Jenyfer Matthews

I’m here today to talk about my latest Cerridwen release, Endurance, which was released yesterday, Thanksgiving Day in America.

I’m thankful that it released. My History Patrol series has had a problematic life. The first book, Forgiveness, released last year, and was one of my first books ever released. It’s done very well on the contest circuit despite the fact it’s only available in download and has never been in print. I’ve been pleased.

Anyway, long story short: I lost my editor at CP before the book released. The second book, Endurance, had already been bought, so I was assigned a new editor. We whipped that book into shape and she bought the third book.

Yep. That editor left. I was assigned a new editor to get Endurance, book 2, out the door and to work on Temperance, Book 3.

Edits for Temperance, Book 3 (due out next year), are … a struggle. In the first round I saw more edits than I’ve ever seen — more than on all my 8 books that I have out combined. Usually it takes me a day at the most to do edits. This took me several days — almost 10 days, to be precise. I’m not saying the edits weren’t valid. I think many of them were. But some … I’m not so sure if they were really essential.

So I’ve finished the first round of edits and just got the next round. I haven’t even opened the file yet. I’m not even going to look at the next round until sometime in December. I want to savor the release of Endurance and gird my loins for more angst.

I think this is probably a very good lesson for me. Most of my releases at my other publishers have been relatively easy. I’ve had a few covers I’ve whined about, or maybe I misunderstood my editor on some points. But I’ve never had so many detail-oriented edits as I have for the History Patrol books.

Of course, these are complicated books. “Time travel meets reincarnation” is how I phrase it. For Endurance, my off-handed summary is: ‘Endurance, a first-person paranormal time travel reincarnation romance (try saying that fast a few times). It’s first-person male POV, about a man who’s been stranded in time by an immortality virus and has a career as a paid assassin. The woman he’s assigned to kill is the love of his life, reincarnated in this place and time. Nico almost makes a huge mistake and targets Lucinda, but luckily there’s someone there who knows the truth — a telepathic dog named Cerberus, who intervenes.’

Complicated? Yes. But very, very interesting. I hope it and the other books in the series are worth the work. Only time will tell (time travel, get it?)

Endurance
by
J.L. Wilson

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.

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?”

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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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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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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.

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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.

Anything-but-Ordinary is Cyndi Friberg’s creed and her writing reflects her dedication to the concept. She writes in a variety of sub genres, but she seems happiest in outer space. Her books have appeared on the Fictionwise Best Seller list, been nominated for The Romance Studio’s CAPA award, and named Best Fantasy/Science Fiction Romance of 2005 by Romance Reviews Today.

She lives in Colorado with her high school sweetheart turned husband of many years. With a pampered cat curled on the corner of her desk, she dreams of fascinating words and larger than life adventures — and wouldn’t have it any other way!

You can find more information on Cyndi at her website or join Cyndi’s announcement group at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Anything-but-Ordinary/

Born of the Shadows
by
Cyndi Friberg

Proud and rebellious, Gideon is banished from the Light. His own words define his punishment, transforming bloodlust into literal hunger. Living by his sword, he wanders the land of mortals, embittered and alone.

Naomi works in secret, illuminating manuscripts for the Knights of St. John. Gideon is drawn to her beauty and fascinated by her innocence. She stirs the shattered remnants of his nobility, intensifying the conflict already raging within him.

Gideon is unlike anyone Naomi has ever encountered before. His passionate kisses and intoxicating caresses leave her restless and wanting. Still, she senses the bleak loneliness he tries so hard to deny. Responding to his seduction with tenderness, she is determined to help him rediscover the beauty in life.

The battle lines are drawn. Gideon must seek redemption or Fall. Naomi must lead her Rebel Angel back into the light before the forces of darkness claim them both.

Born of the Shadows
Excerpt

Fidgeting upon the wooden stool, Naomi pushed a lock of long hair behind her ear and concentrated on the manuscript page spread before her. Dust motes danced playfully in the rapidly fading sunlight, but she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. The familiar scent of ink and sandalwood soothed her, helping her focus. She shifted the precious vellum folio to a slightly different angle, catching what was left of the light.

To achieve true illumination, a scribe must release light from within the text, not just decorate the margins. Her design was intricate and interesting, but there was no spark or inspiration. No illumination.

Naomi focused on the entwined figures centered on the page and set her quill aside. Eve’s long hair concealed everything but her slender limbs. Adam, on the other hand, had only a strategically placed fig leaf to protect his modesty.

“Perhaps without the leaf I could find illumination,” Naomi muttered with a mischievous smile.

“I’d be willing to serve as your model.”

Naomi twirled about so suddenly she nearly toppled from the stool. Stifling a startled gasp, she stumbled to her feet, pretending the movement had been graceful.

Raising her gaze to the stranger’s face, Naomi forgot her clever rejoinder. She forgot to breathe. She forgot everything except the man standing near the doorway.

His features were harsh and angular yet so incredibly beautiful he didn’t seem real. Bright with amusement and speculation, his strange golden eyes captured her gaze completely.

“Shall I disrobe?”

The smoky quality of his voice made Naomi tingle. Sleek black hair had been pulled straight back from his face and secured at the nape of his neck. Naomi wanted to trace the slash of his black eyebrows and smooth the faint creases that framed his extraordinary eyes. She wanted to test the resilience of his mouth with her fingertips and…

What was wrong with her?

Shaking away the strange stupor, Naomi forced herself to speak. “I’m not the scribe, my lord, so I require no model.”

He walked toward her, his stride long and lazy. “If you aren’t the scribe, what were you doing when I arrived?”

Naomi quickly hid her ink-stained hand behind her back. Her sandals scraped against the floorboards as she moved away from the high, angled table. “I was admiring Brother Gabriel’s work. He is the finest illuminator in the entire order.”

After so many years, the deception shouldn’t rankle, but it did. She hated the prejudice, which required she deny her accomplishments.

He glanced at the manuscript page then back at her. Who was this man? His garments told her only that he was wealthy. The plush, black velvet surcoat had been elaborately embroidered in gold and the gray tunic beneath was no less costly. He wore no sword, but Naomi sensed the menace that hovered around men of war.

“What business have you here?” she asked. “Were you looking for Brother Gabriel?”

Before she realized his intention, he reached behind her and grabbed her wrist. His touch sent shivers up her arm and Naomi sucked in a ragged breath. Drawing her arm back in front of her, he turned her hand this way and that, inspecting the calluses and stains.

“You’re not a scribe?” he challenged softly.

“The order has been charged with illuminating the Holy Scripts, sir.” She avoided his gaze as she continued her explanation. “Some learned men believe women do not possess souls. Almighty God would never bestow talent and inspiration on so lowly a creature. Only a man can be trusted to script the Word of God.”

The stranger laughed and Naomi felt her insides clench. He had been beautiful when he scowled. His appeal now made her restless and…hot.

His thumb brushed over her wrist and his gaze settled on her mouth. “Gabriel must have his hands full with you about. Where is he?”

Naomi tried to draw her hand from his grasp, but he wouldn’t allow it. The soft stroke of his thumb made her pulse jump and her skin flush. “What do you want with Brother Gabriel?”

“What I want at the moment has nothing to do with Gabriel.”

Her hand brushed against coarse stone. She’d backed herself against the wall! Her heart fluttered and she found it hard to swallow. “If you have business with—”

“What’s your name?” he interrupted.

His shimmering gaze moved slowly over her features. Naomi felt the caress like a physical touch. Coolness from the stones at her back seeped through her clothing in sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. She shivered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I do not share my favors, sir. There are women in the village who are willing to…accommodate your needs.”

“What would you know of my needs?”

He sounded odd, as if she had struck some dark, painful chord within him. Naomi’s chest tightened and her heart pounded. “Nothing, my lord. I meant only to make clear that I am not a harlot.”

He released her hand and moved in closer. Pressing his palms against the wall, he caged her with his body. “I would have your name, damsel.”

Fear welled within Naomi, but she tried not to panic. The scriptorium was high in a stone tower, secluded and isolated. “Please, my lord. I didn’t mean to anger you.” She spoke in a calm, even tone.

“I am not angry.”

But he looked angry. His golden eyes glittered with determination and the set of his jaw seemed dangerous. He was tall and broad, strong and menacing.

“Who are you?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, his eyes searching.

“No one of consequence.” She pushed against his chest, shocked by the inflexibility of his flesh. “Let me go.”

He smiled slowly, provocatively. “I think not on both accounts.”

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Echoes and Embers, the next book in the Rebel Angel series, coming August 28th!

CANDACE SAMS (also writing as C. S. Chatterly) graduated from Texas A&M University with a BS in agriculture. She worked as a police officer with the State of Texas, the San Diego Police Department, and in a teaching capacity for the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. Candace is the senior woman on the US Kung Fu Team (three black belts), and has been awarded the Medal of Putien and the Statue of Tao by the Chinese Martial Arts Confederation in Quanzhou, China. She holds international martial arts titles, and is an award-winning fiction author. Contact her through her web site.

Satyr
~ Sixth Book in the Tales of the Order series ~
by Candace Sams

Since his wife died, Soland Leigh’s daughter Autumn has been his whole world. Now, though, the time has come for him to step up and behave like the leader of the Satyrs that he is. The Order (of magical creatures) has acquired additional acreage next to their forest and it’s up to Soland to make the new land habitable.

The only person Kyndall Taylor trusts is Lady Anna, her elderly employer. But lately Anna’s behavior has been strange—she has gifted all her land to a strange woman called Shayla and replaced her staff with a steady stream of odd people from deep in the forest. One such character is Soland. When Kyndall is assigned to care for Autumn while Soland works on the land, the two adults find common ground—and a growing mutual attraction. But Soland is very secretive, too…and the Sorceress seems to have plans of her own

Satyr
Excerpt

As Kyndall kept walking and considering her fate, the sun slipped farther into the horizon. The sound of a car engine halted her progress. Two headlights could be seen coming up the drive. And she knew from past experience exactly to whom the old truck belonged.

“Oh great!” she muttered to herself. “Not them again.” The truck came to a shuttering halt about forty feet in front of her. Two fat, balding men got out of the cab and one who was even larger jumped out of the bed. Since it was far too late to hide in the brush or obscure herself some other way, Kyndall stood her ground. Bullies were no new experience. She’d dealt with them all her life.

“Well, well. Fancy seein’ the lovely Ms. Taylor out for a nice evenin’ walk. Eh, m’ lads?”

Kyndall pasted on her fiercest expression, one she’d been told could melt steel. “What do you want, Ed? The constable has told you to stay off Lady Dunnemore’s land.”

“We ain’t hurtin’ nothin’. Just out for a bit of a drive. Lady Dunnemore wouldn’t begrudge some folks from town a small thing like that, now would she?”

She knew the men were circling her. Ed and his brothers were nothing but cowards. But she also knew she could handle it. She’d dealt with much worse. “Something tells me you aren’t out for just a drive, Ed.”

“Ohhhh, you ‘ear that, m’ lads? Ms. Taylor don’t think we’re out drivin’.” Ed heard his brothers laugh and he continued. “It’s a shame a lovely piece like you ‘as got nothin’ better to do than look after an old woman and walk up and down roads at night. All by ‘erself.” He paused to move closer. “Now if you was to be more friendly like, m’ brothers and me could show you a better time than what you gets ‘ere.”

“Why do I doubt that?” Kyndall snorted and looked the men up and down in the most arrogant fashion she could muster. “You can’t even spell what you want to do.”

“Now don’t be that way, m’ pretty. Once we get better acquainted, you’d like me an’ my brothers right well. In fact, you could call it a bit o’ diplomacy. Brits and Americans. Good old chums, we are.” He moved very close to her, picked up a strand of long red-brown hair and stroked it with his thumb.

Kyndall immediately slapped his hand away with one hand, then backhanded him in the face with the other. “Touch me again, and I’ll break your ignorant neck.”

A sound from the back of the truck caught Kyndall’s attention. Something was thrashing about as though it was unused to being where it was. Before Ed could recover or move to block her way, Kyndall walked past him to the bed of the pickup. She threw a tarp off an old wire cage and looked inside.

“You son of a bitch!” She immediately opened the door to the cage and let the large hare inside jump from its confinement and straight to freedom. It ran into the nearby woods as fast as its paws could move it. Kyndall immediately stalked back to where Ed stood, still rubbing his face. His brothers were laughing uproariously at his expense. “Don’t you ever catch another animal on Dunnemore land again, or I’ll cut your balls off!” She pushed him backward to make her point then walked past him.

Angered by the threat to his masculinity and of being spoken to in such a way by a woman, Ed grabbed her arm as she started to walk away. He opened his mouth to speak, but never saw the very large fist hurtling toward the middle of his face. He landed on his back a good ten feet away, while his brothers backed up and scrambled to help their sibling off the ground.

Soland planted his feet firmly, ready for a counterattack. “You’re on land that doesn’t belong to you. And the woman has already told you once to keep your hands off her.” He ground his teeth, clenched his fists and hoped the idiot would get up and try something. It had been a long time since he’d fought anyone other than for sport. And beating an outsider would please him no end. Especially a poacher. As far as he was concerned, they were among the lowest life forms on Earth. His blood boiled at the thought of innocent animals being frightened and trapped by men who didn’t give a damn about the pain the creature would suffer before death. Poachers often used traps that were as cruel as anything he’d ever seen. But that was the way of outsiders.

Ed backed up, blood spewing from his injured nose. “You’ll ‘ear from us again,” he promised as his brothers hauled him toward the truck. “It ain’t over.”

Kyndall watched as the truck backed up, turned in the narrow road and headed away at a fast clip. She expelled a deep breath and turned to face her unwanted ally. “Thanks for the help, but I can take care of…” she stopped. Whatever she might have said floated off to infinity, never to be uttered. Before her was the largest man she’d ever seen in her life. At least six feet, six inches tall, he had shoulders as wide as the Hoover Dam, a narrow waist and long brown hair that had been tied back and fell over one shoulder to the middle of his chest. Looking him over quickly, she saw hands that could have easily broken Ed’s neck with a simple snap. His blue cambric work shirt, jeans and hiking boots hugged his massive body like sandwich wrap. There wasn’t much of his defined musculature that was left to the imagination. And nothing she could have imagined would have been more ruggedly, ungodly handsome.

Soland arched one brow and looked the tall, slender woman up and down. In the evening sunset, her eyes were an unholy aqua color. They almost glowed in the evening light. Straight auburn hair fell from a side part to just below her shoulders. She had a face very like the models he’d seen in magazine ads. Her high cheekbones, full lips and strikingly fair complexion were all flawless. It was a countenance that could turn a man inside out with desire. And she had guts but absolutely no sense. “You have a nice backhand, woman. But you might want to be careful when you choose to use it.”

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Please welcome Jean Hart Stewart!

Even though a freak accident killed my father when I was six (hit by a golf ball, of all crazy things), I’ve always regarded myself as a very lucky person. My wonderful mother went back to work as a school teacher. Since her hours were longer than mine, after school I was confined to the house until she returned home. As a result, I began to read early and steadily. She saw to it I had plenty of books from the library, and I read through everything she brought home. I knew by the age of ten I wanted to be a writer, preferably exactly like Jane Austen who I discovered early and read over and over. At twelve I wrote my first romance. It was doubtless dreadful and is fortunately lost! Still, my early isolation turned out to bless the rest of my life.

I found a group of other semi-nerds in high school, and always loved school. Ohio State University School of Journalism was a natural, and when I dated the editor of the student magazine he featured me as Campus Queen of the Month. Goes to prove who you know definitely does count! I didn’t even recognize the picture the professional photographer took of me.

The only importance of this long forgotten fact is my future husband’s brother knew me from a class we took together, saw the picture and asked his older brother Hugh to come along to meet me and put in a good word for him. Hugh (the handsome brother) was then a graduate assistant in physics. Not interested in anybody’s brother, (not very bright of me!) I sloughed off the request for several weeks, until one night when we arranged to meet at the library. When I saw Hugh and his brother walking down the long stone steps to me I knew in my heart I’d found, the real thing, love at first sight. I told the girl with me that same night I’d met the man I was going to marry. Two years later the brother was best man at our wedding!

Don’t let anybody tell you instant love doesn’t exist. We’ve had two children, two grandchildren, and a wonderful life together as Hugh’s job sent him to Europe a lot and often I went along. After that came my 20 year career as a real estate broker, lots of fun but I wouldn’t want to be in that field today. Too many sharks circling the waters.

(I can tell some good stories, though, like the client who didn’t keep his appointment because his jealous brother murdered him that morning!)

Then I started writing, and here I am six years later, a senior citizen with seven books accepted by Cerridwen Press in my Garland of Druid series, and an eighth on the way. I LOVE my Druids, each and everyone. Druid Triumphant, book six came out in June, with Druid Disdained is to be released in Sept. For more information about me or my books, visit my website.

Druid Triumphant
by
Jean Hart Stewart

Blurb

Adam is the last bachelor of the handsome Dellafield brothers. He’s had no trouble attracting women until the beautiful ballerina, Slaide Rivendell, insults him and then walks away. Furious, he determines to make her pay, but when he pursues her, he finds she has secrets that are destroying her and threatening her small niece. And keeping her from him. Yet Becca and Slaide need him, even if Slaide refuses to accept his help.

The villain menaces Slaide and Becca, capturing them both in spite of Adam’s protective measures. Now Adam must call on all his own and his Druid power to try to save them. Will he be in time, and will his powers be enough? And will Slaide reveal her secrets so he can fulfill their dream of love?

Excerpt

In the proper evening attire, with his thick crop of hair slicked down and shining, Adam paid his respects to his host and hostess, effortlessly charming them both. Then he propped himself against a wall until enough time had elapsed so he could leave. Still, guests at such a stuffy affair were always amusing, and he liked to people-watch.

His eyes roamed around the room, noting the buzz of conversations going on, the obvious flirtations and the usual meaningless exchanges he disliked.

Then he spotted her.

A shiver went down his spine, and he straightened his stance a little. Something about this girl, the aura shimmering around her head, a distinct blue haze enveloping her like a cloud, called to him to come to her side. The aura wasn’t quite as clear as he’d like it to be, but it radiated a beautiful color. He’d like to know what caused the haziness in her aura, though.

The willowy girl, tall and slender, stood talking to a young man leaning close to her and whispering in her ear. He looked pleading, she appeared stiffly uninterested. She moved away from him, looking back over her shoulder with a slight smile. A polished dismissal, but as definite a dismissal as Adam could imagine.

Before he had time to ponder her identity his hostess appeared. Adam was always slightly amused at how any member of his family seemed to be viewed as a trophy when one of them appeared at social functions. Adam turned to her with a smile, wondering how soon he’d have been there long enough for his departure to be unremarkable.

“I saw you eyeing our beautiful ballerina, Adam,” she gushed, tapping him on the shoulder. “Would you like to meet her?”

Quite suddenly Adam thought he would. Better than leaning against the wall all night. Something about the blonde’s air of absolute disdain intrigued him.

“So she’s a ballerina, my lady. That explains the unusual poise. Yes, introducing us would be most kind of you, ma’am.”

Lady Erickson, wife of the Swedish ambassador, smiled with just a touch of malice. “The beauty has spurned conversation with almost every other man in the room. Let’s see if she can resist the last of the elusive and handsome Dellafield bachelors.”

She grabbed his hand and escorted him across the room. She cut ahead to cross in the path of the blonde girl. Adam caught his breath. Her pale golden hair shone in the lights from the chandelier. Her cobalt eyes were fringed with extraordinary thick lashes. Those arresting eyes stared at him from regular features which were without a flaw. She held her head proudly on her slender neck, her gorgeous hair, pulled back almost too tightly from her beautiful face formed a coil at the nape of her tilted head. Much more suitable to her than the current piling of hair in a bunch on top. The size of the confined mass begged a man to rip it loose and admire the flow of gold as her hair tumbled. She was perfection. An icy perfection, with no hint of warmth in the depths of those stunning eyes.

Adam took a step toward her, once again admiring the lovely blue of the aura floating round her head. To his surprise, it glowed in a shade similar to his mother’s. Morgan’s never showed this frosty edging but the colors of their hovering auras were much alike.

At this short range his interest flared anew. Her skin looked absurdly soft. What would she taste like if an amorous man kissed his way down every inch of that exquisite flesh?

Lady Erickson came to a halt, looking triumphant although Adam didn’t want to think why.
“Slaide, this is Adam Dellafield, probably the most eligible bachelor in London and doubtless the most handsome. Adam, Slaide Rivendell, the newest star of the Royal Ballet. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

She hurried off, quite obviously satisfied with herself. Adam winced. Just the kind of introduction he didn’t want.

Before Adam could speak Slaide Rivendell did. She looked at him for one second, her eyes the most brilliant blue he’d ever seen. A much deeper blue than her aura. After glancing at him, she half-turned as if to leave. She spoke almost mechanically, her voice devoid of any feeling but annoyance.
“You’re indeed handsome, but you doubtless know it, Mr. Dellafield. You don’t require my adulation.”

She turned to walk away, but Adam caught her arm and held her back.

“Have I met you before and offended you, Miss Rivendell? If so I apologize. Otherwise I find it hard to understand your rather offensive attitude. And I seriously doubt I’d forget meeting you.”

He allowed his voice to be edged with his resentment. This girl was lovely, but no amount of beauty could excuse such blatant rudeness.

An inner elegance seemed to take over as she flushed with embarrassment.

“I was perhaps too curt. But I’m so very tired of being presented to so-called eligible men like some box of chewable candy. You caught me just as I started to leave. My apologies, Mr. Dellafield. Good evening.”

Her voice showed not a trace of regret, nor did her apology sound deep-felt. As she turned to leave, she looked down at his hand still on her arm. She frowned just a little, brushed off his fingers with light grace, and glided away.

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Sam Cheever writes fast paced romantic fiction with feisty characters who deal with life’s little challenges in unique and often hilarious ways. A long time writer of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry, Sam’s recent published work includes ‘Tween Heaven and Hell, a rip roaring fantasy adventure that will leave you panting for more. The fast-paced and highly entertaining sequel, entitled ‘Tween a Devil and His Hard Place, was released in April 2008. Her humorous romance, Dancing With Tad is coming out through Red Rose Publishing in 2008. To learn more about Sam and her work, visit her website at www.samcheever.com and her blog at http://tweenyouandme.blogspot.com/.

‘Tween Heaven and Hell By Sam Cheever

Astra Q Phelps is a Tweener, which means she’s part angel and part devil. She vaporizes devils and demons for a living. When Astra gets the call from the big Him to aid the good side in a battle between two rival devil courts, she finds herself battling not only the forces of evil but her own nature as she rubs up against the sexiest, most infuriatingly enticing devil prince and discovers he brings out her devil in the most delicious ways.

But Astra’s problems don’t end with a worrying jolt to her sexual nervous system. She is also discovering that she doesn’t really know herself all that well as she begins to uncover magic powers that she didn’t know she possessed. She might be entangled in a prophecy that links her to her delicious devil prince in more ways than one. Add to this spicy mix a few yummy secrets she learns about her longtime partner and friend, Emo, and you have a tantalizing stew of problems to solve, and only one small Tweener to unravel them all.

Sam wanted to share this interview that her heroine, Astra Q Phelps, recently did with a local news organization. It was quite enlightening.

Hello Astra, thank you for joining us today, we love your books and were hoping we could get to know you a little bit.

Hey! How’s it going? You got anything here that needs to be blown up or vanquished?

Uh, well, no, not really. I have an ex-husband… But no, forget I said that. I just wanted to chat with you for a few minutes.

You don’t want me to save the world?

Um, no, not right at this moment.

Oh good. Okay.

So, Astra, you certainly lead an exciting life. Vanquishing demons, fighting off devilishly handsome Royal Devil Princes, and saving the world, how does one get into this line of work?

One has to be born a Tweener, with a powerful Seraphim for a father and an equally powerful Royal Devil with witch powers as a mother. It’s not an easy gig you know.

I can imagine. Can you tell us what exactly a Tweener is?

Are you kidding me? Do you live in a cave? (shakes head) Tweeners are half angel and half devil. We’re a warrior race that helps the Big Guy out in the epic battle between good and evil. (shrugs) I thought everybody knew that.

Impressive. So how long have you been doing this? Vanquishing demons I mean?

Well, I vanquished my first one when I was five I think. He tried to steal my little red bucket in the sandbox. I loved that bucket. I’d have done anything to keep it.

You, um, (clears throat) you killed a demon for stealing a bucket?

Well yes and no. He tried to eat my sister, Darma too, but it was the bucket that really set me off.

I um, I see. Well, so you figured out you were good at vanquishing demons when you were five and decided that might be a good way to make a living?

Absolutely not! I mean, yeah, I was good at it. But saving the world is so hard…and exhausting. I probably would have just gotten a job throwing rowdy schmoes out of extra-terra nightclubs if it hadn’t been for that stupid prophesy.

Prophesy?

Yeah, the one that has me working with the great Unifer, that’s Devil Prince Dialle we think…we’re not absolutely sure at this point…to save the world.

Wow!

(Nods head) Yeah, wow! Except the world doesn’t stay saved. I can’t tell you how many meals and how much sleep I’ve missed over the last several months trying to keep this stupid world saved. It’s become a full time job.

(Reporter leers) Yes, but there are perks aren’t there. I mean, you get to lock lips with the gorgeous Dialle on a regular basis.

Oh yeah. I mean, he’s really yummy, and impossible to resist let me tell you…but there’s so much to do when saving the world, there just isn’t all that much time for extra-curricular activities if you know what I mean.

But I understand you manage, somehow.

(Astra grins) Yeah, we manage. Somehow.

So, what’s it like? Hanging out with the magical crowd? Are they nice?

(Astra snorts) Nice? Lady, what planet are you from? No really, what planet?

(Reporter shrugs) My ancestors came from Venus.

(Astra nods) That explains a lot. None of them are Nice. Even the angels have an agenda. They’re good, yes, but rarely nice. Demons are just plain skuzzy, with their pretty masks that fool humans every time, and you don’t want to get yourself in a room with a lot of them when the temperatures are very high…

Dangerous huh?

What? No, they smell like last week’s steak on the windowsill. And then there are the Royals…well, they’re beautiful and everything, but they’re just like sexy walking uber-agendas, you know. And their plans are never good for yours truly or the human race. (Astra sighs) My social circle just fizzes with conflict, intrigue, and dangerous agendas.

Well, you certainly have a difficult job.

Tell me about it.

But what’s this I hear about you going to the Big House to visit the Big Guy in ‘Tween a Devil and His Hard Place?

Cool place. All light and airy and stuff. He needed to fill me in on something…I’m still not sure what…talk about agendas… Something about getting my father back. He was at the right hand of God before he fell you know.

Your father? Really?

Yup. Took over the celestial army when Michael retired. The Big Guy needs him to help keep the humans safe against a really big plot to take over control of the dark world and humankind. The demons are in an uproar and the rumor is that the Angel City witch coven is pulling the strings behind the uprising. And to make things even worse, somebody from the Big House is involved and helping the witches. A dark angel with some power apparently. Some think it’s my father.

But you don’t believe it I’m sure.

Not for a minute. But the sticker is I’ve got to prove it. No easy task while saving the world.

So what’s on your plate for the next book. Are you saving the world again?

Of course. In the third book of the series, the ratio between magic and non-magic is being altered by the dropping of a veil of twisted magic. Humans can’t survive under the veil and as it descends they get increasingly crazy and start attacking everything in sight. I of course have to find the cause and put everything right again. Meanwhile, I’ve been marked by the Serpent as one of the conduits…

Serpent? Conduits?

(Astra smiles) I guess you’ll just have to read the book.

Sounds fascinating, I can’t wait. I want to thank you for visiting with me today, Astra. It’s been very…ah…illuminating.

Yeah, sure. Hey, you haven’t seen a really small dragon running around here have you?

(Reporter picks up her feet) A dragon? Why no, did you lose one?

(Astra shrugs) Maybe. Oh well, I’ll just follow the char marks…

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