Blog Tour: A FLASHY AND FROSTY CHRISTMAS CHARITY ANTHOLOGY, Fifteen Multi-genre Authors Came Together to Celebrate the Season and To Give To CHARITY!@LipServicesPR




RELEASE DATE: 11/16/2018



Fifteen multi-genre authors came together to celebrate the season and to give to charity. Twenty-three flash fiction stories inspired by Christmas songs we all know and love. Join them as they spin their heartwarming tales.
Tricia Andersen
Nina Valdez
Linda Greene
Sophie Wootton
Carol Gyzander
Cindy Webb
Shellie Brown
Teel James Glenn
Mai Jagyar
Maria Vickers
Ellie Mack
Timothy Lee
Miranda Lynn
Misty Harvey
Tracy Broemmer
Lip Services PR

Black Friday Book Blast + Giveaway From RABT BOOK TOURS & PR! @RABTBookTours



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Click on any of the below book covers to be taken to the page that has more information on the novel as well as the Buy Links!
Before you leave, don’t forget to enter the Giveaway!






Is your hero far away? Wish you could surprise them with a visit? We want to make that wish come true! To celebrate the upcoming release of The Last Letter by Rebecca Yarros, we want to send you to visit someone you love!

Entangled Publishing is proud to present the #LetterToMyHero Sweepstakes. To enter, simply follow these instructions:

  1. Follow @RebeccaYarros & @Entangled_Publishing on Instagram

  2. Share a letter to your hero on Instagram and tag @RebeccaYarros & @Entangled_Publishing and #LetterToMyHero

  3. Entries will be accepted until November 25, 2018

You will automatically be entered! Some entries will be featured on @Entangled_Publishing and @RebeccaYarros!

If your hero is somewhere you can’t visit, you can use the flight to go to the destination of your choice or opt for some close to home self-care.

*Maximum flight value is $1000. Flight must be booked by February 25, 2019. If you are unable to travel, we will provide a $1000 Gift Card for you to use on self-care. Must be 18 or over.

This promotion is in no way sponsored, endorsed, or administered by, or associated with Instagram. You understand that you are providing your information to Entangled Publishing and Rebecca Yarros and not to Instagram. By participating in this promotion you agree to a complete release of Instagram from any claims.

Monster Mash Countdown Blitz: Day 11, WHEN STARS COME OUT by SCARLETT ST CLAIR @ScarlettStClai1




Scarlett St. Clair lives in Oklahoma with her husband. She has a Master’s degree in Library Science and Information Studies and spends a lot of time researching reincarnation, unsolved murders and Greek mythology–all of which made it into her debut novel, When Stars Come Out (Oct 2018).


Anora Silby can see the dead and turn spirits into gold coins, two things she would prefer to keep secret as she tries to lead a normal life at her new school. After all, she didn’t change her identity for nothing.


As it turns out, hiding her weirdness is just one of many challenges. By the end of her first day, she’s claimed the soul of a dead girl on campus and lost the coin. Turns out, the coin gives others the ability to steal souls, and when a classmate ends up dead, there’s no mistaking the murder weapon.
Navigating the loss of her Poppa, her mother’s mistrust, and Roundtable, an anonymous student gossip app threatening to expose her, are hard enough. Now she must find the person who stole her coin before more lives are lost, but that means making herself a target for the Order, an organization that governs the dead on Earth–and they want Anora and her powers for themselves. 


Glass breaks somewhere in the distance and something heavy knocks into me. I hit the ground hard, landing on my back with Natalie over me, hands holding down my arms, her legs clamped tight against mine. I recognize this control. She’s trying to incapacitate me.
“Get off me or I swear—”
“What? You’ll kill me, too?”
For a moment, I go completely still and glare at her, then I realize something’s off about her appearance—most notably, the large black wings sprouting from her back. That’s when I lose it.
 “Get off of me! Get away from me!” I thrash, trying to loosen her hold on me. The thread ignites between us and Natalie springs away. I scramble to my feet and get a good look at her. She’s Natalie alright, but different. She’s leaner, but maybe I never noticed before because she doesn’t wear skin-tight black suits to school. Her hair is slick and straight, falling over her shoulders in a sheet. Then there are the wings—huge sweeping black-metallic things that surround her like a halo.
“Get her out of here!” I freeze—I’d know that voice anywhere.
I twist to find him, but he doesn’t look like the Shy I know—his blond hair is silver and falls to his shoulders and black wings spout from his back. He takes my place in front of the thing that looked like my poppa moments earlier, two long blades clasped in his hands.
What is going on?
“Go!” Natalie pushes me forward, and someone grabs my wrist. I try to pull away but recognize the voice.
“It’s me,” Thane says. “Do what they say!”
What the actual hell? Did he just tell me to do what they say? Shouldn’t he be freaking out?
Thane drags me toward the door, but the creature of shadow screams and tentacles explode from it, stretching out and knocking us to the ground. Something flies past me—another one of the bird-creatures. I scramble to my feet and find the three poised before the creature, blades exposed in the pale light filtering through the thin windows above.
They cut and stab at the creature, but their blades only make it angry, and the angrier it gets, the more damage it does, knocking into shelves and the concrete columns. Jars crash to the ground, choking the air with formaldehyde and dust.
“This isn’t working, Shy!” Natalie says and my stomach knots painfully, but I don’t have time to comprehend what’s happening here, because the creature’s tentacles flail, and I have to duck to keep from being flung across the room. Thane’s in front of me again, pulling my arm.
“We have to get out of here!”
“Look out!” I push him forward and fall with him, landing as one of the creature’s tentacles rush over us and crashes into a column. There’s a cracking sound as it comes loose from its place and falls toward us. Thane and I scramble to our feet and away, finding ourselves closer to the fight than we wanted to be.
“Jacobi!” Shy’s voice is harsh as Jacobi propels from his position on the floor, scythe in hand, he cuts a blow across the creature’s tooth-filled face. Its scream grows louder and one of its tentacles lifts, smacking into Jacobi and sending him flying against the wall. Shy twists, searching, until his eyes meet mine. 
And something in my chest pulls so tight I lose my ability to breathe.
I know him.
And not in the way I’ve gotten to know him the last few weeks. This is different, deeper. It goes beyond his skin and blood and bones.
I know his soul.
The knowledge shivers through me and my mind strains to place him. Where have I seen him before? I chase tendrils of memories, but they slip from my grasp, teasing, playful, brutal—and they smell like smoke and jasmine.
What did that witch do to me?
Shy’s harsh voice brings me back to the present. “Get her out of here! She’s making it stronger!”
“Shy!” Natalie warns, but it’s too late. He goes flying, his body flipping unnaturally as he lands in a pile of his own feathers. I don’t go to him and I don’t run away. I stand, rooted to the spot. Anger, white and hot, washes over me, burning my eyes and skin. I want to smash this thing to pieces for giving me hope, for lifting me from darkness just to crush me.
I want to kill it.
And the thread responds, rising to fit my palm like the hilt of a blade. I don’t know what it does to soulless creatures, but I unleash it anyway. It twirls through the air, lancing the creature, looping throughout its limbs. It writhes, jerking and hissing, it’s body splitting so that light pours through cracks in its shadow-skin.
I see it all in slow motion: how the thread twists and tightens, moving methodically through each arm and then diving down into a mouth of teeth, only to burst from its stomach, spewing black oil, but it happens in an instant. The creature groans and falls into a puddle and my thread reels back in coating my hand in sticky, black tar.
As I stand there, catching my breath, the anger melts, replaced with something far more urgent.
Oh God. What have I done?


To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our Official Event page 



Monster Mash Countdown Blitz: Day 10, SECOND SIGHT by DENISE MONCRIEF!




Denise is a Southern girl who has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but who also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and cooking. Accounting is a skill she has learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit.
She wrote her first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She’s been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.
Desperate to begin a new life, Jerilyn Bowman changes her name and goes off the grid. Sparks fly when Det. Nick Moreau confronts her about her identity and then seems to follow her wherever she goes. When a stranger dies while gripping her chin in his hand, passing to her the gift of prescience, she begins to witness awful crimes before they happen.


Jerilyn’s claim that she’s able to see the future both frustrates and fascinates Nick to the point he can’t get her out of his mind. Are Jerilyn’s claims of second sight a cover for her own crimes? Will Nick discover the truth before Jerilyn becomes the killer’s next victim?

New Orleans, Louisiana
June 2014
Blue streaks and long spikes protruded every direction out of the ponytail elastic on top of Jerilyn Bowman’s head. Black lips and nails added to the dark, don’t-you-dare-mess-with-me look. Jeri had adopted the carefully crafted image on the day she decided to stay in New Orleans.
The persona she projected wasn’t her. Not at all. It was a disguise. In high school, she was a brainiac. Sensible clothes. Responsible habits. Excellent grades. Jeri knew herself well enough to know her true nature was somewhere between good little girl and badass bitch.
Her parents wouldn’t understand her choices, and she wasn’t going to try to explain. Not when the secrets they had kept from her for years were the main reason she wanted to keep them out of her life. So when she dropped out of medical school to bartend, she hadn’t told them about her decision. As far as she knew, they still believed she was studying anatomy and medical ethics at Tulane Medical School.
She slid a glass across the bar toward a regular customer. “Here ya go.”
Among all the tourists who ordered nothing but Hurricanes and Sazeracs, the local guy was a bit of a challenge. He always had a new drink for her to mix. Today’s choice was a concoction he called Royal Blood. She’d mixed his drink, adding a sticky red liquid that resembled strawberry syrup from a glass tube he’d brought with him. The mess smelled horrible and looked practically toxic.
Without looking at her, he grunted, lifting his drink and letting it hover near his lips for a long moment before taking the first sip. When he lowered his glass, a line of gooey red outlined his upper lip.
“Is that the way you like it?” She didn’t expect him to respond. The weirdo rarely spoke more than a few words.
He dropped a ten on the counter. Despite his homeless appearance, he was always a good tipper. Jeri’s shift ended at six in the morning, and the weirdo was always her last customer. The man stopped for a moment to gaze out the front window. No telling at what he was staring. He stood so still Jeri thought he might have died standing up. Then, he jerked, dropped something in the trash bin near the door, and exited the bar, leaving the place empty of customers once again.
The weirdo’s empty glass went into the soapy water behind the bar, discoloring the bubbles with a tinge of pink. She grabbed a damp towel and began wiping down the counter for the last time just as the night bouncer Herb turned over the closed sign in the window.
Until recently the bar had never closed, open 24/7, but ever since a brawl on the sidewalk outside had migrated into the bar at six in the morning and someone had taken a bullet right inside the door, the owner had closed it from six a.m. until ten a.m. every day. Darwin had grumbled that he didn’t want to spend his mornings watching his business and that no one should be up that time of day making trouble. If he didn’t take care of his business, it didn’t get taken care of, so he said. Hell, it wasn’t like Darwin stuck around much after midnight. He usually missed all the late night/early morning excitement that the bouncer handled without the boss ever knowing about it.
Jeri’s bare wrist slid across a few drops of the red slimy substance she’d put into the weirdo’s drink. Her head jerked up, her gaze darting across the empty bar toward the other side of the room. For a split second, she saw a woman lying on the floor. Her glassy eyes stared straight into Jerilyn’s soul. Jeri dropped the wet towel and rubbed her fists over her eyes. When she opened them again, the woman had disappeared.
The bouncer turned toward her. “Huh?”
She pointed to the spot where she’d seen the woman. “Is there someone lying on the floor over there?”
It wouldn’t be the first time someone had passed out and woke up the next morning sprawled out on the floor right where they had fallen. That was another early morning joy that Darwin usually missed out on.
Herb squinted in the direction of the darkened corner of the room. “I don’t see nobody.”
The front door popped open, pushing Herb back a few steps, and a man entered. Herb groaned. Jeri had distracted him, and he hadn’t locked up fast enough.
She nodded toward the sign on the door. “We’re closed until ten.”
When the man’s gaze met hers, Jeri’s breath completely left her. His brilliant blue eyes held her stare. It was too bad he was so hot. He smelled like a cop.
Jeri remembered those gorgeous eyes. She’d seen him once before. He’d come into the bar one night with another cop. The two of them had tried so hard to appear as if they were just two guys getting a drink together and had ordered a beer on tap while they had scanned the crowded bar. They hadn’t found whoever they were looking for and had left their drinks behind practically untouched. She would have been glad to give them a go cup. There was no sense in wasting a perfectly good mug of beer.
She forced a smile and dumped the day-old cherries and orange slices into the trashcan beneath the bar. “What can I get for you, officer?”
Herb made a noise of disgust and locked the door with an angry twist of his wrist. Since he’d done time, first in the Orleans Parish jail and then at Angola, Herb had not been a big fan of law enforcement. He stood near the door with his beefy arms crossed over his broad chest. Herb had pumped so much iron during his incarceration that no one dared mess with him, not even cops.
The cop blinked and then grinned as if he had been caught in a criminal act. Before he spoke, he pulled a stool back from the bar and took his sweet time depositing his butt opposite her. One flick of his wrist gave her a quick peek at his ID. He tucked the badge back into his pocket and shoved a picture across the still damp bar.
“Have you seen her hanging around the Quarter?”
Jeri glanced at the picture and then raised her gaze to meet the cop’s eyes. Believable lies were all about projecting confidence. “Nope.”
So her parents had figured out that she had dropped out of Tulane. It had taken them long enough. She lifted the weirdo’s glass out of the soapy water and began cleaning it, trying to keep doing her job and appearing as casual a possible, while her heart pounded at a furious pace.
The cop sighed and pointed at the photo. “Jerilyn’s parents are worried about her. I would like to tell them she isn’t dead.”
It was a strange time of day for the cop to be following up on a missing person case. Didn’t he have more serious crimes to investigate at six in the morning?
As if on cue, the high-pitched wail of sirens caught her attention. She turned her head toward the street for a second and then returned her attention to the cop. “Sorry, I can’t help you with that.”
He leaned across the bar and whispered. “What do I tell them, Jerilyn?”
Jeri drew her brows together and crinkled her nose as if he had confused her. “You think I’m that girl?” She glanced at the picture again. “Maybe I look a little like her, but that’s not me.” Not anymore. “My name is Olivia.” She had paid a guy a nice fat sum of money to become Olivia.
He pushed his stool away from the bar. When he stood, she calculated he must be at least six feet tall. She dared look straight into his blue, blue eyes. He smiled again, and she almost smiled back.
“Well, Olivia…if you ever want to pass any news along to Jerilyn’s parents, here’s my card. Give me a call anytime.”
He was gone before she could shove the card back at him. She nudged it to the end of the bar with a long, black-painted fingernail and then watched it float into the trash bin.
Give me a call anytime. She snorted with contempt.
If he weren’t a cop…if he wasn’t looking for her, she might think the man had just hit on her. But he was a detective, and cops were pros at deception. He could easily fake interest to fool her into talking to him. She knew how they were because her father was a high-ranking officer with the Nashville police. No doubt, that was why the local PD was giving her particular missing person case personalized attention.
She glanced at the name on the card as it lay face up on top of the fruit. Det. Nicholas Moreau. Just her luck the hottest guy she’d ever met was a cop. She snatched the card from the trash and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans…just in case.




To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our Official Event page 



Monster Mash Countdown Blitz: Day 9, ARTISANS OF ALBA ( The First Artisans Trilogy ) by CAS PEACE!


Cas lives in the lovely county of Hampshire, southern UK, where she was born. On leaving school she trained for two years before qualifying as horse-riding instructor. During this time she also learned to carriage-drive. She spent thirteen years in the British Civil Service before moving to Rome, Italy, where she and her husband, Dave, lived for three years. They enjoy returning whenever they can. Cas supports many animal charities and owns two rescue dogs. She has a large collection of cacti and loves gardening. She is also a folk singer/songwriter and is currently writing and recording nine folk-style songs to accompany each of her fantasy books. You can listen to and download all the songs from her website: 
See the video of her performing live at the King’s Envoy book launch here:

Author Facebook ~

Facebook ~ Website ~
 ~ Blog ~ Amazon ~ Reverbnation ~

Taran Elijah’s quest for knowledge uncovers a plot that threatens the world…
Desperate to learn how to control his innate Artesan powers, Taran embarks on a foolhardy plan to acquire the teaching he craves. The military backlash his action unleashes forces Albia’s High King to send Major Sullyan as an envoy to the Fifth Realm. But a dark and treacherous power is moving through the realms and all will feel its influence.
Captured and tortured by the power-hungry Lord Rykan, Sullyan is trapped in Andaryon. Aided by the unlikeliest sources, the major formulates a plan to defeat Rykan and end his quest for the throne. But Sullyan’s strength is fading fast and time is running out. The only thing that can save her is Rykan’s mysterious Staff, which lies buried in the ruins of Taran’s cellar.
Sullyan’s lover, Robin Tamsen, sets out to recover the artefact, but the enemy is two steps ahead of him. If Robin fails to secure the Staff, Sullyan’s life, the Artesan craft, and the very existence of their world is under threat.


“Cas Peace’s Artesans of Albia trilogy immediately sweeps you away:  the drama starts with King’s Envoy, continues unabated in King’s Champion, and climaxes in King’s Artesan, yet each volume is complete, satisfying.  The Artesan series  propels you into a world so deftly written that you see, feel, touch, and even smell each twist and turn. These nesting novels are evocative, hauntingly real. Smart. Powerful. Compelling. The trilogy teems with finely drawn characters, heroes and villains and societies worth knowing; with stories so organic and yet iconic you know you’ve found another home—in Albia. So start reading now. I, for one, can’t wait to find out what will happen next.
Janet E Morris: Bestselling Author of The Sacred Band of Stepsons seriesthe Dream Dancer series; I, the Sun; Outpassage; The Silistra Quartet;and editor of the Bangsian In Hell seriesFamed contributor to the shared universe fantasy series, Thieves World.
Join the Audio Book Tour for the first book in
 this trilogy HERE
Snippet From King’s Artesan:
You don’t recognize me, Albian, do you?”
It was the voice rather than the face. Taran hadn’t clearly seen the man during the duel with Jaskin, and only fleetingly at Rykan’s palace with Marik. Yet that thick, imperious voice brought memories flooding back, memories of killing, pain, and death. Only then did Taran realize that this man was connected to the noble he had killed. The blood that had run to his head now drained completely away, and he stared, helpless, into Sonten’s triumphant eyes.
“Ah, now you remember.” The General thrust his face unpleasantly close, and Taran felt spittle as he hissed, “You took something from me, you murdering scum. You destroyed my plans and damn near cost me my life. Do you have any idea what you put me through? Any idea of the chaos you caused? Well, now you’re going to pay. You’re going to tell me what you did with it, and you’re going to help me get it back. If you do, your death will be swift. Refuse and you won’t believe how slow it will be. And in case you think that’s an idle threat, just remember that I also have your dark friend here. We’ll see how cooperative you are when it’s his screams you’re hearing.”
The man holding Taran’s hair let go abruptly. For the second time, Taran’s head fell against the horse’s shoulder and agonizing pain shot up his nose. He cried out.
He vaguely heard Sonten snap, “Get the others and mount up. I want to be out of here before dark. We’ll make for the forests and find a suitable spot to camp. Make sure none of Rykan’s bloody rabble sees you. I’m damned if I’ll be responsible for their retreat now that Pharikian’s annexed Kymer. Let his blasted men deal with Rykan! Now, where’s that idiot messenger boy? Imris? Imris! Dammit, someone go find him. I want him to contact Heron. Well? What are you waiting for?”


Taran’s horse stumbled into motion and the nightmare began again. The spellsilver sickness returned, but it was nothing compared to the sickness in Taran’s heart. Torture and death awaited him now, and even if he managed to work out what his captor wanted, he doubted Cal would be spared. His Apprentice would die merely for being Taran’s friend, and Taran knew he couldn’t bear it.


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Monster Mash Countdown Blitz: Day 8, STUTTER CREEK by Award Winning Author ANN SWANN! @ann_swann


Ann Swann was born in the small West Texas town of Lamesa. She grew up much like Stevie-girl in The Phantoms series, though she never got up the nerve to enter the haunted house. 
Ann has done everything from answering 911 Emergency calls to teaching elementary school. She lives in Texas with her husband, Dude, a rescue cat named Oscar, and a part-time box turtle named Piggy. 
When she’s not writing, Ann is reading. Her to-be-read list has grown so large it has taken on a life of its own. She calls it Herman.
Facebook ~ Blog ~ 

Amazon ~

Goodreads ~ Twitter ~

Stutter Creek (book one) is a romance, brilliantly hidden within a suspense-filled tale of a psychotic serial killer with a chip on his shoulder. It is also a classic tale of young love lost, and a life of regrettable what-ifs.


            Mandy was on her way to work the evening shift at the Waterhouse Bar & Grill when she spied a small boy standing beside the road, alone.
            The setting sun made the trees appear as black-paper cutouts in a landscape collage.
            After checking her mirrors to make sure no one was behind her, Mandy pressed the button to lower the passenger-side window. It was almost all the way down when a man yanked open the door and exploded into her world like a tornado into a trailer park.  Her hand flew to the gearshift, but she couldn’t engage it.  Even as her flight instinct kicked in, part of her mind was telling her this was almost certainly the same strange guy who had requested her section at the restaurant the night before.  His eyes had seemed to follow her all around the crowded dining room, and his oily stench had made him stand out like a spot of mold on white linen. 
            Mandy drew in breath to scream, her hand scrambling across the console for her phone or the gearshift, whichever came first, but he was too fast.  With lightning speed, he dove across the seat and slapped a rectangle of duct tape across her mouth.
            He buried his free hand knuckle deep in the thick blonde braid at the base of her skull even as his other hand slid down to her windpipe and began to squeeze.
            Mandy’s fight instinct kicked in then, and she whipped her head back and forth in an effort to dislodge his hands. His stench, and the oily filth of his unkempt hair, was sickening. She clawed at his eyes, ripped at his skin, but it was no use.  The psycho laughed and simply leaned his head back out of her reach.
            That’s when Mandy began to claw at her own face, attempting to scratch the silver tape off her mouth. It didn’t matter. There was no one around to hear her scream even if she could have gotten it off.
            Mandy wasn’t a quitter.  She did her best to get her feet out from under the steering column to try and kick him off. But he was pressing down on her with his entire weight. 
            She was trapped. 
            Calmly, the psycho took one hand off her throat, doubled up his fist, and hit her so hard the back of her skull struck the driver’s side window with an audible whap!
            Then he went back to her throat. Mandy’s grip on reality began to loosen.  Tiny strobes flashed inside her skull.
            He squeezed even harder, the tips of his fingers disappearing into her flesh.
             As her world began to grow dark, Mandy recalled how as a small girl she had worried about running out of air, because if you couldn’t see something, how did you know it was there? 
            She had begged her mom to buy several packages of colorful balloons which she had blown up and stored in her bedroom. 
            Unfortunately, her older sister, Kami, couldn’t let a good thing like that go unnoticed.
            She had waited until Mandy was out, then she’d tied all the balloons together and attached them to the stop sign on the corner. 
            Mandy had felt so humiliated when she came home, she’d wanted to get them down and put them back in her room, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She would have let herself run out of air before giving her sister that satisfaction.
            The balloon bouquet had wilted quickly in the hot New Mexico sun.

            Now, Mandy’s last coherent thought—as the fireworks behind her eyelids exploded in the grand finale—was of those wilting, multicolored balloons.


To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our Official Event page 



Monster Mash Countdown Blitz: Day 7, BEFORE ( Beyond Series #2 ) by CATINA HAVERLOCK AND ANGELA LARKIN!



Catina worked her way through college as a TV reporter and a dating game show host. She’s a sucker for Young Adult romance stories (both real and make-believe). She has a panache for match-making and loves that many of her “set-ups” have resulted in marriages. 
After spending most of her adult life in Las Vegas, Catina traded in tumbleweeds for earthquakes and now lives with her husband and four children near San Diego, California. If she’s not home, chances are you can find her at the beach, Disneyland or In-N-Out Burger.
Angela Larkin writes clean teen romance and is a big fan of kissing (in life and in books). She’s been a gold miner, a pool cleaner, a mannequin dresser, and a teacher. She’s lived a true romance: meeting her husband in a case of mistaken identity. They recently moved with their four children from the sparkling city of Las Vegas to the shade of the North Carolina Pines. Chances are, she’s reading past bedtime.
True love doesn’t always mean a happy ending. Presley and Landon finally have a chance at a real relationship when they travel back in time, but their leap backward to two months before his accident has altered reality: Landon has no memory of Presley. 
Hurt and lonely, Presley is still determined to save his life, even as Landon’s death-date looms. He’s alive for now, but nothing is like it was . . . Before.



My mom reaches across and gives my
knee a squeeze. “Okay, then. But either way, we have to get to the bottom of
this. Tell us everything you know about this girl.”
          I’ve been avoiding this moment—the
time I would have to come up with something they’d believe about Presley. I’ve
considered accusing her of being a crazy stalker. Violet would probably approve
of that story. I could tell them she’s just some girl I met at a party. But it
didn’t really matter what I made up, because if she said something different,
no one, including the media, would know whom to believe. “Has anyone heard how she’s
          My parents look at each other and
then back at me. “Not too hot, I’m afraid,” Dad says. “She’s been put into one
of those medically induced comas. I guess she had a pretty bad head injury.”
          The news turns my stomach. I had no
idea it was that serious. “I felt sorry for her,” I say.
          “We all did,” my mom says.
          “I felt sorry for her and it was just
weird how she grabbed onto me like that. I felt bad just walking away.” I
planned on coming up with a better story, but this was at least partly the
truth. “I mean, how would that have looked? You guys are all upset abouthow it
went down, and I get it, but think about how it would have looked if I shook
off some bleeding girl so I could go smile for the cameras?”


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Monster Mash Countdown Blitz: Day 6, THE IMMUNDUS by CHRISTINA ENQUIST @cenquist



I grew up in Salinas, California, the same hometown of John Steinbeck, one of America’s greatest writers. I loved to read (and still do) and frequented the John Steinbeck Library as a child. I discovered at an early age that I also enjoyed writing. In sixth grade, my teacher, Mr. Graham gave the class an assignment to write a story for a contest. The contest required that we create our book binding as well, which we did with cardboard, glue, and wallpaper. My book was called “Mully Mully” about a creature who lived in an underwater lake city. I was sad when I didn’t win, but I cherished my book so I kept it all these years. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I decided to put other stories, roaming around in my mind, down on paper again, or actually, in my case, into a computer.
I took a non-traditional route to writing, considering I have a doctorate in Educational Leadership. Aside from writing, I work full-time as a Training & Development Coordinator at Kaweah Delta, a  teaching hospital, and some semesters I also teach at College of the Sequoias in Visalia, California, where I currently live. When I’m not at my full-time and part-time job, I enjoy writing, reading, watching TV, and spending time with my husband and pets (cat-Smokey, dog-Princess).

The Immundus is my debut novel.



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Would you sacrifice your humanity to save mankind?


IT’S THE YEAR 2828, and Domus is the last remaining country. Divided into twelve walled cities known as genuses, Domus spans what’s known as the purist lands—lands unaffected by the genetic modifications that killed all other species of mammals. But outside the walls of each genus the Immundus threaten the welfare of those within. From a young age, all citizens of Domus are trained for combat against these intruders.


At sixteen, Nia Luna knows little of the Immundus, except for the citywide alarms that ring any time an Immundus nears the genus walls. What she does know is that her own species is dying—their numbers dwindling as a mysterious disease called allagine kills many before their eleventh birthday. The same disease that ravaged her family when it took her sister.
When Nia is recruited into Genesis, a research company pioneering the path to a cure, she knows that her dream to find a cure for allagine is finally within her grasp. But within weeks of starting at Genesis, Nia witnesses something she shouldn’t have—something that changes everything. As she sets down a dangerous path that uncovers national secrets, Nia will have to decide not only what kind of person she wants to be but also how far she’s willing to go to save humanity.


The moment I get in my car, I direct Jules to Eric’s house, then thrust my head down between my legs and scream. I release every sound that was beating to come out—every terror, every devastation, and every shock.
He nearly made me kill someone. He nearly shot me. And then he killed that child anyway.
I step out of the car onto the sidewalk in front of Eric’s house. The world teeters and my head feels lopsided. Breath is hard to find. After what seemed like hours, I made it to the door, where Eric’s affable mother answers. She looks at me with concern, holding my shoulder as she leads me to a seat. The home smells of orange marmalade. She offers me orange juice, which I can’t resist.
“I just squeezed it, so it’s fresh.”
“Fresh-squeezed orange juice? Count me in,” Eric chimes, galloping down the stairs.
“Sorry I’m late. I ended up waiting for Jules to pick me up.”
“I’m just glad you’re here. Is everything all right?” Eric says, folding my hands into his. His wry smile affirms his appreciation of my presence, but his eyes paint over like Mrs. Marcello’s. In my periphery I see the beam of Mrs. Marcello’s smile. Eric may be her stepchild but I can tell she loves him and wants him to be happy.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” My eyes glide over to Mrs. Marcello’s presence. “Can we talk somewhere, please?”
“I know just the place.” He helps me up. I must look as bad as I feel.
“Mom, we’ll be in the atrium.”
“Okay, dear.”
Releasing one of my hands, he guides me to his home’s atrium. “Your atrium is so beautiful,” I say. All houses have atriums at the center, with hallways that lead out to various areas of the house. The entrances to the atriums have transparent shields that enable the home to maintain the optimum environment for the plants and vegetation to grow. The home knows to retract the shields upon our approach. The halls leading to the atrium remind me of spokes on a bicycle. Some houses have more hallways than others, depending on the size of the family—Eric’s house has five.
I admire the arrangement of flowers and plants around the outer edge and the Roman fountain in the center of the atrium. There are four benches, with green cushions that melt into the landscape, positioned north, south, east, and west, along the rim of the garden. We sit on the northern seat, farthest away from the hallway entrance that leads to the front room and closer to the hall that leads to the backyard. “Our atrium is just dirt right now.”
“That happens when you don’t plant anything.” He chuckles. His
chuckles always come from his stomach, deep and melodic.
“True.” The water is soothing as it cascades from the fountain lulling me into contentment. I can sit here for hours listening to the symphony of drops drowning out my thoughts.
“So what is it that you want to talk to me about?”



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Monster Mash Countdown Blitz: Day 5, STEVIE-GIRL AND THE PHANTOM STUDENT by ANN SWANN!@ann_swann


Ann Swann was born in the small West Texas town of Lamesa. She grew up much like Stevie-girl in The Phantoms series, though she never got up the nerve to enter the haunted house. 
Ann has done everything from answering 911 Emergency calls to teaching elementary school. She lives in Texas with her husband, Dude, a rescue cat named Oscar, and a part-time box turtle named Piggy. 
When she’s not writing, Ann is reading. Her to-be-read list has grown so large it has taken on a life of its own. She calls it Herman.

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Stevie asks Jase to help her find out why the ghost of a girl keeps appearing in her mirror. They think it has something to do with the new student at their school, a boy who has Tourette syndrome. Both the boy and the phantom seem to need some kind of help. All is revealed when the new kid falls prey to the school bullies. 
Will Stevie and Jase be too late, or will a tragic moment in their school’s history be repeated on Halloween night?




Maybe all the talk about science fiction and parallel universes is what caused me to have such vivid, unsettling dreams that night.  It was as if a person was visiting me from another planet or something.  The person, I couldn’t tell if it was male or female, looked like a kid, but it was hard to tell the way it was standing in front of me swishing back and forth like a whisk broom in the hand of a mad man.  And the entire dream was in black and white.  The swishy person was all in shades of black with long, strange white hair.  I couldn’t tell if the black clothing was a long dress or a longish black coat.  The figure was standing beneath the cool curve of a high, brick archway.
            It was eerie to say the least.  But I didn’t tell anyone about it.  I didn’t know how. It was so weird, so unlike anything I’d ever dreamed before.  I sort of hoped it would just melt away like cotton candy on my tongue.
            Of course the entire time I was getting ready for school, wisps of the dream came floating back to me.  Brushing my teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, the white toothpaste foam reminded me of the person’s frothy white hair.   Even the back and forth motion of the brush across my teeth recalled the way the figure moved.  What could it be? 
            I stared into the mirror for so long, thinking and remembering; that Ibegan to wonder just who it was that was staring back at me.  My brown eyes looked deeper than they should have, and the small bathroom behind my shoulders seemed much too large, the few morning shadows darker than they were a moment before.
            I slowly lowered my toothbrush and examined my own familiar face.  Why did it feel like I was looking at someone else?  All the planes and angles were the same, the tanned skin wasn’t changed, and the streaky brown hair was just as it always was this early in the morning.  I rinsed my toothbrush and placed it in the holder without taking my eyes from the mirror.  Then I picked up my hairbrush.
            It was beginning to really freak me out, this feeling that the person in the mirror was someone else standing in another bathroom that was almost, but not quite, the exact opposite of mine.  I closed my eyes and began to pull the brush through my hair.
            When I opened my eyes, I almost screamed.  The reflection in the mirror was looking away from me.  It was looking toward the door.
            My flesh tried to crawl off my bones.
            The face in the mirror, the one that should have been mine but somehow wasn’t, slowly turned back toward me.  Then it began to change.  First, the hair fluffed and brightened, then the eyes grew lighter as the skin began to pale . . . and that’s when the figure began to shake and shudder and twitch back and forth like the end of an old movie reel left flapping when the lights come back on. 
            I still had the hairbrush half-buried in my thick hair.  Suddenly, I yanked it through and dashed from the room like a track star approaching the finish line. 


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