Halloween Hideaway

Just over the hill and around the bend. To the left down the road, a piece lay a small town called Halloween Hideaway. An odd little town. A place where Halloween happened all the time. Founded in October the town held a month-long festival for all its residents.

The town founded by a donkey named Duke. In the normal world, Duke was just a donkey. His former humans used him to guard their horses. Every fall they’d use their property to make scary trails. People dressed up as monsters to jump out and scare the others.

Duke didn’t like it. He didn’t like it when the kids shrieked not in fun but in real horror. Sometimes they remained scared terrified. Others would make fun of them because being scared should be fun. After all, Halloween remained one of the world’s favorite holidays. Shouldn’t the holiday be fun for everyone?

One day Duke’s humans got in their truck but never came. New people came. They took the horses and other animals one by one leaving Duke alone in the field. With no one else around he got lonely and left the farm.

He wondered for days. Looking here and there. Searching everywhere. He was about to give up hope of ever finding a new home when he stumbled up a hill and around a bend. Turning to the left and down the road a piece. It was a small encampment. The animals weren’t just animals there. They could walk and talk just like the humans. And the humans in the camp didn’t seem to mind.

As the years went by the number of people in the camp grew. Duke had become their unspoken leader. One day he gathered all the residence together and suggested they form a town. That day Halloween Hideaway was born.

This story was the beginning. It inspired what has become a novel…and beyond.. about Grace.

It all began with this Hallows Season tale…..and so it seemed fitting to share this story, and get you ready for the rest of Grace’s story, coming in 2018.

The Fall of Grace

By Nadia Romanov

The dried leaves crunched beneath her feet as Grace Kelley walked through Central Park.

Autumn had always been her favorite time of the year; the colorful leaves, the warm snuggly sweaters, the stylish boots, the delicious and aromatic foods and beverages. When the Pumpkin Spice Lattes came to Starbuck’s each year, it was the beginning of a season of bliss.

Grace loved living so close to Central Park. It was her oasis of nature amid all the hustle and bustle of New York City. She loved the city; loved working there and loved living there, but at times she needed to reconnect with nature, to feel the seasons change all around her.

Today’s walk through the park however, was not full of joy. There was no appreciating the beauty. No feeling of connection. Quite the contrary! Today, Grace felt disconnected from everything, most of all herself. The dried leaves crunching beneath her feet sounded dead, breaking as they crunched into particles on the ground.

This year had been hell. Plain and simple, a living hell. The list of top stressors in life had all occurred in her world as if racing through to finish a ‘bucket list’.

Grace’s move to the city had been met with resistance from her family and friends, but was necessary for her new job. She loved her apartment with a stunning view of the park, but the move had been painful. Hiring movers to help her relocate as friends and family refused to speak to her, let alone help, was pricey in more ways than just financially.

The new job was wonderful. She loved being an editor for a national magazine, her coworkers were wonderful, and she still, a year later, felt the exhilaration of it all as she stood each morning in front of the prestigious building she worked in. The hours were long, Grace grew tired and felt unsure of abilities and skills long since honed to professional perfection, so even her career added stress.

Divorce and death, the other two on the top stressors list. These two had come to visit as well.

Grace’s parents, married happily for 30 years, suddenly announced that their marriage was over. As her mother, Dawn, so eloquently phrased it, ‘now that Grace has moved away, why bother anymore’. Apparently, her parents had grown apart. What did that even mean after decades together, sharing sickness and health, lean times and expansive times, plus of course 4 children?!?! Neither wished to discuss it, so much so that they weren’t even blaming each other. It was just over. The end. Kaput. Sure, she no longer lived at home, but Grace’s foundation was shaken. There was no home base to return to, no more full family times to look forward to, and a new doubt if anything was as it appeared.

And death…Grandma Cassie had passed peacefully in her sleep just three months ago. Grandma Cassie was the stereotypical grandmother, with a twist. Spunky, witty, and sharp as can be – certainly sharper than one would expect of a 95 year old woman. Grandma Cassie had seen and experienced a lot in her life. She was a colorful character, who baked sumptuous feasts, sewed delicate silk dresses for Cassie and her sisters, and kept a tidier home than women a fraction of her age. Her daughter, Grace’s mother, was not close with Grandma Cassie. Fortunately, they lived just down the road from each other so the children grew up with the elderly woman in their lives despite their own mother’s disdain for her. Why was there distance between the elder two generations of the family? Simple, yet sad really. Cassie had been known back in her home country as a gypsy, a magic woman, and even as a witch. She blended teas, brewed tinctures that could cure all that ailed you, read palms, cards, and tea leaves, had candles always lit throughout her home, and one could taste the magic stirred in to all she cooked. All of the wisdom and knowledge, and mystical practices that had been shared mother to daughter in this family line, stopped short at Grace’s mother. Dawn was ashamed of her mother. Felt she was weird and embarrassing, even when her friends found Cassie to be delightfully warm and inviting, even if also a little bit eccentric and mysterious.

There was never any magic discussed nor allowed in Dawn’s home as Grace and her siblings grew up. They were also not allowed to ‘play with any of that stuff’ over at Grandma Cassie’s house either.

When Grandma Cassie died, Grace lost her best friend, her warm haven of refuge, comfort, and wisdom, and her only link to the spirituality her bloodline practiced.

What a year! It had ALL hit….or so Grace thought.

Yesterday, the doctor confirmed that Grace’s autumn cold had progressed into a mild case of pneumonia. What a blessing that her boss was understanding and was fine with Grace working from home, and a light load at that, until she was well.

Dawn had made one of her rare calls to her daughter, and heard the stuffed nose and raspy voice on Grace’s end of the line, and insisted on coming to visit to lend a hand. At the time, Grace had been relieved. How nice it would be to have someone take care of her, even for a day. It would be nice to hear her mother in the kitchen, heating soup, boiling water for tea…or cocoa if she could persuade her. The feeling of ‘home’, even if for a fleeting day of sickness.

Dawn arrived early and whisked Grace off to bed. As anticipated she called the pharmacy and had Grace’s prescriptions delivered, and began working in the kitchen, where soup and a casserole were soon cooking.

Grace fell asleep, feeling warm, loved, and safe.

An hour into her nap, now just a mere two hours ago, Grace jumped awake to the sound of a crash and her mother’s screams. Racing into the living room, Grace found Dawn standing in front of an antique chest, which had been covered with a decorative cloth. As she straightened up the already tidy living room, Dawn had discovered Grandma Cassie’s trunk. The cleaning supplies clattering from her hand as she screamed were the mild beginning of her reaction.

‘How dare you Grace!! What is this? Where did you get it? Why do you have THAT, here??!!’ Dawn yelled at her ailing daughter.

Grace explained that just a week before Cassie’s passing, she had visited her at her request, and was given the antique chest.

Were ‘those things’ still in it? Dawn inquired, referring to Grandma Cassie’s candlesticks, cards, and other ritual items.

‘Yes Mother, they are, and before you even ask, yes I use them. I have been a practicing witch since I was a teenager, and I am honored to have inherited Grandma Cassie’s sacred items’, was Grace’s reply.

As Dawn screamed at her, calling her a freak, an embarrassment, and cried, wondering aloud how she went wrong in raising a sane GOOD daughter, Grace calmly got on her coat and headed to the front door.

‘Grace Kelley, go for a walk, clear your head, and when you come back, I expect you to pack these things up and get them out of here. To the trash is best – that is where this nonsense belongs! No daughter of mine will be involved in such antiquated notions.’

Grace walked on through Central Park, barely able to catch her breath through her pneumonia affected lungs. Leaning against a tree, she closed her eyes, and sought to regain balance.

‘Hey Lady, what you dressed up as? A Tree Hugger?’, yelled some smart alack teen riding by on his bicycle.

Dressed up? YES, how could she have forgotten?? It must be that losing sense of time that happens with long illness induced napping. Today was Halloween – the Witch’s New Year, also known as Samhain.

Grace smiled to herself thinking, ‘Wow Mom, you sure picked a great day to challenge my faith’.

Then it hit her. Indeed, it was a great day for that. The veil between worlds was thinner than it had been all year, and Grace knew for certain her Grandma Cassie could hear her thoughts and feel her heart’s torment.

The wind blew and whispered into Grace’s ear. She smiled. Finally, she felt the brisk autumn breeze nip at her cheeks. She smelled fireplace smoke from nearby homes.

Slowly, Grace started to walk back to her apartment. As she walked, she reveled in the lively snap and crackle of the dried fallen leaves as they sassed back under the pressure of her footsteps.

Everything was clear. Her parents had not been the only ones with secrets and false facades during her youth. She too had hidden the most cherished part of herself. She was a witch – in faith, in practice, by blood, and by choice.

Grace walked through her front door, feeling stronger than she had in months, and hung up her coat.

“You are back. So Grace, what will it be? What do you have to say about your fall from…well… grace?”, asked  Dawn through pinched lips.

“Mother, I love you and respect you and I hope you can come to do the same for me. I hope one day you will find love and acceptance for both your mother AND your daughter.”

Grace started to walk back to her room to rest, fully winded from her emotional journey during her walk through the park. She saw out of the corner of her eye that her mother was approaching the coat rack, presumably to take her leave of her errant daughter.

“Oh and Mother, it is not my fall FROM grace, it is actually the Fall OF Grace…and I hope you can be happy for me.”

Grace went to her room and got into bed. She took comfort in the fact that her mother had closed the front door quietly, no angry slam, and with that sprung the tiny sprout of hope for heart to heart talks over the holiday season. Grace set her alarm for an hour later, so she could be rested and ready for her Hallows ritual later that night, and she dozed off feeling the magical presence of her Grandma Cassie, and the power of finding her own way.

© Nadia Romanov 2012

(This short story was written to meet the specific guidelines of a writing contest. It was required to be autumn related and contain a connection to the metaphysical. I seem to have done at least adequately well as this story won an award.)

You can find Nadia and updates about her various projects as well as random posts, poems, photos, and more at this social media links:

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Thanks so much for allowing me a guest spot on this blog. I’m so happy to be featured here.

Have you ever jokingly tossed out an idea … and it turned out to be just what you needed? That’s how Shore is Magical, my latest Gulf Shore novel and my first paranormal, was conceived.

I was doing an online chat with other authors when the subject turned to paranormal novels, particularly shape-shifters. Confession: I haven’t read too many of those books, usually preferring reality (or a reasonable facsimile of it) over fantasy.

The other authors were discussing the merits of the animals usually favored in shifter novels: tigers and other big cats, bears and wolves, primarily.

“How about a dolphin shifter?” I kiddingly suggested in full smart-aleck mode. Dolphins are one of my favorite animals and have been since I was a little girl who listed Flipper at the top of her must-see TV list.

Surprisingly—to me anyway—the other chat participants quickly and enthusiastically chorused their approval of dolphin shifters. So I thought, why not?

The challenge was fitting a paranormal story into a contemporary romance series that’s firmly rooted in real life. I spent more than thirty years working as a newspaper reporter and editor, pursuing a fair presentation of the facts as both sides saw them. Making things up doesn’t come as easily to me as to other authors.

I do a lot of research to ensure that my Gulf Shore novels stay within the realm of possibility. And I volunteer at a marine animal hospital, so I’ve seen firsthand how such operations conduct themselves.

So how do I justify a heroine whose very existence defies belief?

By making the details of her story as conceivable as possible. And by letting the other characters express their skepticism and at times outright rejection of the idea that a person can assume an animal shape, and then change back.

Despite her otherworldly ability and a lifestyle shrouded in secrecy, Marina Seaward, the leading lady of Shore is Magical, is not that different from other women. She squabbles with her sisters and takes family obligations seriously, but chafes at the strings that bind her to their restrictive traditions. Seeking true love, she’s beaten down by a jealous and controlling man but fights to preserve her identity and independence.

Marina isn’t looking for a savior or a prince charming. And that’s a good thing, because Kenshin Hamasaki is neither. He’s a good man but a flawed one, and he hasn’t fully recovered from the tragedies that nearly sucked him down a dark hole of despair.

Kenshin’s wounded heart and soul urges him to play it safe, but he’s inexplicably drawn to the mysterious stranger who risks everything in an effort to fit into his world in pursuit of her happily ever after.

Lurking in the background, however, is a dark presence from Marina’s past, who threatens to end this unlikely pairing before she and Kenshin can fully explore whether they’re destined to be together.  

Find out whether Marina and Kenshin’s relationship ends in romance or ruin by snaring your digital copy of Shore is Magical, Gulf Shore book 4, available now from all major e-book retailers and from liquidsilverpublishing.com.

Excerpt

Here’s a snippet from one of my favorite scenes in the book, when Kenshin first encounters Marina in very enticing human form. This scene takes place in the marine animal hospital at Gulf Shore Aquarium, where Kenshin works. He thinks he’s helping to rehabilitate a rescued dolphin, but he gets the surprise of his life one night.

Looking up, Kenshin almost dropped his phone. He stared, eyes wide, mouth open, as a lithe form emerged from the pool, water cascading down her body. Where had she come from and, more importantly, why was she naked? Then he glanced behind her and received his second shock.

The rescued dolphin was—gone. Impossible. He gave his cheek a light smack to make sure he hadn’t succumbed to exhaustion and passed out. That was entirely possible, given he hadn’t slept more than two hours at a stretch since leaving Erica’s bed.

If this was a dream, it was incredibly realistic. Off the charts sexy, too.

The woman sauntering toward him was hotter than an egg yolk on Florida asphalt in August. Her brown hair framed a pair of turquoise eyes that shimmered like the sea. Her rosebud nipples all but begged for his touch, and he imagined himself at home between her long, supple legs, which were as toned as the rest of her.

The corners of her lips tipped up as if she’d read his mind. Kenshin’s gaze darted around the rehab unit, looking for backup if he needed it. But Kelsey had gone home early for a change, Flipper probably was loading up on caffeine and carbs, and Sitara was in her office catching up on paperwork.

Kenshin’s carnal fantasies dissolved amid concerns about a massive security breach.

“Who are you, and why are you here?” he demanded.

“You know who I am.” The woman’s voice was as smooth as spiced rum sliding over ice cubes. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your friends brought me here from the beach, jostling me around in that canvas thing. What do you call it?”

“Are you talking about the sling?”

“It felt like they dragged me across a rocky sea bottom. Very bad for the delicate skin.” She pouted and pointed to a chafe mark on her elbow. “Get something softer, for Poseidon’s sake.”

“This is…insane. Why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t bring any.” Cocking her head, she studied him for a moment before her expression turned playful. “Don’t you like me as I am? I thought the males of your species enjoyed seeing females without garments.”

What an odd way to say that guys lust after naked women. “You’re beautiful, and I think you know that, but it’s beside the point.”

“Is it?”

She’d come close enough for Kenshin to stroke a hand down all that lush, bare flesh, and he almost did so to make sure she was real. Common sense kicked in before he acted on the impulse. Besides being a stranger, she was, well, strange.

“Listen, lady, I don’t know what your game is but—”

“Game? There is no game. Your people rescued me, and now I’m your responsibility. Isn’t that how this works?”

Kenshin glanced around again, convinced that any minute Flipper or someone would leap out and scream, “Gotcha!” This had to be a prank. Stuff like this didn’t happen otherwise, at least not to him. But after that dolphin encounter at the reef, anything seemed possible.

Kenshin felt her warm breath on his face. It smelled…fishy? When he wrinkled his nose, she clapped her hand over her mouth. Now she was self-conscious? He looked into her eyes, an inviting shade matched only by a secluded tropical lagoon.

“What’s your name?”

“Marina.”

“Marina what?”

“Just Marina.”

Buy links

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2gP4jiw

Liquid Silver: http://bit.ly/2gmfrA2

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2gvDNKr

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2gMr5rb

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2gQwDku
iBooks: http://apple.co/2fGx24f

And now a word about the Gulf Shore series

My contemporary romance series is set in the fictional west-central Florida beach town of Gulf Shore, where you’ll taste salt on your skin and feel sugary white sand between your toes, the warm sun on your shoulders, and a sea breeze ruffling your hair.
      You’ll meet swoon-worthy alpha males who aren’t embarrassed to cuddle a rescued baby dolphin in their muscular arms, and accomplished women looking for an equal partner who thinks that smart is sexy. 
     You’ll get up close and personal with sea life, join the “snipe and gripe” club for girls’ nights out, and fall in love with a talking parrot who acts like a little boy in a bird suit.
      You’ll go behind-the-scenes at the local aquarium and out to the beach to rescue marine animals in distress and to cheer others as they return to the wild.

And once you visit Gulf Shore, you just may find yourself wishing you could stay.

Connect with Annette

Website and blog: www.annettemardis.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annette.mardis and https://www.facebook.com/AuthorAnnetteMardis

Twitter: @AnnetteMardis48   https://twitter.com/annettemardis48

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Author bio

As a girl, Annette dreamed of being an astronaut, but she stank at science and math and became motion sick riding the bus home from school. So she went with her second choice—newspaper journalist—and stuck with it for more than three decades. After years of ignoring well-meaning people who said, “You should write a book,” she finally did. And then she wrote a few more. When she’s not working, Annette usually has her nose in someone else’s novel or her gaze glued to sports on TV. She has three totally spoiled pets, enjoys being the designated sightseer on her husband’s Harley, and volunteers at Clearwater Marine Aquarium, home of diva dolphins Winter and Hope from the Dolphin Tale films.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” – Edmond Burke

This, perhaps above all, is the principle by which, writer, Nadia Romanov walks through life. Known for her blunt style of written expression, this self proclaimed ‘speaker of unpopular truths; is adamant about giving a voice to those who go unheard, and speaking of experiences, we all are more comfortable keeping silent.

After years of sharing life perspective blogs, poetry, and reviews of her favorite books, film, and music, Nadia is about to release her first book.

Due out in January 2017, “Essays from the Edge” is a collection of experiences from in and around Nadia’s life, and the lessons she learned from them. Viewing life as a series of ‘edges’ on which we precariously balance, always with the choice of fall, fly, or stay steady and climb, the notoriously private Nadia, opens her life and heart to her readers.

Why is this book, and not the novels she has in queue to publish, being shared first? ‘We are all constantly presented with experiences, opportunities to shrink or shine, learn or regress’, says Nadia. “I don’t believe anyone else necessarily needs the same lessons that I have, but I am hoping, that in sharing my process for excavating the gem from the rubble, others can either gain an advantage, or see how to carve out their own path with a few less bruises. Some of these stories are funny; it is not all heavy and intense, but that too is a point to remember – lessons can come easily, and sometimes amidst laughter not tears.’

Spanning her life as a single mother, business woman, writer, mystical consultant, social advocate and more, we get a glimpse into Nadia’s family, her work with the homeless and abused, her love for literature and film, and much more.

Nadia will be sharing excerpts from ‘Essays from the Edge’ as it gets closer to release. Follow her on social media for information on preordering a signed copy, as well as for her blogs, book excerpts, and other wordy wonders.

www.NadiaRomanov.com

www.NadiaRomanov.com/essays-from-the-edge.php

Twitter: @Nadiar13

Facebook:  Author page: https://www.facebook.com/NadiaRomanov13

Essays from the Edge page: https://www.facebook.com/EssaysfromtheEdge/

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STOP- and take time to smell the pumpkins!

Fall is my favorite time of year. I literally come ALIVE with excitement! The crisp air, the holidays and the rising spirits in those around me.

I used to take on too much and actually MISS the enjoyment. Had my October plan . This haunted house, that pumpkin patch, this line-up of horror movies and baking, baking, baking.

Now, I’ve slowed to actually ENJOY the month!

For those that love to tackle a lot, here’s a few fun ideas.

Specialty cooking:
Monster fingers & Blood Soup. (Rolled Bread sticks stuffed w/ham and cheese and shaped into fingers served with tomato soup)

Frankenstein Casserole. (Chili with cornbread mix on top then use carrots, olives, green and red bell peppers to make a face.)

Spider Web brownies! (Brownies cooked on stoneware pizza sheet then white icing to create web)

Pumpkin Pizza’s. (Simply split English muffins, top with pizza or spaghetti sauce & mozzarella, then using a pizza cutter, shape pepperoni into triangles to make “pumpkin faces.”

Take clear Solo (or store brand) cocktail cups and with marker, make a Frankenstein face (then fill with Pistachio pudding) or a pumpkin face (and fill with orange jello or pumpkin pudding (or dye vanilla pudding)

All time favorite? KITTY LITTER CAKE! (Just google for directions)

Now, onto MOVIES!!!

Favorites for Family:

The Witches with Angelica Houston
Hocus Pocus
Little Witches
Ghostbusters
Halloweentown
Casper

For the Grown-Ups:

Poltergeist
Wrong Turn
If you’ve somehow missed American Horror Story rent/buy, Season 1 and 4 are my favorites!
ANY old Vincent Price flick! (House of Long Shadows, House on Haunted Hill, Edgar Allen Poe’s the Raven, House of Wax, Madman, any!
The House on Haunted Hill remake was really good.
As was Rose Red and The Haunting!
*Decorations! They don’t have to cost a lot*.

(2) Wooden Pallets, spray paint black (don’t worry about covering, just paint enough they aren’t blinding pine white) lights underneath a few tombstones on top or zombie hands or plastic dollar stores skeletons!

Use PVC to create a giant grim reaper. (PVC and Elbows, then drape a black sheet on and around then put some lights underneath!)

Bottom line, HAVE FUN!!!
For those of you who are readers of mine….

Coming SOON- Dark Justice: Vengeance with Style!

Blurb:

What do you get when you combine Six Bad guys, Six Heroes with Six Different Authors and Stories ?
One wicked, steamy book where being bad — never felt so decadent!
Find me all over the place or at the below-
Website: http://www.bobbiromans.com/
FB: https://www.facebook.com/BobbiRomansBooks/
Blog: https://bobbiromans.wordpress.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/BobbiRomans

Welcome guest: Author Christine Ashworth

Demon. Human. Fae. Tribred, and 100% sexy male. The woman sent to save him has no idea what she’s getting into…

DEMON SOUL

Blurb:

Gabriel Caine stands on the edge of the abyss. A vampire has stolen his soul and if he doesn’t get it back soon, his next step will be into Hell. Only the mysterious Rose can help him retrieve it. Without her, he really will become the devil himself. 

Rose Walters has been sent back from the dead to complete one task-save Gabriel Caine. She’s drawn to Gabriel on the most basic level, but restoring his soul may cost Rose her life.

Rose has touched the whole of Gabriel, making him yearn for a love he believes he can never have. Her willingness to put her humanity on the line for him forces him to bring all three parts of himself – demon, human, and Fae bloodlines, and the strengths of each – into harmony, and into the fight that decides their fate.

Excerpt:

“Where the hell are you?” It took all of Rose’s concentration to keep walking, one throbbing foot in front of the other, down the length of the empty outdoor shopping mall in Santa Monica. The long night had finally tumbled into a dawn cloaked in shadow and fog and the cry of seagulls.

After walking west for more hours than she cared to remember, at last she’d ended up at her destination, cold and miserable. With no purse, no money, and no wish to return to her previous life. All she had to cling to was a name.

Gabriel Caine.

She stood on one foot and eased the tennis shoe off the other one, wincing at the sight of crimson blood on the heel of her white sock. Blisters. Perfect. Add that to being cold, ready to drop from exhaustion, miserable and without a penny to her name, and the day was starting out just great.

“Freaking perfect.” Rose sat heavily on the curb of the empty mall and rested her head on her knees. She wasn’t going to give up. Not now, not after all she’d been through to get here. Yet it would be so nice to sleep…her head slipped off her knees and she jerked awake.

Damn it Gabriel Caine, I need to talk to you. Please.

Rose chewed on her thumbnail. He had to be close, had to be here somewhere. She refused to give in to panic.

“Gabriel. Gabriel. Gabriel.” His name fell like a litany on the cold air, as it had in her mind for the last three months.

When she’d been stuck in a coma, wandering the gray between-place, she’d been offered a chance to come back. Rescue Gabriel Caine. She’d accepted the task, grabbed for it eagerly. When she finally woke up, she’d worked her ass off getting healthy again. If saving this Gabriel dude meant she’d begin to atone for all her past sins and achieve some sort of redemption, then she was all for it.

She winced and walled out thoughts of her muddy past, refocusing on Gabriel. Guided to this place, at this time and in fighting shape despite the blisters and the exhaustion, the only missing ingredient was the man himself. As she waited for him, doubts crept in.

“I’m clear on the saving part. But from what? And how?” Her words fell flat in the thickness of the mist. “Especially since I can barely stand. I’m not exactly Marines material, people. And would it have hurt the lesson to add some aspirins to my pockets?”

The cry of a gull brought goose bumps. “Sorry. No disrespect meant, you know that, right?” Rose rubbed her chilled arms. Gabriel Caine. Gabriel Caine. Gabriel Caine. “Come on. I don’t have all day. Where the hell are you?”

Shut up, woman. Let a man think. His voice was like velvet brushed with impatience in her mind.

Rose’s muscles locked. Gabriel? Excitement rushed through her body, giving her the energy to stand and stare wildly into the mist. She cursed her racing heart. A dark shape came striding toward her through the fog and her breath caught. Gabriel Caine?

You’ve been yammering at me for hours. Shut up, would you? You’re giving me a headache.

His long black coat flared out as his legs ate up the space between them. Even from a distance he exuded a sexual magnetism that made Rose’s knees weak, a cliché she’d never believed before now. She stared down the mall as he came toward her, the fog alternately hiding and revealing him with every step.

What the hell were you thinking, projecting my name out there for anyone with any telepathic abilities to overhear? Are you trying to get me killed?

Rose put her hands to her head in wonder, dug her fingers into her hair and tugged. The new pain assured her she was awake. His exasperated sigh in her mind had her wincing.

“Sorry, but we need to talk. Out loud.” She was still wrapping her mind around the whole telepathic thing.

He was closer now. Gabriel Caine in person was bigger, stronger, sexier than any man she’d ever met, with an energy she could feel charging the air and brushing up against her skin. He had to be six five, if not taller.

She took a step back both mentally and physically. She was supposed to save this man? Rescue him? This muscled guy in leather, black jeans and a dangerous aura blended in perfectly with the misty, deserted mall. He didn’t need her help. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle; she was quite sure of it.

Rose swallowed her disappointment. She’d been so sure she could save him. But with each step bringing him closer, she had the overwhelming urge to curl up and cry.

Or curl up in his arms. A surge of longing for him shocked her. She’d never been so strongly attracted to anyone, but she could think about little else than the two of them, naked. Heat lit her cheeks. Talk about bad timing.

Gabriel snorted. Bad timing doesn’t begin to cover it. You don’t want me too close to you. His mental tone was dry and unamused.

Rose flushed. “I can’t believe this,” she said, and crossed her arms protectively. “People shouldn’t go around reading other people’s minds.” Arrogant ass.

When they broadcast, it happens. Your mind is broadcasting on a wide band. You have no shield, no barrier of any kind to keep me out. And I’m not an arrogant ass. As he came closer, he slowed down, finally stopping a couple yards away.

Surprise crossed his face before it hardened. “This is no time for games, Satine. You’re not welcome here. You will never be welcome here.”

“Excuse me? I’m not – whoever. My name is Rose,” she protested. “I’m supposed to be here. I’ve been sent here to help you. Though now that I see you, I’m not exactly sure what the hell it is I’m supposed to do for you.”

He took a couple more steps toward her and they stared at each other.

The picture she’d seen didn’t do him justice. He looked dark-angel, messed-up beautiful. His gray eyes were a study in intensity. White skin covered a classical bone structure made more approachable by a crooked nose. A thick, shiny scar on his left cheek stretched down his throat and continued below the neck of his shirt. His hair, the color of ebony, brushed his shoulders without a hint of curl.

She glanced up and noticed him looking her up and down, interest gleaming in his half-open eyes. Heat washed over her.

Power radiated from him. She fought to stand straight, to appear strong in the face of his strength. Inwardly she quailed. He really didn’t need her. What was she supposed to do now?

“Are you done staring?” His physical voice sounded much like his mental voice, a rough velvet. The interest she’d seen was masked now.

“Yeah. You?” Rose bit out the words. She looked around, anywhere but at him, and saw her shoe on the ground. She bent and slipped it on, wincing as the canvas hit her blister. “It’s important that we talk.”

He studied her for a moment. “Through there.” He pointed to an easily-overlooked door beside an imports shop. “If I know my brother, it’ll be open.”

The glass door led to a staircase. Doing her best not to limp, Rose went first, flushing again as his scent seemed to surround her, an earthy, greenish-brown scent, elemental.

She totally had to get a grip or she’d start stripping for him right on the staircase.

I wouldn’t mind, but the staircase isn’t my preferred place to make love to a woman. She could hear the faint mocking tone in his words and flushed even hotter.

“Would you stop that?” she snapped.

“Sorry.” But he didn’t sound it. “When you project such clear and detailed images, it’s very hard to ignore.” They got to the bare landing and Gabriel reached around her to try the doorknob of the door to the left.

Rose stopped breathing as his arm brushed her breast. Ye gods, woman, get a grip. He is so not for you. And yet, what they could do …Hell! He can hear me! Biting her lip, she focused on the tiny pain, working hard to keep her thoughts to herself.

Gabriel rattled the doorknob again.

But the door remained stubbornly closed. Rose backed toward the staircase to get some breathing room. Standing so close made her entirely too aware of him, his scent, his implacable strength. Retreat seemed like a good idea.

Gabriel frowned at the door, then knocked hard enough to rattle the glass. “Damn it, Justin, open up.”

Something in the air shifted slightly and she shivered. Even Gabriel tensed and faced her, muttering beneath his breath. A noxious smell drifted toward them. She sneezed and looked down the staircase.

A small, misshapen creature in a brown cloak flowed up the stairs, showing glistening teeth. Its thin, long arms ended in stubby fingers with wicked claws that reached for her.

Fear and panic tumbled in her head. Protect Gabriel. Save Gabriel. I can do this. A cry built deep inside her as the nightmare came closer.

Heedless of her battered body, her energy surged and she let loose a warrior’s cry. Grabbing both hand rails of the staircase, she kicked out at the thing with her feet, knocking it back a few steps. A sharp pain radiated up her legs and she yelped. Mother of God that hurt! Is it made of cement?

Find the book on Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Demon-Soul-Caine-Brothers-Book-ebook/dp/B01AAZ1RQK/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

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Interview with a Voodoo Queen

Many have wondered over the years, who Marie Laveau really was. Was she the voodoo queen of all times? Was she the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner? Did she actually live for over a century looking eternally youthful?

So many mysteries surround her life and her death. Is Marie still reaching the masses from beyond the grave? Sit back and enjoy while I interview the voodoo queen herself.

Candi Fox: Thank you for taking the time to sit down with me and answer some questions, Marie. I am honored by your presence here today and I look forward to getting to know your better.

Marie Laveau: Thank you child. You and I we have much to discuss. Know this, you are called by me. You are marked by me and we will be working together for years to come. Once I call someone they are mine.

She looked at me those mesmerizing eyes, a smile played across her beautiful face. I was called. This was new to me yet it felt like I had always known.

Fox: I have to say, I’m blown away by those words. As intrigued as I am. Id’ like to ask you a few questions for our audience.  Who was your father?

Laveau: (A smile lights up her face. Her voice was smooth as honey on a warm summer’s day.) My father’s name was Charles Leveaux. He was a plantation owner of some means. My mother was his mistress. It was common in those days for wealthy men to have mistresses of color. My mother was of French, African, and Indian decent. My grandmother was the daughter of a French trapper and a Cree medicine woman.  Magick has been in my family for generations, and it will continue to be in my family for generations to come.

Fox: Did you live for more than a century?

Laveau: Now that can be a tricky question child. In many ways I am still alive. If I give you an answer it could ruin some of the mystery surrounding me. I will tell you this.  I didn’t perform any magick rituals to stay young, or beautiful. It’s a gift that runs in my family. My physical body lived as long as it was required to do so. Now I am free of that shell and I live still.

Fox: What is one piece of advice you would give a voodoo practitioner today?

Laveau: First I want to say this magick is old, and ancient. It calls to some, but not to all. This is not a way to shake some bones, and charge folk and say it is done. Do not mess with the spirits, for they will mess with you, and they always win. Never think you are above them.

Close your eyes child, breathe in the air around you. I want you to feel my energy. Feel the energy that exists on a primal nature. Do you feel the pulse, the heartbeat of the earth? This is what it means to be voudon. We hold the world’s heart beat in our hands.

Now it’s time for me to go. We will chat soon.

Before my eyes she fades into nothingness.

I had the privilege of going to the Sac and Fox Pow Wow on Saturday night in Stroud, OK. My mom and stepdad were in town, and we went with his family. Who have, much to my delight, adopted me as one of their own. That’s another story. We will get to that later.

This just happened to be the largest Pow Wow event, I have ever attended. I was in awe of the regalia, the number of people and the instant sense of c community. The pow wow is attended by thousands of people. When my husband I arrived, Mom and Grandma showed us where the family seating area was.

Thirty minutes before the opening ceremonies the family next to us started rearranging their seating. Eventually the brought in a young man, probably in his mid-twenties in a wheel chair. I believe he had cerberal palsy. His family wheeled him into a spot, then promptly forgot he was there.  The opening ceremony was beautiful. Hundreds of dancers dressed in regalia entered the circle. It was a site to behold.

I watched several dances in awe at the beauty and ceremony. We were waiting for grandpa and my Aunt Suzie to return. Once they arrived we had to play musical chairs of our own, so Suzie and her wheel chair could fit in our area. The young man finally spoke and asked what we were doing. I told him we were playing a reverse game of musical chairs and asked him if he wanted to play.

To my surprise the most beautiful smile spread across  his face. It was if someone had turned on a light. He laughed and said no. He didn’t want to play.  Whatever happened in that moment seemed to break the ice. He was eager to have someone to talk to. I was eager to see that smile again. We spent the rest of the evening, talking on and off. Every time he spoke, first came that smile.

I even got his sister and her bf/husband in on it. Toward the end of the evening we were going back and forth. He turned to me with a huge smile on his face and said “What did I do to you?”  Without hesitation I resonpded, “You made me smile.”

It was true. I was already happy. I was there with my husband, mom, dad, and other family members. Yet the young man showed me a depth of joy, I hadn’t yet experienced. Whatever put him in that chair, had not dampned the level of joy he felt, or the level of joy he shared. His mind was untouched by fear, by the jaded darkness that many of us had experienced. Instead there was just joy and happiness.

Perhaps he was an angel in disguise. This young man who’s own family didn’t even speak to him until I started teasing him about napping in his chair. I think I shocked them by engaging him in conversation. Yet, he is the one that blessed  me.  Lessons always come in unexpected packaging.