone be warm? The recently excavated crypt, hidden for hundreds of years from the warmth of the sun emitted a chill that sank deep into her bones.

No life stirred here.

Only the forgotten tombs of death, lives loved and lived, remained.

But it was ancient, and that alone filled Jayne with an excitement nothing could vanquish. York and its stone walls were filled with so much history compared to her home in the States. There, old meant barely two hundred and fifty years had past. But the York Minster with its Gothic window, housed behind the city’s stone walls had been built before the United States even existed.

Here, history surrounded her. The past hadn’t died and that was exactly as she wanted it. She wanted to see the history, feel it.

“You waited for me, Jayne.”

An instant guilty heat stained her cheeks and she pirouetted.

Caught out again, Seatoun! Sneaking where you shouldn’t.

Goosebumps skittered up and down her spine as she peered into the eerily lit crypt. “Who’s there?”
But only silence replied. The small tomb containing one of England’s long-forgotten titled families was, except for her, empty.

Cradling her bag to her chest she hugged it tight as if it would offer a semblance of security and circled the room once more.

Still nothing.

She frowned. She had heard a voice. A man’s voice. Strong. Expectant. You waited, he had whispered.

A fractured laugh slipped past her lips. “He?” He…didn’t exist. And she was alone. Yet Jayne didn’t feel alone. And that scared her. Fear coiled in her belly, tangling with a heightened anticipation; sensations capturing her the moment she spied the crypt…and entered.

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I mentioned a little while ago that I was turning over a new leaf and that exercise was a part of that. I’ve done so much exercising this week I’d be lucky to be able to lift a leaf right now.

I have activated the Curves membership I won over the summer. Curves has an interesting concept - you do all of their machines as fast as you can for 30 seconds then their soundtrack tells you when to “switch stations”. You go round the circuit twice and in half an hour you’re done. It takes a little getting used to, and I had sort of hoped that I could listen to my own music, but I do like the half an hour bit. And hey - it’s a free membership. What’s to complain about?

They asked that I try to come in three times a week and I said fine. It’s half an hour - no biggie, right? Even with the currently abbreviated hours (for Ramadan), going three times this week should have been doable, and yet life got in the way.

I went on Sunday but was busy on Monday so skipped it. I planned to go on Tuesday afternoon but had a spur of the moment haircut instead, and by the time my husband got home from work there wasn’t time to go before the gym closed. Wednesday morning I went to a yoga class, thinking that I could go home, have lunch and then hit the gym. After an hour and a half of twisting myself up into tortuous positions, all I wanted was a shower and a nap. I went to a water aerobics class this morning. Who knew you could sweat while you exercised in a pool?

Needless to say, I’m not going to the gym today. I’ll be lucky to get myself out of this chair. Every muscle in my body hurts!

You’d think that it wouldn’t matter, that no one would notice how often I go to the gym. But this being a new location, there aren’t that many members yet AND they track your workouts with a scanner. I’m sure I’m going to get a lecture next time I go in. Which will be two times at most next week because I’ll be in Italy for five days starting Wednesday. Oh well.

Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of headlines about the wonder of pomegranates - full of fiber and antioxidants and apparently also helpful in weight loss. I love pomegranates and lucky me, they’re in season here now. My new favorite ways to eat them include sprinkling them on top of hummus and throwing a handful in a salad. YUM.

I’m off to take a nap now. Stop by over the weekend when Jane Beckenham will be my featured author.

Chris Power lives in the southwest of England, in the heart of what once was the ancient kingdom of Wessex, and close to Stonehenge. Her home is cheerfully chaotic, since she shares it with her son, daughter-in-law, two grandsons and three large dogs.

A new laptop, a new book out yesterday - a solo work at that - and a new resolution to get back into the discipline of writing. The Magic Three. At least, I hope so. The last couple of months have been disrupted on the writing front. There was a hell of a lot of hard work to do in the garden, where my DinL and I dug out flowerbeds, edged them and leveled off an area to take the family sized picnic table. We got most of it done before the weather broke on us, but my writing schedule was shot out of the water.

Now I have no more excuses, so I’m back to giving myself a daily target and denying myself my DVD collection until I have something worthwhile in the way of quantity *and* quality to show for it! I have three WiPs that need to be worked on, and there are unrelated names and scenes haunting my brain waiting to be jotted down so I can see what they’ll grow into further down the line. Who the hell is Jubal Carlyle, I ask myself, and why can’t I get his name out of my head? Sooner or later, the man will tell me his story.

But right now, with a quick fanfare, I’m announcing Argent Dreaming. This is a paranormal mystery set in Glastonbury, England. Glastonbury is a small town where myth and legend, Christianity and paganism meet - Arthur and Guinevere, Joseph of Arimathea and the Holy Thorn - it’s all there in that rather magical place. The roots of the town are ancient, going back thousands of years to stoner tools, dugout canoes and wooden trackways, small villages built on platforms over lakes and marshes that no longer exist.

My story is set firmly in the present day. Cat has issues with Glastonbury, the town at the heart of what once was called the Vale of Avalon. The power that lives there broke through her barriers and awoke her talents, but the experience terrified her and ever since then she has refused to let those talents manifest. But now, five years on, she reluctantly goes back to Glastonbury.

Philippe Alexandre is a detective with the Police Judiciaire based in Vannes, France. He is undercover in Glastonbury to follow up on new information a witness has sent about an old murder that happened near Vannes. He meets Cat and is as drawn to her as she is to him. He discovers that Cat knows his witness, and decides to use their mutual attraction to pump her for information.

Soon, Cat’s long suppressed talents are forcing themselves forward and she realizes that the visions she sees are linked to Philippe’s case. Together they must save the innocent before the killer can attack again, and next time Cat will be the target.

Argent Dreaming
by
Chris Power
Excerpt

Cat found herself gazing at the small unglazed terracotta figure in the windowsill. A dumpy female nude sat cross-legged, large-breasted and with wide cushioned hips, braided hair crowning a featureless face that somehow blessed the room with an unseen smile. Between her open thighs was a small cauldron-shaped bowl mounded high with grains and dried flowers. Philippe’s voice suddenly spoke in Cat’s mind, Let me help you and the room seemed to tilt. Julie’s hand on her arm brought back stability.

“Cat?” she said gently. “Are you all right?”

“Not yet,” said Maeve crisply before she could answer. “But she will be. When she learns not to fight the power in this place.”

“Mother!” she growled through clenched teeth, feeling her color rise. And then the dogs started to bark and the back door opened, bringing a more than welcome distraction.

“Hi, everyone,” caroled the newcomer and Cat felt herself fade into dowdiness in the presence of the girl’s golden beauty. “Thought I’d drop in on my way back from town. Am I in time for coffee?”

“Just,” Julie smiled and Pete pulled another chair up to the table. “There’s some apple pie and cream left as well, if you like.”

“Thanks.” A casual acceptance, as if she had expected no less. She sat down, her gaze on Mark’s face, fixed with an intensity that he seemed to find a little unnerving judging by the way he shifted back an inch or so. There was something about her, an air of glittering triumph that enhanced an already lovely face and drew all eyes in the room. “Mel, I saw Cissie after we put the takings in the bank and she’s finally coughed up those painted silk scarves she promised us, so I went back to the shop and dumped them. Can you give me a lift home, Mark? It looks as if it might rain again.”

“If it’s okay to borrow the car?” he said, glancing at Julie and her husband. To Cat’s ears, he sounded reluctant, as if hoping he’d get a refusal.

“‘Course you can,” Pete said, an indulgent smile on his good-natured face. “You know you don’t have to ask. Maeve, Cat, this is Samantha Collis. She and Mel run a small shop in Glastonbury. Sammie, Maeve and Cat Argent, Mel’s relatives.”

The girl giggled. “She told me. Hello.” And turned her attention straight back to Mark. It was perilously close to a snub and the Walshes gave them apologetic and uncomfortable glances. “We did pretty well today—must have been a couple of extra tour buses turn up. Mel owes me for standing in for her—why don’t we borrow the car and go off somewhere tomorrow?”

“Sorry, dear,” Julie said smoothly. “Mark’s not due for a day off just yet. There’s too many damaged hedges and fences, I’m afraid and he’s already lost an hour today escorting you and the takings to the bank.”

Sammie frowned and for a moment it seemed as if she would argue the point but her brilliant smile came back.

“Another time, then. Pass the cream, please.”

Conversation became general again but there was a subtle change in the atmosphere that seemed to stem from Mark Carter. Although he was outwardly as charming and cheerful as he had been before, Cat could pick up on a thread-fine undercurrent. Well, it didn’t take a psychic genius to root out its cause. Samantha in full hunting cry had him running scared. Cat felt a twinge of sympathy.

Later, offers to help with the washing-up firmly refused, Cat wandered out into the garden and the flower-scented dusk. Maeve was already there and had found a seat by a sundial.

“Well?” Cat said, sitting cross-legged at her mother’s feet. “What did you find out from tall-dark-and-handsome?”

“He’s unhappy,” she said quietly, fingers absently playing with a strand of Cat’s hair. “He’s lonely and he wants to go home and he’s afraid he never will.”

“He told you all that?”

“Not in words. His aura—”

“Mother!”

“Don’t Mother me! He’s deeply troubled.”

“Hah!” she snorted. “So would I be if that blonde carnivore was after me.”

“She’s only part of it. I’ve been trying to talk him into letting me read his cards but he won’t have it. Cat, I’m quite worried about him. He’s—all in shadow… Like walls… And Mel is frightened.”

“Of him?” doubtfully. She hadn’t shown any fear of the man that she’d seen, rather a sisterly kind of affection that bordered on the protective.

“I don’t know but I think he’s part of it. So is Sammie. Such a pretty girl and so full of life. Poor Mark. He doesn’t really stand much of a chance, does he? You know they’re Wiccans, don’t you?”

“What? Who?”

“Julie and Pete. Lovely people. I’m going to have to have a serious talk with her.”

“Who?” Cat felt herself floundering, this was Maeve at her more convoluted. “Mel? Sammie?”

“Don’t be silly. Julie. You carry on with Mel, see if she will tell you more about Mark—”

“Why?” Cat asked. “We’re here for a Tarot artist, that’s all.”

“Not anymore, it isn’t,” and gave her hair a sharp tug. “I asked Mark about his background—mentioned his accent. You did notice he had an accent, didn’t you? Though it’s so slight you can hardly hear it most of the time. He just laughed and said he grew up in Switzerland. His mother was Swiss, his father English.”

“So what?” Cat asked, perplexed.

“He lied,” she sighed and smoothed the hair she’d pulled. “Shadows, Cat, like a wall around him.”

Cat didn’t respond. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach and a growing certainty that they would not be leaving Glastonbury any time soon.

Maeve had found a crusade.

Buy this book!

I’ve been writing almost since I could hold a pen–at least since I read my first Nancy Drew book at about the age of eight. It was The Ghost of Blackwood Hall and it is probably why I love to read and write paranormal stories as well as suspense. I’m a native Texan and I guess that’s why I enjoy reading and writing western romances, too. Some people think writers should stick to one genre, but I believe that you should writer whatever you love and I love almost everything!

I’m so excited about my newest paranormal Scent of Lavender that I want to give back a little to the world. For every ebook that sells from my books page on the Cerridwen Press site during the month of September (it doesn’t matter which books) I’m going to donate a dollar to the Arbor Day Foundation. According to their site, every dollar plants a tree in one of our national forests. I think that is so cool that I joined the Foundation and now I’m waiting for them to send me 10 live oak trees. LOL…not sure where I’ll plant them but every one of them is going into the ground!

Scent of Lavender
by
Teri Thackston

A ghost haunts the house on Black Tree Creek. New tenant Rob Sheridan has seen her, but Lily Graham believes he’s lying. This haunting tale of betrayal, possession and seduction in the Texas Hill Country brings together the lonely war veteran and the beauty from his past…and the ghost that could drive them apart.

Excerpt

A sighing like that of drifting sand woke him.

Rob opened his eyes. Moonlight silvered an unfamiliar room, throwing black shadows against the pale walls that surrounded his bed. Gauze curtains hung still over the closed windows that flanked the four-poster. But the sound that had roused him did not come from outside anyway. That quiet sigh and the stillness beneath it…

The last cobwebs of sleep broke and he remembered where he was. The house on Black Tree Creek. Coming fully alert, he knew it wasn’t the sound of the wind through the desert that had woken him.

The night went silent. Even the window air conditioner had shut off.

Pushing himself upright, he glanced at his alarm clock. Six-eleven. He’d finally fallen asleep sometime around two o‘clock. That had been after spending hours wondering what he’d seen on his porch earlier that night and why Lily Graham claimed his uncle had swindled her grandmother.

He’d made no progress in figuring out the strange woman but he knew the truth about Frank Sheridan. Uncle Frank had bought the house legally from Ruth Thibeaux. He’d never mentioned purchasing the house to Rob or his mother. So his sudden inheritance of the house after Frank’s recent fatal heart attack had been a welcome surprise to Rob. The old place would suit his needs perfectly.

Even if it was haunted.

Inhaling slowly, Rob heard air whistle through his dry nostrils. The sound seemed intrusive so he held his breath.

The house seemed to do the same.

A shudder crawled through him. He wondered how angry Lily Graham would be over losing the house if she came here now. If she knew what went on here in the dark.

Buy this Book or any of Teri’s other titles this month and help her support the Arbor Day Foundation.