Reaper: Aftermath by Jonathan Pongratz – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 25, 2021 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jonathan Pongratz will be awarding a 15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Five years have passed since the Reapers invaded Earth and tore it asunder. Gregory, his mother, Trent, and their group of scavengers hunt the decimated wastelands for survival.

But when a sudden Reaper attack forces Gregory through a Reaper door, he finds himself in a bizarre place, one that may provide answers to the Reapers’ past and where they came from.

Can Gregory put together the pieces of the past and find his way home, or will he just become another human casualty in the lost war against the Reapers?

Enjoy an Excerpt

I crouched behind a row of old dusty cars beside my mom and two other sharpshooters, my body trembling. Don’t freak out. Be brave. Remember your training.

I took a deep breath and dared a peek ahead between two cars. Across the street was a deserted grocery store covered in grime and soot. It was a small shop, maybe two or three times the size of an average gas station. A bunch of old, rotted wooden planks covered the windows, but the front entrance was untouched. Whoever had been here was either dead inside or long gone. No one in their right mind would leave their home unfortified, not anymore.

All was quiet except for the wind, but I knew better. We all did. Any second and the Reapers could be right on us. Though they never came out during the day, we couldn’t leave anything to chance.

Mom pulled out her walkie. “Proceeding with root-out of potential Reapers.” She retrieved an oddly-shaped ball constructed from cans, tins, and several small bells we called chatter boxes from her supply bag and hurled it over her head.

The chatter box clunked loudly on the ground, bouncing before stopping in front of the seemingly-empty store. For a couple moments we all sat there, waiting for any sign of Reapers.

Mom’s walkie crackled to life. “Patricia, I think we should–”

“Quiet!” Mom hissed. “I think I hear something.”

I couldn’t hear anything, but there was definitely a difference in the air, like it was charged somehow. Just like the basement five years ago. Images of the past filled my mind: My little sister Imogen, the electrified feeling down in the basement, the Reaper’s sudden appearance. I shook off my thoughts and edged close to my mother.

“You’re right, something’s coming.”

Mom nodded, her gaze fixed on the grocery store. “Be brave, Gregory. If you have to, fall back.”

I shook my head. There was no way I was gonna miss out on this.

Her eyes widened, and she gripped her walkie once more. “Reapers, incoming!”

I drew my Glock from my holster, turned the safety off, and tried to look through the abandoned store’s smudged entrance. It was dark inside, but I could see two hulking figures scrambling to the front of the store at breakneck speed.

Oh shi–

Two Reapers crashed through the entrance in an explosion of glass that blasted shards in a thousand directions. As the projectiles clinked on the ground I stared at the monsters before us, a chill running down my spine.

Large, festering boils covered their reddish, emaciated bodies. They stood tall on two clawed feet, but could easily switch to all fours for speed, doubling the danger of their razor sharp appendages. The Reapers opened their mouths, revealing multiple layers of jagged, pointy teeth as they gave ear-piercing shrieks of rage.

A grin spread across my face. Time to die, assholes.

I aimed, then pulled my trigger as deafening gunshots came from my left and right. We’d hit the one on the right several times. A thick, black liquid oozed from its wounds, but it was still in fighting shape and pretty freakin’ pissed based on the hideous snarl on its face.

The aggravated Reaper leaped forward on all fours, bounding over the car we were hiding behind and landing in front of the sharpshooter furthest from me. It gave a mighty roar, snatching him up and throwing him like a rag doll. He went flying, landing on a nearby car’s windshield with a loud crack. The monster eyed the other sharpshooter with furious, predatory yellow eyes.

Shit, shit, shit! I lunged towards the Reaper as I targeted it, then yanked on my trigger. It gave a high-pitched cry of pain and staggered back a step. Damn it! I’d only hit its shoulder. Its hateful gaze was now focused on me.

A sudden gunblast boomed from my comrade, and the Reaper fell to the ground, unmoving. A large pool of black sludge gathered underneath its head where the bullet had exited.

Before I could rejoice in the kill, Mom shouted nearby. I spun around. She was battling the other Reaper in front of the grocery store with a long knife in hand. She had deep cuts on her arms and legs, while the monster sported several nonfatal gunshot wounds. I tried to aim for the Reaper but they were moving too fast, desperately circling one another for an advantage. One wrong move and I’d shoot my own mother.

The Reaper took a wide-arching swipe at her, but she dodged to the side, cutting its leg as she went. The monster screeched and turned to attack, but mom slid between its legs and was now behind it. Point blank, Mom whipped out her revolver and fired three shots into the back of the Reaper’s head. It fell to the ground, twitching in its final death throes.

Mom lifted her combat boot and stomped on its head with a sickening crunch. The Reaper didn’t move anymore. She spat on it, then pulled out her walkie as I approached. “All clear. Torch the bodies.”

I glanced back. Twenty yards away behind another row of dead cars, our small group of noncombatants emerged. Mom strolled towards the grocery store and I jogged to catch up to her, eager to see what was inside. Whatever it was, it had better be worth it.

About the Author:

Jonathan Pongratz is a writer and author of captivating horror, fantasy, and other speculative fiction stories. When he’s not writing, he’s busy being a bookworm, video game junkie, and karaoke vocalist. A former resident of Dallas, he currently resides in Kansas City with his Halloween cat Ajax. By day he works magic in finance, by night he creates dark and mesmerizing worlds.

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Ten Things Most People Don’t Know About Me by Luba Lesychyn – Guest Blog and Giveaway

February 25, 2021 By 4 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Luba Lesychyn will be awarding a print copy of Theft Between the Rains to a randomly drawn winner (US or Canada ONLY) via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

10 things most people don’t know about me

In my two books, the main character is inspired by my own experiences and escapades working at Canada’s largest museum, the Royal Ontario Museum. But, there’s many things that people don’t know about me. Here’s my top ten list.

1. When I came up with the idea for Theft By Chocolate (about a woman looking for chocolate, love, and an international art thief in all the wrong places), I was a raging chocolate addict. But when it came to write the sequel using the same lead character, Kalena Boyko, in my own life I had gained control over my addiction. I suppose you could say I’m a recovering chocoholic.

So, when writing the sequel, Theft Between the Rains (a story about what happens when my lead character inexplicably begins receiving art work listed as still missing since WWII starts turning up on her doorstep), I diminished the number of chocolate references and put more emphasis on water as the primary motif.

2. When I attended a summer writing workshop at a Toronto college, where I eventually did a creative writing program, an editor from an internationally renowned publishing house as well as a highly respected Toronto publishing agent ripped apart, in front of the entire class (probably more than 100 aspiring writers), the sample pages I had submitted as part of the enrollment requirements. I never thought I’d live that down, but I did and I vowed to learn as much as I possibly could about the craft of writing.

3. I became a vegetarian and conscious eater between writing the two books. So, readers will find that I make more references to organic and fair trade chocolate in Theft Between the Rains and have avoided including certain commercial chocolate brands that enable unethical practices in farming and harvesting in developing countries.

4. My first passion was actually film, even from a very young age, and my writing career started with blogging about my experiences attending Toronto’s International Film Festival (where during a period of 10 days each year, I would see 50+ films) including my amusing stories about dashing between theaters and screenings.

5. When I wrote Theft By Chocolate, I was terrified that my former colleagues at the Royal Ontario Museum would think I didn’t do them justice and that my use of artistic license in describing museum life would not be appreciated. In fact, the opposite turned out to be the case and even people I would consider to be stalwart academics took the time to contact me and tell me how much they enjoyed both books. In fact, in the first edition of Theft By Chocolate, I called the ROM by another name, so when I wrote Theft Between the Rains, I called the museum by its actual name and subsequently updated Theft By Chocolate and changed all the references to the Royal Canadian Museum to Royal Ontario Museum.

6. I wasn’t able to find a publisher for several years for Theft By Chocolate. Eventually, I travelled to the Women’s Fiction Festival in the town of Matera in Southern Italy where I pitched my book and found a publisher that was smitten with my manuscript. Unfortunately, they closed their doors a couple of years later so rights returned to me. When I wrote Theft Between the Rains, I made a conscious decision from the start to self-publish the sequel.

7. I’m one of those writers who for the longest time suffered from imposter syndrome, thinking that I was not a ‘real’ writer because I didn’t do it full time. I not only had a really demanding full-time job, but I was also teaching yoga evenings and weekends. It’s only been very recently, after having written two books, and working on my third and fourth, that I have come to realization that I AM a writer!

8. Like many writers, I am an introvert and when I do readings, I can’t eat for hours before or after it takes place. Now that I am doing readings virtually, one would think that I wouldn’t get stage fright, but in some ways it’s even worse because you’re staring at a computer screen and praying technology doesn’t break down. Fortunately, I have been told repeatedly my jitters don’t show and, if anything, I have great testimonials about my apparent confidence and ease of speaking at such events. If they only knew!

9. Despite being shy, I have organized all my own library and private book events (including when I had a publisher – who were UK based and I live in Canada). I did all my own leg work and self-promotion.

10. And finally, I have turned into an audiobook hoarder. I currently have a ‘pile’ of 20 audio books to which I haven’t listened.

What would you do if you worked at a reputable international museum and art works listed as still missing since WWII began showing up on your doorstep?

That’s the substance of the newest urban art theft thriller Theft Between the Rains by Luba Lesychyn.

Drawing on her more than 20 years at Canada’s largest museum, Luba reintroduces many of the affable and quirky characters from the prequel, Theft By Chocolate. Also resurrected is the malicious art thief who has been on the world’s most wanted criminal list for decades.

Theft Between the Rains takes readers behind the scenes at museums and to parts unknown of Toronto. And with water being a character unto its own, Luba uses both humor and thriller elements to weave a page-turning story while simultaneously illustrating how changing weather patterns and flash flooding are impacting metropolitan centers globally.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Lying slumped back in a chair, my body felt as though a truck had dumped a load of concrete over me. I mustered enough energy to crank my head upwards, but my brain was foggy, punch-drunk, as if I’d overdosed on gluten. In a mirror on the opposite wall, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. What was that dark mark on my throat, small and round? My head drooped downwards, and I noticed the door swelling open, incrementally, a sliver of light growing by millimeters. And then…a leg came into view. And, another. Where was I? Who was this coming in? Was I asleep, having one of those 3:00 am witching hour anxiety dreams? Should I get up? I couldn’t get up. Neurons were misfiring. I knew that person at the door. He was saying something to me…but the words seemed out of sync with what I was hearing.

Why did this guy sound like Johnny Cash…singing “Hurt”? Oh my god, it was Marco Zeffirelli, and now he seemed to be screaming at me, but it sounded as though he was underwater.

“Huh, what’s going on?” I said. Was I on some kind of drug trip? I didn’t do drugs. Did someone drug me?

Marco’s hands came towards the sides of my face, tugged at something, and the music stopped. Oh, right. It was all coming back to me. I had been listening to my iPod while working at my desk.

About the Author: Luba Lesychyn is a popular Toronto-based mystery writer, a graduate of the Humber School for Writers, and a respected author in the library readings and events circuit.

In her two books, she draws from her more than 20 years of work experiences at the Royal Ontario Museum (Canada’s largest museum), and her time working for a private museum consulting firm to write humorous, international art theft thrillers featuring amateur sleuth Kalena Boyko. Her newest book, Theft Between the Rains, is a sequel to Theft By Chocolate (about a woman looking for chocolate, love and an international art thief in all the wrong places) published in 2012 by Attica Books and launched in Canada and the UK.

Luba currently spends her time writing and virtually touring Theft Between the Rains in which lead character Kalena Boyko returns to find herself pulled into international art theft intrigue when masterpieces missing since WWII start appearing on her doorstep.

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His Marriage Gamble by Nancy Fraser – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 24, 2021 By 1 Comment

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nancy Fraser will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Enjoy this jigsaw puzzle.

Felicity Beaumont, the rebellious daughter of Louisiana elite devises a plan to move her father’s illegally owned slaves north to safety using the gambling river boat known as the Lucky Lady. Dressed as a young farm boy, she attempts to sell family heirlooms to raise the funds she needs. Short the full amount, she continues her ruse and bargains her way aboard the boat as their chaperone.

Charismatic owner of the Lucky Lady, Jake McAlister doesn’t trust women, and when he discovers Felicity’s subterfuge, he remembers exactly why.

While they find themselves in agreement about helping the free men and women, they are at odds over everything else, including their quickly escalating feelings for one another. When caught between Felicity’s powerful father and the ire of a local judge, they’re forced into a marriage neither wanted.

Can they make the best of a bad situation? And, will gambling on love be a bust or reap them both a happily ever after?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Felicity Beaumont grasped the heavy hunting knife firmly in her hand and lifted. Pressing the shiny blade against her thumb, she tested the sharpness of the weapon’s edge. Tiny red bubbles beaded on her skin and she bit back a cry of pain.

Raising the knife level with her chin, she made the first cut. Tears stung her eyes and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She made a second cut before stopping to survey the damage.

Not enough. Not nearly enough.

A third cut made her stomach lurch, and with the fourth, tears ran freely down her cheeks.

If Papa could see her now, he’d turn her over his knee. He’d be upset, even angry, especially when he realized she was gone and when he found out what else she had done. With one last swipe of the knife, her latest show of rebellion was complete.

A mound of chestnut silk lay pooled around her ankles, twenty year’s growth of hair chopped off in less time than it took Papa to trim his mustache and beard, less time than it took for her to make the most important, albeit reckless, decision of her life.

About the Author Jumping Across Romance Genres with Gleeful Abandon—is an Amazon Top 100 and Award-Winning author who can’t seem to decide which romance genre suits her best. So, she writes them all.

Like most authors, Nancy began writing at an early age, usually on the walls and with crayons or, heaven forbid, permanent markers. Her love of writing often made her the English teacher’s pet which, of course, resulted in a whole lot of teasing. Still, it was worth it.

Nancy has published over thirty-five books in full-length, novella, and short format.
When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five wonderful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.

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The Book is on sale for $0.99 During the Tour.

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If I’d never heard of me, would I read my book? by Cheryl Holt – Guest Blog and Giveaway

February 23, 2021 By 3 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Cheryl Holt will be awarding an autographed print copy of the book (US ONLY) to 10 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

If I’d never heard of me, would I read my book?

I’ve written over sixty novels now, so I think I’ve finally got novel “writing” figured out. I was actually at maybe Novel #15 or so before I actually felt I knew what I was doing when I started writing the first page of the rough draft. It’s a complex artform that eluded me for a long time.

I’m a very slow learner, so it took me forever to get competent at it. I wrote constantly for four years before I got my writing into a condition where I could actually sell a manuscript to a publisher. I had wanted to be a suspense writer, but that market has always been so competitive, and for a very long time, I wasn’t very good and I couldn’t sell any of my pathetic attempts. After several fruitless tries, I switched to writing historical romances.

I wasn’t much of a romance reader, but it’s such a massive market. So I thought I’d write a couple of romances, sell them quickly and easily, make a name for myself, then I’d go back to writing “real” books once I got famous. Life has a funny way of whacking us alongside the head though.

For some bizarre reason, the universe has given me an incredible knack for writing some of the world’s greatest love stories. Who knew? All these years later, I’m still stunned by this turn of events! So I was originally published in historical romance, and I’ve mostly stayed there since then.

I write dramatic, fun stories filled with drama, heartache, betrayal, and everlasting love. I’m renowned as the “International Queen of Villains” too, so I always have the best (or the worst) villains—depending on your point of view. My plots are very involved, with complex issues and gripping action scenes. But mostly, I’m hailed for my snappy dialogue and marvelously-crafted characters. When you read one of my books, you feel as if you’re “there” in the story.

In my new book, A Summer Wedding at Cross Creek Inn, I actually wrote something different for a change. I had time in my writing schedule last year to add another book to my rotation, so I decided to try a contemporary women’s novel—and to shoot for readers who like authors like Elin Hilderbrand and Jennifer Weiner.

I used the techniques for which I’m renowned: fast-pacing, devious villains, breezy dialogue, and fascinating characters. And of course, I write love stories, so everyone who should fall in love by the end does fall in love by the end.

My books are can’t-put-it-down reads, so don’t start it at 10:00 at night and think you’ll just read for a few minutes before you fall asleep. If you try that, you’ll be up all night!

From New York Times bestselling author, Cheryl Holt, comes a sparkling, fast-paced novel about the complexity of family—and all the ways they can drive us crazy.

The lavish Layton-Benjamin wedding promises to be an event to remember, and the groom’s wealthy parents have spared no expense to impress their guests by hosting it at the exclusive Cross Creek Inn, a private mountain retreat tucked away in the heart of the Colorado Rockies. But the bride and groom are from completely different backgrounds, and they’ve only known each other for a few months, so it’s been a ‘hurry-up’ engagement that has everyone worried.

When the groom arrives late and tempers start to flare, it’s clear the wedding is a minefield that has to be carefully navigated. As parents and friends begin taking bets over whether the happy couple will make it to the altar, secrets are revealed, new loves emerge, and true happiness is finally found.

Book your visit to the Cross Creek Inn! A witty, fun summertime story about family, friendship, and finding out what matters most—that only Cheryl Holt could tell.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“It’s so beautiful here!”

Jennifer Layton spun away from the stunning scenery out the window of her hotel room, and she smiled at her father, Greg.

“I suppose it’s all right,” he replied.

“You suppose?” she asked. “Don’t injure yourself by exhibiting too much enthusiasm.”

She had three siblings, but she’d always been his favorite. It was an open and established family fact about which they all joked. On hearing her remark, he was instantly chastened.

“I’m sorry, peanut. It’s marvelous, and I’m delighted by it too.”

She grinned. “That’s more like it.”

From the minute she’d phoned to tell him she’d gotten engaged and was planning a quick wedding, he’d been slow to exhibit the attitude a girl ought to expect from her only parent. He was a widower and carpenter whose wife died of cancer when his four children were very small. Jennifer had just been eight at the time.

He’d spent his life providing for them as best he could. He was sensible and pragmatic, with strong views about the world and his place in it. He’d never been the type to reach out and grab for more than he’d been given, but he’d wanted more for her and her siblings than he’d ever been able to supply. In that, he’d been very generous.

He’d encouraged her to spread her wings, to go to college and move on to a great future, and she’d done exactly that. She’d fled their home in Portland, Oregon, to attend college in Eugene, then she’d flitted off to sunny, exciting Los Angeles.

In the process, she’d fallen in love with Eric Benjamin. He was disgustingly rich and had grown up in an environment so different from hers that he might have been raised on the moon.

About the Author:CHERYL HOLT is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon “Top 100” bestselling author who has published over fifty novels.

She’s also a lawyer and mom, and at age forty, with two babies at home, she started a new career as a commercial fiction writer. She’d hoped to be a suspense novelist, but couldn’t sell any of her manuscripts, so she ended up taking a detour into romance where she was stunned to discover that she has a knack for writing some of the world’s greatest love stories.

Her books have been released to wide acclaim, and she has won or been nominated for many national awards. She is considered to be one of the masters of the romance genre. For many years, she was hailed as “The Queen of Erotic Romance”, and she’s also revered as “The International Queen of Villains.” She is particularly proud to have been named “Best Storyteller of the Year” by the trade magazine Romantic Times BOOK Reviews.

She lives and writes in Hollywood, California, and she loves to hear from fans. Visit her website.

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Fire and Cinder by Christina Bauer – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 23, 2021 By 2 Comments



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Christina Bauer will be awarding a fairy-tale charm bracelet to a randomly drawn winner (US Only) via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Meet the Magicorum: modern folks who are supernaturally locked into fairy tale life templates. For eighteen-year-old Elle, that role is Cinderella. Meanwhile, Agatha is her evil stepsister. Things go downhill from there…

Cinderella On The Run


Elle—never call her Cinderella—has found the love of her life in Alec Le Charme, the prince of a jewelry dynasty. But when Alec gets spirited away, Elle must ditch her Manhattan home for the perilous Faerie Lands. To save Alec, Elle must also swap her glass slippers for a flying carpet. But will switching templates from Cinderella to Aladdin snap Elle’s sanity?

Whatever. Bring on the straight jacket. Elle is one Cinderella who’s determined to save her prince, no matter what.

Evil Stepsister or Elf Queen?


Agatha always accepted her role as Elle’s evil stepsister. Then her life template changes from nasty sibling to evil elf queen. Agatha has one thought on that score. Thanks but no thanks. Agatha refuses the regal life, even though stepping away from her crown means ignoring her lifelong attraction to the elf prince, Jacoby.

Then everything changes. Agatha discovers that Elle’s life is at risk… and the only way to save her Cinderella is by teaming up with Jacoby. Trouble is, that’s a lot of togetherness. Working with Jacoby could easily end in disaster, not only for Agatha’s heart, but also for Elle and Alec’s lives.

Fairy Tales of the Magicorum


Modern fairy tales with sass, action, and romance


1. Wolves and Roses
2. Moonlight and Midtown
3. Shifters and Glyphs
4. Slippers and Thieves
5. Bandits and Ball Gowns
6. Fire and Cinder
7. Fairies and Frosting

Enjoy an Excerpt

Elle

“Make me a fae door,” I whisper.

Fairy dust pours from my palms. The sparkling bits whirl through the air before whipping across the room and soaking into the far wall. The entire room seems to pulse with power and magic.

And the door starts to form.

Vines crawl up from the floorboards to cover the wall. A stone path stretches out over my rug. Pretty little flowers bud within the display.

A flash of pink light appears in the center of new greenery. When the brightness dies down, there’s a new addition to my bedroom: an emerald-colored door now sits in the middle of this garden display.

It swings open on its own.

Yes! I pump my fist in the air. Who says you need actual training to open a fae door? I wanted to do it. I did it. End of story.

A second flash of pink light appears. When it vanishes, there’s another green door inside the first. All right, that’s not good. Then the process repeats until I’m staring at a seemingly endless passageway of open doors.

Huh. Pretty sure this isn’t how a portal into the Faerie Lands is supposed to work.

Not that it’s a shock. My spells are all wonky at best. Plus, I’ve never cast a door to the Faerie Lands before. This looks legit enough.

This is my chance. I’m going after Alec, no matter what.

I step through the first door, which instantly closes behind me. I pull on the handle of the next door in line. It swings open with ease. When I step across the new threshold, the second door closes behind me.

All right, this is annoying but doable. At some point, I’ll reach the Faerie Lands. So I open the third door and keep going. With every new door, I focus on the same thought.

Alec Le Charme, I will set you free.

And in this moment, anything feels possible.

Best to get going.

I open a door.

And it opens to another door.

Which leads to yet another-nother door.

Damn.

I’m girl enough to admit it. I got a little carried away back at my apartment. The idea of freeing Alec had me so pumped, I just took off into a clearly malfunctioning fae door spell. I may very well be trapped in some kind of hell where you’re just opening doors for all eternity.

Speaking of which, I open a new door that finally goes to… yay, an actual landscape!
Only trouble is, it’s full of smoke and strangeness. I step deeper into the mist to find the best sight ever. Alec Le Charme.

About the Author:

Christina Bauer thinks that fantasy books are like bacon: they just make life better. All of which is why she writes romance novels that feature demons, dragons, wizards, witches, elves, elementals, and a bunch of random stuff that she brainstorms while riding the Boston T. Oh, and she includes lots of humor and kick-ass chicks, too. Christina lives in Newton, MA with her husband, son, and semi-insane golden retriever, Ruby. She loves to connect with her fans.

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Gumbeaux Love by Jax Frey – Q&A and Giveaway

February 22, 2021 By 7 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jax Frey will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Who is your intended audience and why should they read your book?

I’m writing for women over forty who appreciate the value of their women friends and their support. My intention is to offer a place where they can go and expect to find joy, peace, friendship, and great humor. I’m not afraid to tackle life’s harder problems, but I do so with a loving heart. I want my readers to feel that.

How did you come up with the title of book or series?

The Sistahs are a group of close women friends (thus the sisters) who love and support each other. As many people in Louisiana are, they are very fond of gumbo and are highly competitive with each other about their recipes (thus the gumbo). The gumbeaux spelling is in homage to the setting of the book in Louisiana where Cajun French has a great deal of influence. Changing sisters to Sistahs was just jazzing things up a bit! The new book is called Gumbeaux Love because it’s all about the many flavors of love in our lives and how it affects the Sistahs in particular.

Tell us a little bit about the cover art. Who designed it?

The paintings on the covers of The Gumbeaux Sistahs and Gumbeaux Love are both my work. I’ve made my living as an artist for many years. My art website is www.artbyjax.com

Give us an interesting or fun fact about your book or series.

Every single person in the book is based on a real-life person that I know. Every sistah. Even the villainess. Even the pug!

What can readers who enjoy your book do to help make it successful?

That’s easy – if you enjoyed the book, please leave a review for it on Amazon and Goodreads. And tell your friends. The Sistahs and I thank you!

The adventures of the Gumbeaux Sistahs continues. Five, fiery southern women wage wars against their unique problems using their improbable friendships, hilarious evil-genius schemes, strategy sessions with oh-so-many cocktails, and a shared passion for good gumbo.

Single, Southern artist, Judith Lafferty, casually confesses to her Gumbeaux Sistahs that she is occasionally lonely and would like to fall in love again. Seriously – you’d think she would know to keep her mouth shut around these women by now. The sistahs tackle her problem along with their own with their usual unreasonable, extreme plots and schemes, including a kidnapping, a cupid costume, trying out pick-up lines at the cheese counter, and blind dates from hell. In helping out their friend, the sistahs help each other out as well and bring to light the many flavors of love in all of our lives. Be ready for twists, turns, laugh-out-loud times, and heart-wrenching moments. You’ll be sure to recognize yourself and your best friends in the unstoppable sistahs.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Judith rinsed her juice glass in the kitchen sink just as the doorbell rang.

“Who in the world at this hour?” she thought, shaking her head and glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s not even eight o’clock.”

She walked to the front door and started to open it, but before she could swing it open all the way, a hand clutching a paper coffee cup shoved its way inside, barely missing her face.

“What?” she yelped. Then she laughed. “Oh no, are you kidding me?” She opened the door to five Gumbeaux Sistahs, including Bea, Helen, Dawn, Lola, and Trinity who stood on her front stoop holding coffee. It was especially a surprise to see Trinity there since she lived across the lake and had a long way to come. But the most unexpected thing of all was Dawn, who stood there looking embarrassed as all get-out, wearing a big, red Cupid costume.

“Not again!” said Judith, rolling her eyes and remembering that this was exactly the way that the sistahs had originally kidnapped her and become her best friends in the world.

Dawn grimaced and said, “I don’t know why I’m always the one who has to wear a stupid costume.”

About the Author: Born in New Orleans, Jax came into this world with a sense of celebration of southern culture, food, family and fun. Translating that celebration into her writing and onto canvas is her true calling. Her colorful art depicts everything from her dancing Gumbeaux Sistahs paintings to her popular line of original Mini paintings of southern icons. Because over 25,000 of the mini paintings have been created and sold into art collections worldwide, Jax holds a world’s record for The Most Original Acrylic Paintings on Canvas by One Artist from the World’s Record Academy. Jax art and gifts can be seen at www.artbyjax.com.

Jax is also the co-founder of the Women of Infinite Possibilities, an empowering women’s organization started in Covington, LA, where Jax lives today with her loveable, tornado-of-a-pug named Lucy.

The Gumbeaux Sistahs’ series of novels is a work of love for Jax After painting the Sistahs for many years, she finally gives voice to these women characters who have something to say and constantly make Jax laugh when she writes about them.

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My Rite of Passage During the Summer of ’76 by H. Downing Lane – Exclusive Excerpt and Giveaway

February 19, 2021 By 4 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. H. Downing Lane will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

MY RITE OF PASSAGE DURING THE SUMMER OF ’76 is a riveting coming-of-age memoir about adventure on the high seas with philosophical musings that add a resonant layer of depth.

In this memoir, H. Downing Lane recalls the 25-day transatlantic sailing trip he took in 1976 as a young man, the details of the journey around Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and other locales, and reflects on its significance as a coming-of-age learning experience.

H. Downing Lane was 26 years old in 1976 when he decided to sign up for a transatlantic sailing trip into the Arctic with an accomplished captain named E. Newbold Smith. In this vivid, often exhilarating memoir, Lane draws from journal entries written during his time at sea to share an account of the remarkable voyage.

The Atlantic crossing was a 25-day affair, from Chesapeake Bay, around Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and the coast of Norway. It was undertaken at a point in Lane’s life when he was feeling particularly vulnerable, as he was recovering from an accident in which he had lost an eye. He wished to “prove [his] mettle,” not to the other men aboard the boat, but to himself. As it turned out, Captain Smith was something of a kindred spirit, as he too had survived a devastating accident many years earlier. Lane provides the reader with a realistic vision of what life aboard a sailing vessel is like, from the often freezing temperatures above and below deck, to the many challenges presented by simple bodily necessities. He describes various technical aspects of working on the boat, but his language never devolves into jargon; his account is always perfectly clear and accessible.

Lane seasons the text with literary and philosophical quotes that frequently allow him to consider the greater meaning of his experience, and even of life itself. There are also numerous stunning photographs included of the boat and the various stops along the way.

Enjoy an Exclusive Excerpt

Even in the more fantastical 1939 tale of The Wizard of Oz when the Wicked Witch of the West orders her minions of flying monkeys to attack Oz, viewers are fascinated with these flying creatures for almost the same reasons. However, in a Biblical tale when the dove returns to the ark with an olive branch, Noah realizes that land is now nearby. Here the bird is portrayed as mankind’s messenger, guide and ally. Whether symbolic or real, whether friend or foe, birds definitely have captured and intrigued man’s imagination. Would life be wonderful, feel wondrous if freedom and floating were our way of life. They float our thoughts and tickle and tantalize our dreams.

It is common knowledge that sailors always look for indicators that terra firma isn’t too far away. “Land Ho!” is music to any salt who has been at sea for any extended length of time. Whether positioned high above in a masthead crows nest or closer to sea level on the bow pulpit, crew members assigned as lookouts listen for the sounds of shoals or reefs and pay particular attention to distant, dark ominous clouds, floating branches, seaweed, shallow water, whitewater as well as the increased presence of birds. No whistling is allowed on a sailing vessel for that reason.

Granted Reindeer hadn’t been at sea for forty days and nights (even though it felt like it). Granted we didn’t have any land birds on board our ark (unless you count some crew members attempts at humor). Granted we had not shot any birds for our unfavorable conditions either. And, of course, Reindeer wasn’t ever mistaken for a fairy tale, myth or metaphor…a little out of place, unfamiliar and odd, maybe, but not something from a poet’s, director’s or devout Christian’s imagination. While Reindeer was real, it is sometimes humans’ limited perspective coupled with superstition, fantasy or imagination that creates their “reality.”

About the Author:H. Downing Lane is a retired educator, tutoring business owner, English teacher, coach and administrator who sails in his spare time. Presently he is writing a series of books that chronicle his sailing adventures.

Born and raised on the eastern shore of Maryland, he has returned home after 40 years to write. Henry taught sailing for eight years on Long Island Sound and sailed competitively on the Chesapeake Bay, crewed transatlantic to Iceland and Norway, been a crew member of a number of Annapolis – Newport and Newport – Bermuda races and sailed much of the Caribbean and Bahamas.

In 1978, he sailed the SORC around Florida. In 2008, he purchased Mystique, a 40′ leopard catamaran, and in 2013, he sailed it to Santo Domingo, the Turks and Cacaos and eventually to Florida.

In 2016, he sailed solo for 51 days through the Exumas. On another adventure he and Lainie Wrightson had a calamitous time together – losing both rudders – the basis of his second book, Bluewater Mystique.

He has chartered boats to sail the Dalmatian Coast, Belize, Abacos, Eleuthera and the Maine coast. While maintaining his blog www.bluewatermystique.com, he has written numerous blogs about life and sailing.

He is a dedicated learner and loves sharing his experiences and stories.

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War of the Squirrels by Kirsten Weiss – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 18, 2021 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Kirsten Weiss will be awarding a signed, paperback copy of War of the Squirrels, an “Ever Vigilant” squirrel notepad, a squirrel wish bracelet, and a squirrel baseball cap (black) (US ONLY) to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Helicopter parents, suspicious squirrels… and murder.

All Susan wants is to get through this visit from her controlling parents without tumbling down a black hole of despair. But galactic forces are colliding at her whimsical B&B, Wits’ End, and her parents have plans of their own.

When two men die on the same day, both mysterious deaths are tied to her mom and dad. Meanwhile, a squirrel scofflaw is riling up the tiny mountain town of Doyle, and Susan realizes she’s the only person who can stop the madness. And if this B&B owner can’t put these crimes to rest fast, her carefully organized life may come crashing to earth.

This fast-paced and funny cozy mystery is book four in the Wits’ End series. Packed with quirky characters, small town charm, and murder, it’s perfect for fans of Jana Deleon, Tricia O’Malley, and Charlaine Harris.

Buy War of the Squirrels and start this hilarious caper today.

Enjoy an Excerpt

As if my fingers were far, far away, I felt my hands loosen. I dimly heard my cleaning bucket of brushes and other supplies thud to the carpet in room seven.

Bailey howled and raced from the room, his ears flapping. And who could blame him? The room itself seemed to revolt at the scene. Even the faked pie-tin UFO photo hung at an awkward angle above the rumpled bed.

Early evening shadows knifed across my mother’s sensible shoes. She sat in a vintage wing chair in one corner of the room. “Shut the door,” she commanded and removed the clip from a Russian pistol.

Automatically, I obeyed.

Mouth slack, I backed against the door. “You… That’s…” My breath came in quick gasps. Dots swam in front of my eyes. This wasn’t my first body in the B&B. But…

The leg slipped in my father’s grip, the shoe inching closer to his shoulder.

Briefly, I wondered if this was what lost time felt like, this sense of being out of phase, outside ordinary reality. Unthinking, I groped for my day planner. But of course it wasn’t there. I didn’t carry it around when I cleaned.

Should I?

About the Author:
Kirsten Weiss has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer re-runs and drinking red wine. The latter gives her heartburn, but she drinks it anyway.

Now based in Colorado Springs, CO, she writes genre-blending cozy mystery, supernatural and steampunk suspense, mixing her experiences and imagination to create vivid worlds of fun and enchantment.

If you like funny cozy mysteries, check out her Pie Town – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/pie-town-mysteries, Tea and Tarot – https://www.kirstenweiss.com/tea-and-tarot-mysteries , Paranormal Museum – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/the-perfectly-proper-paranormal-mus-1 and Wits’ End – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/doyle-cozy-mystery-series books.

If you’re looking for some magic with your mystery, give the Witches of Doyle – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/doyle-witch-cozy-mysteries, Riga Hayworth – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/riga-hayworth-paranormal-mysteries and Rocky Bridges – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/rocky-bridges-mysteries books a try.

And if you like steampunk, the Sensibility Grey – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/sensibility-grey-steampunk-suspense series might be for you.

Kirsten sends out original short stories of mystery and magic to her mailing list. If you’d like to get them delivered straight to your inbox, make sure to sign up for her newsletter on her website. Or you can send her an email at kweiss2001@kirstenweiss.com. She’ll answer you personally…which may be a good or a bad thing, depending on your perspective.

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Love Has No Limits by Armine Papouchian – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 18, 2021 By 2 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Armine Papouchian will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

At sixteen, Armine fell in love for the first time and lost that love for the first time. She was the youngest daughter of three in Armenia and the only one underage when her parents decided to immigrate to the United States. She had to go with and leave her beloved Alex behind. Her parents saw a land of opportunity while Armine saw heartbreak. It wasn’t the end of her story with Alex and certainly not the end of her life,as it had felt at the time, but there was more pain to follow. Sixteen-year-olds are resilient, but even when losses and hurt came calling repeatedly throughout Armine’s life, she had the strength to love and to rise again and again. Even as life moves on for Armine and Alex, their lives intersect again and again over the course of thirty years. Through deaths and divorces, their lives never quite line up from their opposite sides of the globe. Love Has No Limits is Armine’s story of keeping faith in oneself and in love despite heartbreak, betrayal, and loss. It reveals the joy available to those who rise and rise again.

Enjoy an Excerpt

While drinking a glass of red wine, I watched the blazing fire roll down the hill. I got the second emergency alert call to evacuate immediately. I couldn’t believe this was happening again. Last time this happened my son still lived at home, my parents lived with us, and Peaches, our sweet dog was still alive. Back then, I had to get everyone organized, packed, and ready to evacuate. Back then, I’d been more nervous, concerned about my aging parents, my teenage son and our dog, who could sense the tension and had anxiously paced back and forth with her tongue hanging out. This time, it was just me. I thought about what I should take with me. After all, I had already lost so much in life, yet at the same time, I felt I was blessed with all that I still had. After all, my parents had moved me halfway around the world when I was a teenager, leaving my love behind. I had grieved losing two husbands by the time I was 50, another husband in between who betrayed me at my most vulnerable moment, and I’d struggled with my father’s cancer, which ended in suicide. Just as I was catching my breath, I had to put my dog to sleep followed by my mother’s long-term illness and her painful death. At the same time, I was so grateful for all I had. I was so happy that I was not angry and resentful. I was not bitter; I was content. I had love again, and I was stronger than ever before. I was still standing. As I packed a change of clothes, my laptop, few photo albums that my son requested and my small metal safe deposit box with important documents, I reflected on how little all our possessions really matter to us. As I was packing the albums, the memories started to come back, old wounds flared up and I started to feel the pain and the deep sadness. I ached for my son who had lost his father at age ten. I felt lonely; I missed the people I had in my life that I’d loved and lost. I missed all they brought to my life. At times, I could not believe I had survived all that had happened in my life in such a short time. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I realized the effects those pictures had on me and why I did not even want to take those albums with me. I had the memories in my heart and that’s all I could ever have, the rest of my life. I realized that’s why I no longer made photo albums. I realized how simplistic life had become for me. I did not need much. I cherished the moments I was with the people I loved and that is all I ever needed.

About the Author:

Arminé was born in Soviet Armenia and immigrated to United States with her parents when she was 17. She worked in the health care industry for 33 years and held key leadership roles in various health plans. Most recently, she retired from a senior executive position to pursue service and paying forward.

She is currently involved in various volunteer roles. In her free time, she enjoys reading, hiking, gardening, art museums, concerts, dancing, and spending time with family and friends.

Love Has No Limits is her first book.

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Hack by Deana Birch – Spotlight and Giveaway

February 18, 2021 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Deana Birch who is celebrating the recent release of Hack. Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE eBook from the author!

An online criminal craves real-life danger, but her flawed instincts may cost her new crew everything.

Rafael Santos didn’t get the nickname ‘Goldie Locks’ for his shimmering blond curls. His hair is as black as his criminal heart. No, it’s his Midas touch. His ability to earn—coupled with a love for theft and technology—has gained him the coveted Number Two position in the Covington Heights crew. The problem is…after a murder that sent their regular clients packing, even his numbers are down. Now, finding new sources of illegal income is his number one priority.

Marigold Pfeifer is the fairy princess of online deceit. She can slip her computer viruses into a system at the blink of an eye and steal personal information in a twinkly flash. And that’s exactly what she does when screen name ‘GoldieLocks’ slides into her instant messenger. What’d he expect? A gift card?

But when the naïve hacker rides the train uptown to check out mysterious Covington Heights, she’s approached by the leader of the crew and forced to think fast on her feet. A hate-filled rivalry sparks between her and Rafael—and with it a deviously sinful attraction.

Will real-life criminals and the danger they breed be enough to wise up the goth-pixie with zero street smarts when she must navigate dark waters—or will her flawed instincts burn all she’s worked for to the ground?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and drug use.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Rafa

They gym we shared on the third floor in Covington Heights was haunted by the spirit of our former crew member Leo. I was sure of it. As I circled around the blue sparring mat trying to find my next move, I could almost hear him whisper in my ear.

Where’s the weakness?

The problem was that the man opposite me didn’t have very many soft spots and his steel-blue eyes were like the tip of his sword. They pierced before anything else. As he narrowed his gaze ever so slightly, he would land his next punch. His brick fist slammed into the cheekbone just below my left eye. Pain slapped the side of my face, but I wouldn’t let it spread to my ego. It wasn’t personal, that I knew. Anton was pissed and working out his frustrations. Hell, we all were.

“Ooo…” He jogged backward. “You okay there, Goldie Locks?” His fake sympathy was followed by a proud smile but he wouldn’t get any complaints or signs of weakness from me.

“You know I like it rough.” I winked and walked over to the small fridge at the back of the gym where my boy Jackson and I had started keeping ice packs. Shit happened. Anton wasn’t as good a teacher as Leo, but practicing was the only way to get better, stronger.

Since Leo’s abrupt departure, Anton had been a miserable prick. He’d turned into the crankiest bitch I’d ever seen. And he had a serious alpha complex. His physical dominance wasn’t only a reminder that he was a better fighter. It was the exclamation point that our asses belonged to him…or else.

Leo had gotten away with too much, and those who were still around were paying the price. I shot a knowing glance to Jackson, who looked away and continued to do his bicep curls on a bench near the door.

Anton wrapped a towel around his bare shoulders and said, “Jackson, meet me in fifteen at my place. Scooter’s bringing the numbers from Bradford South.”

I dug out the frozen bag of blue gel then sat on the side of the treadmill as I pressed it into my cheek—bitter cold relief for a festering wound of the bossman’s frustration. No one could spar like Leo. Message received. No one was going to be allowed to get away with the same disrespect. Got it. But penance for other people’s sins was getting old quick. Unfortunately, all was fair in crime and crews. Did I like taking a blow from time to time? Honestly? Yeah, I did. I wanted to be better, wanted to learn. I craved more respect and was plotting ways to get it.

Anton tipped up his chin and winked at me. It was his way of checking in. That was also part of his management technique or whatever-the-fuck way he kept us down but happy. Show the power first, then a hint of giving a shit. I’d seen it before. I actually didn’t mind it. The familiarity was somehow comforting.

“Let’s make some fucking money today.” Anton looked us over one last time before leaving, his glare emphasizing that it was a command, not a request.

I walked over to Jackson, my former roommate and literal partner in crime. We’d bonded over not having fucked-up families, just fucked-up circumstances, Xbox and both refusing to become adult enough to drink coffee. Plus, we liked the idea of belonging somewhere. And the money… We liked the money.

Jackson set the weights down on the gray concrete floor. “He needs to get laid.”

More like I needed to get laid. I’d given up on banging girls from our neighborhood. There was nothing interesting about being worshiped. Besides, they only did it in hopes of making their lives better. None of them really ever bothered to get to know me, not to mention that half of them were customers. That was more trouble than it was worth.

I shook my head. Anton had no problem there. “He needs to make more money.” It was true that since we’d knocked off Mac, who had been a regular patron at our backdoor gambling racket, attendance had gone down to zero. No one liked the idea of tempting Anton’s quick fuse and ending up in the river—not that we’d thrown Mac in the river, of course.

Lucky for us, the police had written off the Bradford murders as a drug deal gone wrong and hadn’t cared to search much further. Our sources at the precinct said there had been mild rumblings of it seeming like a professional hit because of the precision, but, in the end, it was a criminal-on-criminal crime and they tended not to waste too many resources on shit like that.

Jackson stood and put his hands on his hips. “What are you up to later? I’m moving my stuff to Lisa’s and could use a hand.”

“Aww. You all lonely and shit since I moved out?”

Jackson rolled his dark brown eyes. “Nah. I’m all horny and shit since she finally let me tap that ass. Besides, I like showing Junior what a stable woman looks like.” He held my gaze for a brief second.

There was no need to explain. I’d seen Jackson’s baby-mama Bridget at our bench in the courtyard too many times in the last month. Selling drugs was a lot less fun when it was to the mother of one of your favorite kids, which brought me full circle to the money problem. We were a small operation. Sure, we had gained territory since the Bradford Towers crew had taken the hit. But with the game numbers down, I was pretty sure that the money decline was tainting Anton’s mood more than the loss of his previous sidekick. The bossman wasn’t exactly sentimental.

I pressed the cool into my cheek. It had thawed a little and was losing its original stiffness. “I’m working on something…a new business venture. Just waiting on a contact.”

Jackson rubbed his jaw. Maybe he’d taken a couple of hits I hadn’t seen. “Well, get fuckin’ crackin’.” He gave me a little salute and was gone.

I reached for a hand towel and wiped the residual sweat off my arms and chest. I hadn’t always wanted to be a law-breaking shit who sold people poison. It was just that I’d been bored—bored in school, bored in life, bored everywhere except in my own head. There, everything spun. It was like other people’s brains were funnels catching raindrops and all the information came to one eventual stream of thought. Mine? A constant downpour where I wanted to see every single bead of water and analyze it. That was what my high school computer teacher had said, anyway. He’d also said that was why I would be great in IT. Yeah, that ‘career path’ had taken an odd but predictable turn.

Breaking into people’s computers calmed me—and had earned me my first trip to juvey. When I’d gotten out and met Anton… Well, it all just seemed like destiny. But Anton was hard, from his jawline to his inability to show compassion. I didn’t have that darkness inside. Not that it mattered… I’d made my choices. A life in a suit and a picket fence with a puppy wasn’t going to happen for me.

I left the gym and went across the hall to the apartment I’d shared with Anton since Leo had moved out. The spray of his shower echoed down the hall that led to his room. I headed in the opposite direction, crashed on my bed with a thud and reached for my laptop.

I logged in to my favorite online chat for hackers and it only took a second for my idol to send me a direct message. Bingo.

Majel213: Going live in five. Glad you finally decided to show up, Goldie.

As if I would miss it. Majel213 was my Internet spirit animal. I typed my response.

GoldieLocks: Highlight of my day. You know I’ve been itching to see what you’ve been scheming.

I always tried to up my nerd and downplay my street vibe whenever she and I chatted. The tech geek in me wanted her to respect my brains, as fucking stupid as that was. Online, I could be anybody. The idea of someone liking me for my intelligence was an out-of-body experience. In the six months since I’d found Majel213 and her wicked tutorials, we’d somehow become friends. Well, maybe not friends—but more than online strangers. It was just that we’d never actually seen each other. I’d never offered a profile pic in our chats and she did all her videos without showing her face.

I was sure that if she knew I was just some street criminal who’d never really carried out an impressive hack, I would lose the connection we’d built. And I needed her. Getting my hands on her malware was a way to keep my Midas touch.

The nickname ‘Goldie Locks’ had evolved over the years from ‘Golden Boy’, neither of which had anything to do with my hair. That was pitch black. It was because I was a good earner and I’d gotten the light-eye gene from my Brazilian heritage. The fact that the name had turned into a fairy-tale character didn’t bother me. In fact, when I’d first starting using it online, I’d catfished quite a few idiots.

Five minutes later, I clicked over to the 677CrackChat and logged in. Holy hell. Majel213’s raspy voice played over my thin speaker and she was transmitting dual screens.

“Meet Nathanial E. Tomjak. He lives in North Dakota, loves to fish and hunt. He’s new to all this because, quote, ‘my daughter finally convinced me to join the social media thingy.’ No one suspects he’s not a real person because his picture, which I photoshopped to change eye color, hair color, skin tone and age, is right here for all to see.”

She clicked on the picture and enlarged it to fit the screen. If she hadn’t said it was altered, I would have never guessed. Nathanial E. Tomjak was the epitome of a Midwestern retired grandpa, complete with triple chin, racing T-shirt and warm smile.

“So, Nate—I call him Nate—Nate was a creation of a profile after I had already found”—she clicked a couple of times and brought up a picture of Caroline Claussen—”this sweet, cat-loving mama.”

The kind face of an older woman replaced the screen. “Caroline works for the sheriff of Zapata Falls and is my number one target for malware.”

canada pharmacy viagra This is accomplished by writing a simple retrieval program that searches through every web site listed on a search engine to remove the spaces in order to come back to your original title. Suffering is seen with the low back is not always an effective method, it is commander viagra not very often performed. The activities will be monitored and even limited as buy viagra overnight Osteoporosis can allow fractures and breakage in bones. We need some element of humanity that allows us to build a picture of who we are female viagra pill and most “dense” of all our bodies. There was a slight East Coast accent in Majel213’s voice. Her pronunciation of ‘number’ sounded a little like a ‘numba’ and I let myself believe that one day I might meet my nerd crush face-to-face and she would be hot, which was stupid. Finding the sexy librarian type in real life who could live up to my fantasies was proving to be difficult. Also, the whole selling drugs to pay the rent never went over well with the smart girls I liked.

But Majel213? She was my perfect blend of intelligence and criminal. By her screen name, she was in camp Star Trek over Star Wars. Her clever and deviant behavior inspired my own. We were soulmates, I was sure—me and the other four hundred sixty-three dorks watching her show us the latest and sneakiest ways to crack, hack and hide.

I propped up the pillows behind me, workout stank be damned, laid a towel on my chest under my laptop and settled in. I was ready to learn everything she had to teach me.

And listen to her. Fuck, I loved the sound of her voice. It was low and seductive, but she was also funny. At the end of all her tutorials, she would say, “And change your fucking passwords, Geeks!” That usually led me to go around the apartment and do just that. My phone, Anton’s phone, Jackson’s phone when I’d lived with him, then all sites, all applications… I could spend half my day just doing what Majel213 told me.

And more than once, my own passwords had been changed to her fucking screen name. How I’d become a lovesick dork slash criminal was beyond my comprehension.

That sultry tone went on to describe how she’d found her target and worked backward. How creating a fake person was easy. Once she had the profile pic, the rest of what ‘he’ posted was either shares from propaganda that aligned with Caroline’s beliefs or pictures that he wasn’t in. ‘Nate’ had become friends with one of Caroline’s relatives through people who were more interested in having followers and like than caring if they actually knew the person.

Then it had just been as simple as engaging on the same post by the mutual friend and boom! There was a direct line to her target. It required maintenance, but according to Majel213, that was part of the fun. The hard part, she said in the voice that had me wondering how ‘Rafael’ would sound if she whispered it all quiet and sultry next to my ear, was waiting for the day that Caroline would open her social media on her work computer. But, Majel213 wasn’t worried. Caroline had said that she hated texting on her phone and was much faster on a keyboard, so it was just a matter of finding a topic that would inspire Caroline to need to converse faster—like making Nate’s tabby cat ill.

Majel213 had a beautifully perverse brain.

She explained that once the application was opened in the office of the sheriff of Zapata Falls, because Majel213 had programmed a sneaky virus that shadowed the direct messenger, the malware would be on Caroline’s hard drive in thirty seconds. And that would translate to the entire town being held hostage by Majel213 until they paid their ransom in untraceable cryptocurrency.

And pay they would, she assured, because the counties, cities or whatever were insured…and the FBI would tell them to. Otherwise, all their systems stayed frozen and spun around in the never-ending computer circle of death.

And the real beauty? While they tried to figure out how to pay, she just kept stealing all their information. It was pretty customary malware shiftiness. She could get tax returns, social security numbers, backgrounds, criminal records and birth certificates then sell that to criminals like me. Majel213 just made it sound so much sexier than it probably was.

Internal man-dork sigh.

She also sold her out-of-date malware to us nerds who didn’t know how to code it as well as she did. The clever thief was always three steps ahead, and the improved versions of her viruses and programs were for her use only.

So it was that version—the latest and most dangerous—that I was sure I needed to make bank for the crew, not a malware program an average bad actor could use. Somehow, I was going to convince the normally selfish Majel213 to share her updated goods, and we would go from street criminals to an organized threat to society. I tingled all over just thinking about it.

Her scratchy voice rang out and woke me from my dream of living the calm, boring life of a closet criminal. “Change your fucking passwords, Geeks! Oh, and I’m taking questions for the next five minutes on message chat. Dick picks will result in a virus that sends it to your grandma, assholes.”

I shot up and clicked on our message window. Time to make a deal.

GoldieLocks: Brilliant as usual. How do I get my hands on your latest version?

Majel213: Thanks for watching. It’s always nice to have you there. The links are up.

I didn’t want those old, used-up links. I wanted the version she was hoarding for herself.

GoldieLocks: No, I mean the *real* latest version.

Majel213: Not for sale, sweetie. Sorry. You know that.

My internal ego liked the term of endearment so much that he convinced my brain it was for him. But I wasn’t giving up that easy.

GoldieLocks: Everything has a price.

It was a bold promise, considering we didn’t have a savings account with money piled up.

The ellipsis next to her name stayed for a minute like she was writing some long explanation. My heart raced and I drummed my fingers lightly over the keys without hitting hard enough to type.

Name your price, baby girl.

Oh, the money I could make for Anton. And I wouldn’t have to sit out on that fucking bench and watched addicts wither away with each sale I made. I could perch myself on the couch, post to social media then just wait to pounce. And getting the latest version of the malware would ensure it wasn’t tracible. It would be new and never have been used.

Majel213: Indeed it does. My apologies.

She added a winky face emoji and left the chat. Shit. I should have brought up cash. She was always talking about cryptocurrency, but cash was still king for criminals. I should have started with that. Next time. Next time I would lead with, “How much cash would it take?”

Fuck. Didn’t she know I needed that shit like…yesterday?

I closed my laptop and tossed it to the end of the bed. After a quick shower, I found Anton in a hovered meeting with Scooter at the island in the kitchen. The sour frown on his pale face was enough to know he didn’t like what he and Jackson had heard earlier. We needed money. I was the Golden Boy and he was relying on me to make good on my previous abilities to earn.

Working on it, boss.

“I’m headed down to the bench then I have to help with a thing. Later.”

I jogged down the stairs and out to the courtyard that connected the three buildings of Covington Heights. A small gathering of black jeans parted and Jackson stood, towering over us all. We man-hugged, the official sign that he was off duty and I was on.

His spot on the bench was still warm, and I draped my arms out, taking as much space as I could.

A new member of the crew caught my eye on the edge of the circle. He was a bit scrawny and had probably come from Bradford. More and more defectors were crossing into our territory. That particular one looked hungry as hell. Sometimes I wondered if the new recruits weren’t double agents. I reminded myself to keep my guard up at all times.

Maybe I would do a password sweep after dinner. Although, the skinny kids from the projects weren’t much of a threat to the technology that I used. Hell, they wouldn’t even know how to put a virus onto a computer.

Like Majel213… Using direct messaging to shadow…

Fucking fuck, fuck.

Mother of all fucks.

My pulse raced and I closed my eyes in horrid understanding. She’d broken into my fucking computer.

About the Author: Deana Birch was named after her father’s first love, who just so happened not to be her mother. Born and raised in the Midwest, she made stops in Los Angeles and New York before settling in Europe, where she lives with her own blue-eyed Happily Ever After. Her days are spent teaching yoga, playing tennis, ruining her children’s French homework, cleaning up dog vomit, writing her next book or reading someone else’s.

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