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Friday, October 12, 2018

Finding Magic Book Tour + Giveaway



Alex's Quest
Finding Magic
Book Nine
Blair Drake

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Magic Quest Books

Number of pages: 225

Word Count: 78,750

Formats available: Kindle

Cover Artist: Jennifer Zemanek/Seedlings LLC

Tagline: What would you do to find your magic?

Book Description:

She must save a strange world if she hopes to ever return to the one she left.

Alex Benton is an exile at Gray Cliffs Academy. Sent there for her senior year, where she knows absolutely nobody, all because of a little, uh, incident with her stupid “gift.” Some gift. Inherited from her mother, who died before she could give Alex a clue on how to deal with this water thing hanging over her like … yeah, go ahead, say it. Like a dark cloud.

Until the day ten students are called to the Gray Cliffs headmaster’s office and then, boom! she awakens in a scorched landscape and discovers she’s in a place called Togwotee.

That information is courtesy of her rescuers, a guy named Kel and a girl named Ria, who call themselves Nines. Very reluctant rescuer when it comes to Ria. In fact, Ria accuses her of being a spy for the enemy Tens. But Kel is not reluctant, not at all.

As Alex fights to survive (suspected of being an enemy spy, remember?) this odd world, she must learn her own magic to try to save the Nines, and especially Kel. But will she ever get home? Because the key to that is thorny Ria.





Excerpt:

Sun beat down from above her, and reflected sun radiated up from the rock below her.
Lots and lots and lots of serious sun. And not a drop of sunscreen. The dermatologist and her mom would not approve.
She had more immediate problems.
Starting with no phone.
When she was told to report to the headmaster’s office, she was in the library. Making sure she wasn’t observed, she dropped her backpack behind a row of books on Tudor England, then nudged the spines straight.
It seemed a good move. No backpack meant no journal Headmaster Auster or Headmistress Lalane could demand to see. The journal where she’d written her thoughts, including not so complimentary thoughts about Gray Cliffs Academy.
Not such a good move now, huh. No backpack, no phone, no power bars, no bottled water, no sunglasses.
She peeled off her navy Gray Cliffs Academy blazer. Using it like the most awkward visor ever, she held it over her head to shield her eyes and see something, anything other than the sun.
In front of her stretched horizontal slabs of rock, here and there broken by rock eruptions frozen into erratic shapes. One eruption had a void in its center. A bull’s-eye. Around it, rocks rose like stubby pillars.
Irregular grooves cut into the horizontal rocks, like water erosion caused. But no water had been here lately. The area framed by her blazer visor showed brown or gray skeletons of plants scattered among the rocks. Nothing living.
Alone. No water. No. food. No way to get help.
Dad and her younger brother Ethan would probably do great here. Not her. She was not Survival Girl.
Don’t panic. It’s a waste of energy.
She could hear her dad’s voice.
She would not panic. She would not. Take stock. Assess the situation. Assess your surroundings. Assess the possibilities. Only then do you act.
How many times had Dad said that on yet another camping trip after he and Ethan overruled her and Mom on how they’d spend vacation? Heck, he said it when they couldn’t find the van at the mall.
Continuing to slowly pivot, she saw more of the same. Then, not far from her, a ridge of rock looked as if it gave way to a dropoff.
Another pivot and—
“Holy crap.” She dropped the blazer visor. The blinding glare returned. She grabbed at the blazer, turning it mostly upside down before dragging it back into place to be sure what she thought she saw was what she really saw.
Mountains.
Huge, sharp, abrupt mountains, rising and rising, and then rolling off forever.
She wished they were the mountains near GCA. She’d know where she was then. Sort of, anyway.
She’d only been at the school this year. A senior outsider who didn’t fit in any better at GCA than in her hometown.
She liked the views around GCA, though, with the mountains and the stretches of water. Not at all like Iowa.
These mountains gave off the water vibes of streams, rivers, lakes. Not of oceans, sounds, bays like the mountains at Gray Cliffs.
She ducked her head. Stupid. Mountains giving off water vibes? Right. Be practical. Be normal.
She concentrated on the mountains again.
“The Rockies.” The name came out between parched lips. She licked them. They instantly redried, making them even drier. She needed water. And lip gloss.
Knowing these were the Rockies didn’t do her any good anyway, since they were really, really far from GCA.
Plus, it didn’t help with why was she here? It would be good to know how she’d gotten here, too.
And none of those were as big as how to get out of here. To get back.
Get back.
A swell of something shimmered through her. She needed to get back. She had to get to Gray Cliffs. She didn’t know why — she wasnt exactly Ms. School Spirit — but the necessity of it overwhelmed her.
If there wasnt a distraction right then, the pressure in her eyes would have turned into another episode of her personal plague — tears.
But there was a distraction.
A faint sound, like something sliding, was the only warning.
Then a shape began to rise over the ridge to her left. A glimpse of something light-colored and sort of rounded.
It dropped back out of sight, rose again, retreated, then rose higher, all in a peculiar rhythm. The light-colored something appeared to be cloth. And the rounded shape… Cloth covering a head? Was this a person? But how tall would the person have to be for its head to be that high off the ground? Assuming it was a head.
Never assume.
Another of her dad’s sayings.
Considering the strange things she’d encountered today, assuming anything about anything was a real leap.
She squinted. It was a head. A face peered out of the small aperture of what appeared to be an old-fashioned sun bonnet covered by folds of cloth worn like Lawrence of Arabia.
As if that thought conjured it up, a new head showed above the ridge. An animal. Not a horse. It had short, rounded, furry ears. Fuzzy beige color. In the same rhythm as the first head, it appeared, disappeared, then appeared higher. It was climbing, carrying the first head — please, let there be more than just a head. And then the rest of the animal’s head came into view.
Alex sucked in more hot air and stepped back.
A camel?
That had to mean those mountains weren’t the Rockies.
She would remember if there were camels when they visited Yellowstone Park three years ago. Her father and brother read aloud every single factoid on every single kind of wildlife in the whole place. She forgot most of it, but she’d remember camels ...wouldn’t she?
“Halt. Or I will shoot.” The first head had a voice. A threatening voice. A girl’s threatening voice.
Alex halted.
The camel came fully into view, hump and all, topped by the girl-voiced figure wrapped in sheets the same color as the camel. The animal’s color was thanks to genetics, the sheets’ from dirt, judging by the streaks marking them.
“What are you doing here?” the threatening girl asked. From the little Alex could see, and from the voice, she guessed the girl was somewhere around her own age—eighteen.
The harsh demand rubbed at Alex. That’s my question, Camel Girl. Right after, Where the hell is “here”?
She forced herself to calm.
“I, uh, I need help. Please, can you take me to the nearest town?” Silence met that request. She lowered her aim. “A phone. Anyplace with a phone would be great. And some water? I’d really like some water. Maybe a shower.” Fresh clothes wouldn’t hurt, either. But she wouldn’t push.
Gray Cliff’s uniform was not cut out for fire and rocks. Of course, she had to wear the stupid skirt today. If she had the pants on, her phone in would be in her pocket. Instead, she’d gotten ink on the pants yesterday, so she put on the skirt and stashed her phone in her backpack.
“No town. No water.”
Alex took a step. “A phone—”
A point showed in the folds of the sheets. “I’ll shoot. Stay back.”
The girl threatened her if she backed up, threatened her if she stepped forward. Was she allowed to breathe? Something unfamiliar bubbled up in Alex.
“Shoot with what? Your finger?” She never mouthed off. Ever. Think it, yeah. Say it out loud, no. Yet, here she was telling Camel Girl, “You think I don’t know that’s just your finger? Besides, if you had a gun, you wouldn’t shoot it through your clothes.”
The sheets shifted and between them emerged the tip of an arrow, followed by what looked like a miniature crossbow.
“Not through my clothes. Through yours. Through you.”
Beneath the brim of the bonnet, under the swaths of cloth, the girl’s eyes were hard and direct.
“Why? Why?” It was a familiar question. The one she so often wanted to howl at the universe when the empty ache that made no sense welled up inside her, when the gift she didn’t want or understand pulled another crappy trick on her, when frustration at…everything ... rose up so strong, she couldn’t breathe. That happened on ordinary days.
Today wasnt ordinary.
Why?” Alex practically shouted.
Clearly unmoved, the girl said, “I don’t know you.”
“That’s easy. What’s your name? Mine’s—”
“I don’t want to know you.”
Frustration, fear, encircled by darkness, hurtling through lightning, landing on fire, it all boiled over. “Well, then go, just leave me here to die, Camel Girl.”
The reins on the camel tugged sharply to turn it around. The animal seemed to resist, but Camel Girl pulled harder, until the camel’s head was nearly back to its shoulder. The camel turned, and in three steps camel and girl were back over the ridge and out of sight.
She was alone again.
Like always.
About the Author:

Blair Drake believes in magic, especially the magic of stories with fantasy, adventures, romance, action, and surprises. She has loved writing and living in the stories of the Finding Magic series and is so excited to share the quests of the Gray Cliffs Academy students with her readers.

When she’s not writing about magic, she’s reading about it. Her influences are Cassandra Claire, Neil Gaiman, Rick Riordan, Garth Nix, and many more.

In the mortal plane, following the lure of magic has drawn Blair into strange and wonderful adventures from Australia to New York City, with many stops in between. She currently lives near Denver. Her very favorite spot is a red loveseat in her office, frequently shared with two cats, an outnumbered Dalmation, and occasionally her bewitched husband.

She might have gone to a school similar to Gray Cliffs Academy and would love to go through a magic portal. In the meantime, she’s creating her own in more books of magic.







Our Secret Powers Blurb Blitz + Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Terje G. Simonsen 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.

Is the paranormal normal?

Many readers will be surprised when learning that reputable scientists, among them several Nobel laureates, have claimed that telepathy is a reality. Their curiosity will increase when reading that Cleopatra’s lost palace and Richard III’s burial place were recovered by means of clairvoyance. And some will think it to be science fiction when finding out about Stargate—the espionage program where the American military and CIA engaged in the development of psychic spies!

Simonsen, a Norwegian historian of ideas, introduces an array of entertaining paranormal tales from history, archaeology, anthropology and psychology, and presents scientific research that has provided fascinating results. He argues that the stories we hear about telepathy, clairvoyance and precognition ought not to be dismissed as superstition

In step with spiritual and occult traditions, the author suggests that consciousness is not limited to our own head. Rather he thinks that all humans (and perhaps all living beings) are linked together in a “Mental Internet.’ Via this network we may exchange ‘telepathic emails’ with friends and family and make clairvoyant ‘downloads’ of information. Thus perhaps what we usually call ‘supernatural’ is completely natural but little understood communications via this Mental Internet?

Our Secret Powers gives us a engaged and entertaining analysis of a controversial subject and would make an excellent travel companion.

"Superb survey of the paranormal... Although serious in content, it is written in a light, often humorous, style which is a delight to read. As someone who has myself made a lifelong study of the paranormal, I cannot recommend it highly enough." ~ fantasy author, Herbie Brennan

"Simonsen describes his book as "A travelogue from the twilight zone,"but he is far too modest. Our Secret Powers is a sprawling work, meticulously researched, in which the author deftly, and with engaging wit, pulls together the various strands of "psi"--telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition,telekinesis, and healing--and presents them for our consideration." ~ Pulitzer-prize winner, Teresa Carpenter

Read an Excerpt

Based on this idea, we launch a quite simple model, called the “Mental Internet.” The basic metaphor here is that somewhat in the way our computers are linked together via the Internet, the ‘consciousnesses’ of all humans, and perhaps all living beings, are linked together via some sort of Mental Internet. Consciousness, like the Internet, is—on some level—something that we are all doing together; it is networking. And telepathy is the communication that drives this network.


I therefore invite the reader to engage in a little thought experiment throughout the book: namely that an Internet Model of consciousness may have some relevance. Galileo once invited the Inquisition to look through his telescope in order to see what he himself had seen. But, as we know, the inquisitors were not very keen on having their horizons expanded and instead muttered murkily of ‘the work of the Devil.’ However, I take it for granted that the reader has a radically more open attitude than those darkened souls, and I am therefore confident that my invitation will be well received.


I find it intriguing to think that our everyday perception of Space and Time may, in some respects, be merely a mental frame, a habit. And therefore it might be possible to think outside the box in a more radical way. The proposed thought experiment about a Mental Internet allows for this, and telepathy can then be considered as the ‘emails’ sent and the ‘downloads’ made via this mental network. Many phenomena that otherwise would appear inexplicable will in light of this model fall quite nicely into place. More (much more) about this later!



About the Author:
Terje G. Simonsen is an author with a Ph.D. in the History of Ideas. He has increasingly focused his attention on the esoteric and occult traditions and on paranormal phenomena, as telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition, telekinesis, healing etc. Recently he published the highly acclaimed Our Secret Powers, based on his extraordinary knowledge within this field. Elegantly and with great personal wit and insight, he discusses parapsychological phenomena such as telepathy, clairvoyance, and precognition. 


Simonsen has had his work praised by several of the world’s most renowned experts on the paranormal: The bestselling parapsychologist, Dean Radin, chief scientist at the Institute of Noetic Sciences, says: ‘As an encyclopedic introduction to the psychic side of the fascinating but puzzling domain known as the paranormal, there is no better choice than Our Secret Powers.” And Stanley Krippner, expert on hypnosis, shamanism and altered states of consciousness, former leader of two departments in the American Psychological Association, says: “This is an outstanding book and it deserves all the attention it can get. Not only is Our Secret Powers a book for all seasons, it is a book for all reasons!’”.



http://www.paripublishing.com/authors/terje-gerotti-simonsen
https://www.amazon.com/author/terjesimonsen

Buy link Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/8895604334/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i0
Buy link Amazon.UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Our-Secret-Powers-Clairvoyance-Precognition/dp/8895604334 Buy link Pari Publishing: 
http://www.paripublishing.com/books/our-secret-powers

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Thursday, October 11, 2018

Bad Blood Book Tour + Giveaway



Bad Blood
Bad Duology 
Book One
Shyla Colt

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Date of Publication: 9/28

ASIN: B07G6TPBZ4

Number of pages: 230
Word Count: 53,317

Cover Artist: Dreams 2 Media

Tagline: He saved her life, and stole her Freedom

Book Description:

A reluctant knight

A magical descendent

A race against time

A freak accident thrusts Nakeeta Alva into a dangerous world of secrets, ancient spells, and a legacy she never wanted. The last in a magical line, she’s tasked with restoring the balance to a supernatural world poised for ruin.

Tasked with the care of their savior, Crewe’s main focus is survival. Used to giving orders, the knight isn’t prepared for the sassy witch’s mouth or her lure. The powerful woman reminded him of his humanity and challenged his beliefs.

Keeping her safe is his mission, but the real danger may be losing his heart.

Together, they will save the world … or die trying.

Amazon

Excerpt 3:
“Let’s cast the circle.” Storing her emotions away, she removed her raincoat, and shimmied out of her pack, placing it beside the fire. Unzipping the main compartment, she started to remove the orgonite pyramids. The resin structures had been hand made with a variety of things. The silver, white, and gold piece she held in her hand was crafted with Fluorite Amethyst and Onyx, specifically for protection. Kneeling she rested it on the edge of the perimeter and moved on to the next one.
With the circle clearly defined, she admired her work. Firelight flickered off the colorful pyramids. Reaching into the backpack, she pulled out the blessed sea salt. Rolling the chunky pieces between her fingers, she reinforced the circle with a physical layer. A low-level hum began as the energy of the twenty people gathered in the space and began to build. Pleased with her work, she placed her elemental items, a clay pot crafted by Lav for earth, a copper bell for air, An ornate jade dragon for fire, and a large conch shell for water.
Next, she removed her wand. The crystal quartz with black tourmaline and moonstone served as the perfect way to focus her energy. The bits of turquoise, onyx, and copper used to help decorate all worked together. It felt like she was holding a lightning rod. Standing straight, she began to cast the protection. Facing North, she held the wand up, envisioning a white thread as she moved to the east, connecting each point she drew out
Facing east, she picked up the bell and rang it. “We honor and welcome the transitional winds.” The wind ruffled the thick hair she’d pulled back into a braid. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. “We call you and ask you to make our steps light as a feather and our voices powerful shouts of conviction and intent.” The bell swung back and forth, echoing into the night. Resting it back into its place, she moved clockwise to the South, carefully extending the vision of the white ribbon in her mind's eye with her wand aiming true.
Picking up the jade dragon, she ran her fingers over its smooth surface as she imagined the heat of fire, flowing through her body. “We honor and welcome the burning flame. We call and ask you to ignite the spark of life and energy behind our eyes. Enable us to destroy and create with white-hot power.” The fire jumped high, rising far above the cauldron before it shrank back down. The others gasped at the physical manifestation of her will. Returning the figure to its place of honor she slowly turned clockwise to face West.
The shell was smooth in her hand. Honing in on the falling rain, and the smell of the sea salt, she imagined the waves crashing into the shore. “We honor and welcome the tides. We call you and ask you wash away the doubts that cloud our minds and grant us motion and purpose. Our emotions are as powerful as our bodies.”
Resting the shell onto the ground, she began her final rotation back North. Holding the clay pot in her hand, she felt the energy of the makeshift family who’d adopted her into their ranks rose up to comfort her and keep her shaking head steady. She imagined them as an unmovable rock. A powerful natural structure tested and weathered by the elements, but never destroyed. “We honor the earth. We call you and ask you to remind us of our strength and how far we’ve come. Just as you endure, let us grow and meet every obstacle that comes in our way.”
She walked to the center of the circle in front of the fire, picturing the white ribbon growing brighter.
“Oh, God. I see it,” Rainer whispered. The translucent white stripe shimmered, iridescent and breathtaking. The powers that be were here and listening. Glancing at everyone in the circle, she envisioned their bodies feeling with the powers of the elements.
“With fire in our heart, air in our lungs, water in our veins, and earth beneath our toes, we come. Let this space strip us of all our pretenses and connected us with our deepest hidden parts and the world around us. We give thanks to the elements that stand guard against our enemies, the energies that thrum at our fingertips ready to be wielded and the forces our eyes have been opened to.” She rose her hands to the air. “We dedicate this space to be the base where we project our power and intent. Lend us your protection.” She cried her request. The words seemed to echo in the night, bouncing around them.
“Goddess.” Someone whispered as a wind tore through the circle, winding around their waists, tugging at their clothing and hair before it moved out of the circle. Her lips parted as a twisting wall of a whirling tornado obscured them from view. The scent of the beach wafted through the circle. Rain pounded the ground, forming a circle of water. The elements were forming walls between them and danger. Her gut clenched. A flame of fire sprang from the ground, burning bright and hot. She could smell the ash and smoke. The ground rumbled beneath their feet, cracking. A chasm formed around them.
“T-the circle is cast,” Keeta stuttered.
“I have never seen a circle so powerful,” K said.
“We’ve been feeding this ground our energy and blood in preparation. It makes sense,” Rainer added.
“Not just our blood,” Keeta reminded them. Is this what happens when vampires and witches combine their will?  “Now we start our spell.” Keeta removed the vials of blood from the black backpack.



About the Author:

Shyla Colt is the sassy USA Today Bestselling author of the popular series Kings of Chaos and Dueling Devils M.C. This genre-hoppers stories feature three of her favorite things: strong females, pop culture, and alternate routes to happy ever after. Listening to her Romani soul, she pens from the heart, allowing the dynamic characters, eccentric interests, and travels as a former flight attendant to take her down untraveled roads.

Born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio, this mid-west girl is proud of her roots. She used her hometown and the surrounding areas as a backdrop for a number of books. So, if you're a Buckeye, keep an eye out for familiar places.

As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there's never a dull moment in her household.

She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company.

You can interact with Shyla Colt online


Twitter: @shylacolt



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Corsair’s Cove Orchard: The Complete Set Book Tour + Giveaway




Corsair’s Cove Orchard: The Complete Set
Secret Vintage, Secret Seed, Secret Spring
Rachel Goldsworthy, Shelley Adina, Sharon Ashwood

Genre: small town sweet romance with a paranormal twist



Publisher: Moonshell Books, Inc.

Date of Publication:  2018
Number of pages: 344

Cover Artist: Wicked by Design

Tagline: Let Corsair’s Cove draw you home again …

Book Description:

Corsair’s Cove has a reputation for being one of the most haunted places in the Pacific Northwest. Back in Prohibition days, it was a roaring hive of rumrunners, flappers, money, and betrayal. Big Tom Macfarlane and Marigold Mayhew met in the old apple orchard, loved hard, and died young, but their story isn’t finished. Because some betrayals have consequences that echo down through time … and demand the kind of resolution that only true love can bring …

That same apple orchard has now been sold to the local carpenter to make a home for his bride—and has become a bone of contention. Who knew that the cider apple that made Joe Johannsen’s family famous during Prohibition—an apple thought to be extinct—would still be growing there?

When Joe and Siena Panati discover the secret recipe hidden in plain sight, will it mean their future—or will it tear their friendships apart? Then Sam Wilson’s return to the Cove for an antique car rally triggers a series of ghostly visitations. The last thing he needs is for Marigold’s ghost to reveal herself to Haley Struthers, the botanist who discovered the apples. But Haley has something very real to be afraid of, and only Sam can help her. It all comes to a head when Lora Trelawney returns to the Cove. With the help of Spike the bartender, she discovers that some secrets aren’t meant to be kept … even from herself … and love is the only way that the Cove’s Jazz Age secrets will ever be resolved …

Readers have fallen in love with Corsair’s Cove, its small-town atmosphere and quirky characters.  The Reading CafĂ© called the Chocolate Shop novellas “swoon-worthy love stories sure to sweeten your life.” The Orchard series simply raises the bar—giving you stories as tasty as a slice of homemade apple pie!


Secret Vintage Book 1 – Rachel Goldsworthy
Kindle     iTunes     Kobo       Nook

Secret Seed Book 2 – Sharon Ashwood
Kindle      iTunes      Kobo      Nook

Secret Spring Book 3 – Shelley Adina
Kindle       iTunes        Kobo      Nook

Excerpt From Secret Seed by Sharon Ashwood:

“I never thought I’d see you in Corsair’s Cove again,” said Eloise Wilson as she picked at the cookie crumbs on her plate.
Sam’s gaze settled on his sister. She’d chosen the gingerbread cookie with big crystals of sugar on top. It was the same treat she’d always picked, all through childhood. Had two decades actually passed since then?
All families had issues, but theirs were extra-special by anyone’s measure. Now they sat in the upstairs bay window of the Zephyr’s Rest Inn, the space just big enough for a tiny table and two chairs. The stage was set, but Sam wasn’t sure of his lines.
“Sorry I didn’t visit sooner,” he said, sipping his mug of black coffee. No cookie for Sam—he wasn’t into sweet things. “I got busy.”
“Yeah?” His sister’s bright green eyes were apprehensive, as if afraid he might vanish into mist. “Are you sure there aren’t other reasons for staying away?”
Sam sighed inwardly. He loved Eloise, really he did, but she had to talk everything to death. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth?”
He raised his head to answer, but instead of meeting Eloise’s eyes, something caught his attention—a flicker of something white. From his seat in the window, he could see down the long hallway with its double row of guest room doors. This place was nearly as old as the town. Sam would have stayed someplace more modern, but rooms were hard to come by in tourist season.
So here he was at the Zephyr. Even in daytime there wasn’t much light in the upstairs of the inn. Nothing dispelled the shadows that clung to old places like this. That alone made his skin creep, but sometimes—like now—there was more.
The young woman stood halfway down the dim corridor. She wore a pale sleeveless dress and a hat that almost hid her bobbed hair. When was that fashion from? The 1920s? 1930s? Sam wasn’t a clothes guy but he’d learned some history the hard way—like when it was lurking under the bed, ready to yell “boo!”
The woman saw him looking and waved gloved fingers. Sam looked away, finding sudden interest in his coffee cup. It was never good when the ghosts knew he could see them. They always wanted help with unfinished business—as if being a psychic automatically made him a customer service desk for the dead.
Eloise turned her head to follow his line of sight. “Who were you looking at?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked gruffly.
Eloise frowned at him. “Corsair’s Cove has more ghosts per square foot than anywhere I’ve ever been. This inn has six I’ve been able to identify.”
And that was what made them siblings. Other families went for picnics or took cooking classes together. The Wilson kids saw ghosts. The big difference between them was that Eloise had always owned her gifts, however much that cost her. He was the exact opposite—don’t ask, don’t tell—which was why he avoided this town like the plague.
 “Six hauntings, huh? I think I’ll be sleeping in my car.” Sam grinned to hide his thundering heart.
“It was Marigold, wasn’t it?” Eloise raised one brow. “A flapper girl? She likes pretty young men.”
Sam pushed his empty cup away. “That’s the last thing I need.”

“You never know.” Eloise licked sugar from her fingers. “I don’t remember you mentioning a girlfriend.”


About the Authors:

Rachel Goldsworthy grew up on the West Coast, sitting quietly in the kitchen of one aunt or another and nibbling homemade Nanaimo bars while the relations told tales. Some were factual, and some were true. When the time came to earn a living, Rachel took those listening (and eating) skills, and wrote for magazines and newspapers stories of the people and places of the coast. Now she’s writing the adventures of people she’s crazy about in Corsair’s Cove where love and family, like the tide, might ebb and flow, but chocolate is eternal. Every word is true.



Shelley Adina is the author of 24 novels published by Harlequin, Warner, and Hachette, and a dozen more published by Moonshell Books, Inc., her own independent press. She writes steampunk (including a band of air pirates), contemporary romance, and young adult fiction, and as Adina Senft, writes women’s fiction set among the Amish and other plain communities. She holds an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University in Pennsylvania, where she teaches as adjunct faculty. She won the Romance Writers of America RITA Award® for Best Inspirational Novel in 2005, was a finalist in 2006, and in 2009 was a Christy Award finalist. When she’s not writing, Shelley is usually quilting, sewing historical costumes, sneaking another succulent chocolate out of the box of See’s Nuts and Chews, or hanging out in the garden with her flock of rescued chickens.


Sharon Ashwood is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. And chocolate. And pirates. Chocolate-covered pirates would be a definite plus. Sharon’s books include urban fantasy, paranormal romance, historical adventures and more. She is the winner of the RITA® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.


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