Showing posts with label Bewitching Book Tours. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bewitching Book Tours. Show all posts

Monday, August 7, 2017

Review: The Vessel Trilogy

Purchase information, Excerpts, and more on this series can be found in the Spotlight below.

Book One: 3 Shimmering Stars
Who doesn't love a chick who can fight and a hot protector and if that doesn't sound great throw in an ancient prophecy between good and evil? That's a good start for a series and for an urban fantasy reader like me that is Nirvana. However, I would like to see a new twist on this trope. This series did not do that. The author even starts the story in a dance club, just like a lot of books. The author has a great idea for this book and the rest of the trilogy, but I just felt like the story lacked depth. Everything seemed to flow without too many hitches and the conflicts that did arise ended too fast. I would like to have seen a little more inner turmoil with Genevieve as she struggles with her new powers and destiny.  

I finished this book because I agreed to review it. The story and characters were ok and I liked it enough to read the next story. The author created enough groundwork for the rest of this trilogy that I am curious enough to see what happens next.

Book Two: 3 Shimmering Stars
I'm glad I continued reading this series because book two was better than book one and I would rate it a 3.5 if I could. In this book, the characters seem to have a little more depth and the plot is driven by the characters and not the need to just tell the story. It is easier to see the inner conflict that I did not see in book one, but the author still relies more on cliches instead of creating a new story. The prophecy still drives Genevieve to develop her powers as a vessel and Jude continues to protect her and oversee her development. The ultimate battle is coming soon and sides will be chosen by all. I do like the connections the author makes to mythology and literature through the names of her characters and settings. 

This one was easier to read than the first one and I think the author did an even better job with the cliffhanger at the end.   

Book Three: 4 Mystical Stars (one minor spoiler)
The biggest issue I have had with this series is the lack of character depth. I think because so much of the focus is on Genevieve in this book, it is easier to really see who she is and how she has developed throughout this series. This is my favorite of the three books. I also think because Gen and Jude were not so focused on sex they had the chance to develop a deeper relationship we saw a stronger connection between them. 

The biggest issue I've had with this series is the lack of elaboration is some of the scenes. Things just always seem to go in Gen's favor without much effort. The final battle is a good example. It just seemed to happen and yes, Gen was attacked but there wasn't much of a fight to win and I think the twist at the end would have been better if the author alluded to it before just throwing it out there. 

Spotlight: The Vessel Trilogy




Genevieve Drake never knew this demon world existed. Now she just wants to survive it. Hunted on the streets of New Orleans, Gen turns to the hunter, Jude Delacroix, who is bound to protect her soul and who’s also captured her heart.

Forged in Fire
The Vessel Trilogy
Book One
Juliette Cross

Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance

Publisher: Entangled Publishing

Date of Publication: July 31, 2017

ISBN: 9781640632172

Word Count: 98K

Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde




Book Description:

Genevieve Drake has never been the helpless kind of girl, has never needed to be rescued. That is, not until her twentieth birthday when some dude nearly chokes her to death in an alley and a hot stranger rips a monster from inside the guy.

The hot guy? Jude Delacroix—Dominus Daemonum, Master of Demons. Now her guardian, whether she likes it or not.

But she’s seriously beginning to like it.


On Sale for .99 Until August 6

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Forged in Fire Excerpt

Jude hadn’t moved, his eyes roving up and down. My sweaty tank clung to my torso and loose hair stuck to the side of my face. Having redone my ponytail twice, I tightened it once more as he shoved off the wall.
“Give her a weapon.”
Kat pulled a dagger from a sheath at her thigh, walking toward me.
“I thought we were practicing without weapons today.”
Jude started to circle. A primitive part of me stiffened.
“A demon won’t give up when you throw a few punches, even with the casting power. You need to cut them.”
“But I could hurt you.”
“You could try.”
His shoulders rounded in a relaxed posture. Muscled arms swung just barely at his sides. He was in no way threatened by me. He probably found this comical.
“No sifting,” I warned
“No need.”
He continued to stalk me with slow precision. Kat handed me her dagger. It was heavier than I thought.
“It’s too big,” I said, feeling the weight of the twelve-inch blade.
“Oh, I think you can handle it.”
A dark mischievous look. Wait. Were we still talking about daggers? Heat flushed my cheeks. He circled. I pivoted. Kat disappeared into the corner.
“No power this time, Genevieve. Let’s see if you can deliver more than karate moves.”
“You don’t think I can cut you?”
An eyebrow lifted. Still smiling. Still circling. Arrogant ass.
“I can,” I gritted out, widening and squaring my stance.
Sparks of gold glittered in his eyes, a predator honing in on its prey. He stalked closer, then stopped two feet from me, speaking in a husky tone.
“Prove it.”
My heart jumped, hearing my own challenge thrown back at me. Last night. Scorching kisses, whispered words, rough angles, soft sighs. My eyes strayed to his lips. One corner quirked up into a knowing smile. He was taunting me right there in front of Kat. What kind of game was he playing? Anger flared in my gut. I lunged, swiping out at his chest. Grabbing one of my wrists, then the other, he twisted me around, pulling me tight against his body, my arms crossed and bound in front of me. Completely immobile in less than a second.
Okay, that was embarrassing.
“Too predictable.” Warm breath close to my ear. I shivered. A short rumble of laughter in his chest. “Again?”
I struggled. He released me at once. This time, I did the circling. Leaping left, then dodging right, I ducked under his outstretched arm, slicing as I went. I popped up behind him. Jude glanced down at the tear along the side of his white T-shirt. A small drop of blood seeped through the fabric. Very small, but I gasped anyway. He laughed, stripping off the T-shirt and tossing it to the side.
“Better. Again.”
Not a good move on my part. My concentration scattered to the winds. Cords of muscle and tight, sinewy limbs flexed in preparation for the next attack. Black swirls and barbs of Celtic interlacing traced over tight pectorals and down his chiseled abdomen. My mouth went bone dry. A shift of his upper body gave me a glance of a feathered wing inked across a powerful shoulder blade.
Concentrate, Genevieve.
I fought the urge to shake my head as if dizzy from intoxication. For that is truly what I was, imagining what it would feel like to have his beautiful body against mine, skin on skin. Trying not to imagine what it would feel like.
“Anytime you’re ready,” he said, smirking.
Damn him.
“You know,” I said, thinking to take a different approach, “a demon will attack me, not the other way around. Why don’t you attack first?”
“As you wish.”
Oh shit.
He lunged low. I twisted out of reach, leaping right. He changed position, shot out his leg, tripping me to the floor. I landed on my stomach and pushed up an inch before being summarily pinned by two hundred pounds of hard muscle. Oh. Very hard.
A whisper against the shell of my ear: “Mmm. Close, but not quite. Again?”
“Get. Off!”
He obliged. Another haughty laugh. “The key is to not become distracted or let your anger control you. You must find a way to get the better of your opponent, no matter if you’re outmatched in size.”
Before I’d even rolled completely over, I clipped him behind the knees. He buckled to the floor as I leapt, swinging my body over his. I straddled his chest, pulling his head to the floor with my left hand knotted in that pretty hair of his, exposing his throat and thrusting the point of the dagger beneath his chin.
“Like this?” I hissed.
A genuine broad smile lightened his face, making me more breathless than I already was. Amber and gold shimmered in his irises, nearly cutting out all the black. Nearly. His hands were on my hips.
“Exactly like this.”


Sealed in Sin
The Vessel Trilogy
Book Two
Juliette Cross

Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance

Publisher: Entangled Publishing

Date of Publication: 7/31/2017

ISBN: 9781640632189

Word Count: 90K

Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde

Book Description:

While Jude Delacroix spends his days and nights searching for the prophecy, another protector steps in to take his place. Thomas, a guardian angel, claims Genevieve is his to protect if the demon hunter does not. As threats against her life escalate, he offers her the power to sift.

Knowing the transfer of power comes through a kiss, she hesitates. Thomas stirs a desire where there should be none.

On Sale for .99 Until August 6

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Sealed in Sin Excerpt

The moment he entered the room, all my senses rose to full alert. The man packed enough heat and power in his aura to melt a girl into jelly. A mere glance from his dark eyes or slight touch from rough hands, and I was lost.
I focused on flipping the pancakes on the stove, still trying to figure out how to tell him about our trip to the House of Hades, the near-miss with Gorham, and the brief and strange meeting with my guardian angel. Kat preferred asking forgiveness rather than permission, or just omitting the admission of any sins altogether. But I had trouble lying, though I seemed to do it often as of late. I especially had trouble lying to Jude.
“Want some brinner?” I asked, plopping another dollop of butter in the pan.
“Brinner? What might that be?” He leaned with his back against the counter next to the stove, splaying one huge hand on the countertop, watching me pour the batter into the pan. How did this man make watching me cook a sexy thing?
“You’ve never heard of brinner?” I glanced at the door to make sure Mindy was out of earshot. “For someone who’s been alive nearly two thousand years, you don’t know a whole lot.”
He slid a finger down my forearm. I nearly dropped the spatula. He leaned closer, his chest brushing my shoulder, voice dropping several decibels. “Educate me.” And just like that, my heart slammed into my rib cage, my thoughts scattering to the wind. I stared at him, knowing my eyes were no longer hungry for pancakes. He pressed warm lips, a feather-soft kiss, to the slope between my neck and shoulder. “Genevieve?” Another press of lips higher up my neck, melting me into goo.
“Hm?” Eyes closed, I welcomed a third kiss just under my jaw.
“Your brinner is burning.”
“Oh, dammit!”
I snapped open my eyes, grabbed the smoking pan and thrust it under the water faucet in the sink. A hissing crackle spit up more smoke.
“There goes brinner.”
“You’ve made more than enough already.”
He motioned to the ten-high stack with a smirk. I couldn’t even think about eating now. Not after that kiss. And not with this guilt weighing me down.
Something registered in his gaze. He reached out his hand.
“Come here.”
From his expression, I wasn’t sure if he planned to give me a hug or a spanking. I wouldn’t mind either. Taking his hand, I let him pull me into his arms.

Bound in Black
The Vessel Trilogy
Book Three
Juliette Cross

Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy Romance

Publisher: Entangled Publishing

Date of Publication: 7/31/2017

ISBN: 9781640632196

Number of pages: 88K

Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde



Book Description:

Genevieve Drake is on a dangerous mission—to find the soul collector, Lethe, and enter the deepest, darkest level of the underworld, where no one has ever gone into and returned.

But when an old enemy makes a surprising appearance, she is tested to the point of breaking and risks remaining in this dark abyss forever.


On Sale for .99 Until August 6

Amazon     BN    Kobo    iBooks


Excerpt Bound in Black

Pulse-pounding, bone-grinding music vibrated the entire second floor. Dancers, if you could call them that, melded together in one mass of moving limbs. A few couples and trios needed to find a private corner before their make-out sessions morphed into an all-out orgy. The bartender stopped in front of Dommiel’s throne. A massive dragon’s head—openmouthed and fierce fanged—hung above the oversized wood-carved chair like a crown.
The first time I’d been here, I assumed the head was a magnificent work of art by a local New Orleans sculptor. Because dragons aren’t real, right? Now I knew better. The beast’s head was cut from a high demon’s spawn, probably killed in battle against one of the Flamma of Light, someone on my team. Even now, after the head was severed and stuffed, a low vibration of eerie energy swirled in the air. I hadn’t detected this before. But back in September, I wasn’t the Vessel I was now. My Vessel Sense, VS, amplified every day, detecting any demon within a one-mile radius. Not only that, my fist and blade packed major force. Still, I knew I hadn’t experienced full awakening. Kat, my mentor and friend and the only female hunter I’d met, told me that I’d know when I experienced my awakening. It would be like falling in love. And I definitely knew what that felt like…as well as the tragic heartbreak when that love was ripped from my arms.
I clenched my jaw, willing away those thoughts, and focused on the task at hand.
Dommiel sprawled atop his throne with the latest blonde propped on his lap. With a clean-shaved head and wearing his usual attire—black slacks and white button-down with silver cuff links—he was a contradiction in appearance. If he hadn’t pierced every part of his face—lip, lids, nose, tongue, and the entire cartilage of both ears—he’d be hot. Metalface didn’t turn me on, but some girls were into that. For example, the buxom woman now whispering in his ear, pressing against him with her ample cleavage pouring out of a red patent leather corset. Dommiel cupped her breast with the one hand he had, brushing his thumb casually along the exposed skin above the too-tight casing. He turned his head when I approached.
His groupies didn’t move, though tension rippled in the air. Dommiel’s familiar—a black-eyed raven—perched on the dragon’s head and watched me. For a second, I wished I’d brought Mira. The white hawk that I’d created the day Jude was taken away had become my pale shadow wherever I went these days. But I didn’t want any of these freaks trying to hurt her in this confined space. Before her creation, when I was steeped in a well of grief from losing Jude, I hadn’t known Vessels could create spawn of Light. If demons could beget creatures of darkness, then it made sense I’d have the power to create one of light. Only, no Vessel had ever done it before. George, the commander of the Dominus Daemonum—the Masters of Demons—said it was because no Vessel before me had ever come so close to her awakening. When I glanced up at the beady-eyed bird, I wondered what it would do if I’d brought Mira with me and let her poke out one of those evil eyes. I suppose it would’ve started a shit storm, and that wasn’t why I’d come here.
Standing tall, hands at my sides, I said to Dommiel, “I come in peace.”
He considered me for about five seconds. “If this is peace, I’d hate to see war.”
“Yes. You would.”
In our past dealings, Dommiel had used his sardonic tongue to cut me and keep me in line. I waited for his next smart-ass remark, but something in his gaze told me he recognized this visit was different. I hadn’t come to threaten or coerce him into doing my bidding. I had a genuine offer of partnership—one I never thought to present to a high demon. With a heavy sigh, he squeezed his blonde’s breast still cupped in his hand, then gave her a quick deep-throated kiss before pushing her off his lap. He stood, revealing the silver hook on the stump of his other arm, which had been concealed till now.
“This better be good, Vessel.” He stepped in front of me, leading me past a guard and down a dark hallway. “I haven’t had a taste of her yet and was quite looking forward to it.”
“It looked to me like you just got a taste.”
He shot me a piercing look over his shoulder. “Okay. Let me rephrase. I haven’t yet fucked her until she can’t talk or walk. And I was about to take off that edge when you showed up.”
“Too much information, Dommiel.”





About the Author:

Juliette lives in lush, moss-laden Louisiana where she lives with her husband, four kids, and black lab, Kona.  

Multi-published author of paranormal and urban fantasy romance, she loves reading and writing brooding characters, mysterious settings, persevering heroines, and dark, sexy heroes.

From the moment she read JANE EYRE as a teenager, she fell in love with the Gothic romance.

Even then, she not only longed to read more novels set in Gothic worlds, she wanted to create her own.







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Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Spotlight: A Campfire Nightmare


A Campfire Nightmare
Nightmare Series
Book One
Jeffrey Stagg

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Stagg Literature, LLC

Date of Publication:  March 1, 2016

ISBN: 978-1517744441
ASIN: B01CRQKFZO

Number of pages: 344
Word Count: 117,824

Book Description:

IN AGES PAST, the Flathead Native Americans fought a war against a monstrous force that stalks the woods surrounding Flathead Lake. So says William Rox, legendary musician and director of the prestigious Colman’s Amateur Music Program, known as CAMP.

Jimmy Downs is thrilled to be attending CAMP—or he would be, if he weren’t being bullied by campers who seem to think wealth can buy talent. Jimmy doesn’t have money, but he can drum like no one else. As for the bullies, at least his best friend, Michael Munday, is with him. The two have had each other’s backs all of their lives.

But bullies are about to become the least of Jimmy’s worries. Dark, hulking figures begin surrounding the woods around camp…figures that bear more than a passing resemblance to Rox’s campfire stories.

Jimmy and Michael are about to become players in a very old war—assuming they survive.

Amazon       BN       Createspace


PROLOGUE
The black-cloaked figure knelt by the lake, examining the muddy soil. A great northern storm had rolled through hours ago, but the air was still frigid. Waves crashed against the stony shore, waterdrops splashing up against his waterproof black covering.
His fingers traced along the print clearly pressed into the mud. It was a large paw print, something like the shape of a wolf’s but the size of a bear’s. He examined the mark on the ground and then moved to where he should have found the creature’s front paws, but not surprisingly, he instead found what appeared to be humanlike handprints, with long, triangular fingernails jutting out from the tip of each finger. The cloaked man placed his own right hand within the print, knowing that the muddy outline was easily twice the size of his own pale hand.
His left hand tightened around the shaft of his bow as he stood up.
Even though it was nearing one in the morning, his eyes clearly made out the many prints that had been made throughout this particular clearing.
He had warned the other guardian that something was going on.
“Why so many?” the man asked aloud as he pulled down the hood of his cloak. “There shouldn’t be this many here anymore.”
“What’s that?” a British man’s voice called from the darkness.
A flashlight’s beam bobbed through the trees, weaving back and forth until it fell upon the pale man’s form. The man lifted one of his hands to block his sensitive eyes from the somewhat dim beam. He indicated the soil in front of him that marked the passing of their quarries.
“A pack,” the pale man told his companion, moving the tip of his weapon to indicate how many individual creatures had passed through there. “You should keep the camp closed this year.”
“No,” the huge British man answered, snapping his response a little more testily than he had wanted. “It needs to be open. You know just as well as I do that we need to stay open.”
“Even at the risk of the lives of hundreds of people?”
His companion stepped forward and jammed a double-edged longsword into the ground as he examined the pathway. The flashlight was a head lamp, mounted with a pair of bands that wrapped around his head. As his head shifted from one set of prints to another, a feeling of anger began flooding into his soul.
“I need you to thin out this pack. You can shoot the sods from afar, and with that horse of yours, you’ll be able to stay ahead of them.”
“I can do that,” the pale man agreed, pulling his hood back up, still watching the back of the big man.
“There’s something going on this year that we don’t understand quite yet,” the British man told his friend, standing up and pulling the sword from the moistened ground. “Something feels different. It feels wrong…and right at the same time.”
“Maybe the legends are true, and the natives’ stories are coming to pass,” the archer suggested, beginning to stroll into a particularly dark portion of the forest, his fingers tightening on the dark wood of his bow as he disappeared into the night.
Finding himself alone, the swordsman stood and peered up into the sky at the bright round moon hanging in the air, twinkling stars engulfing the night. This was Big Sky Country, and it was true to its name. His eyes searched the heavens, hoping that an answer would reveal itself.
He let out a huff of hot breath, and the air clouded before his flashlight dimming the light slightly.
Shaking his head and turning to stare at the spot where his companion had disappeared, he whispered to himself, “I hope not. We’re not ready for them yet.”
As his words disappeared into the night like his breath, a clear rumbling sound thundered through the night on his left. Reaching down slowly, he drew his sword once more, its silver blade sparkling with the light of the moon.
“God above, keep me safe that I might be able to open the camp.”
The rocky growl turned into a mix of a scream and a roar as the furry eight-foot monstrosity leaped at the man, humanlike hands reaching out with razor claws. Swinging the sword out wide, the man pivoted to meet the demon in the darkness.

About the Author:

Jeffrey was born in Ogden, Utah in 1989.

Born to a podiatrist from Utah and a rancher's daughter from Montana. Stagg was able travel throughout his childhood finding solace and inspiration in the wild.
His interest in nature has made Stagg realize that the melding of natural world with magic was where he could excel. To keep ideas alive, Stagg is an avid nature photographer, imagining book scenes wherever he travels.

While attending Weber State University, Stagg was able to work as an artisan cheese maker for the award winning Beehive Cheese Co. in Ogden, Utah. It was there that the details of A Campfire Nightmare came together. During the 5 years he was employed at Beehive, Stagg has created story lines for many series he is in the process of writing.

Now, Stagg works as an educator and works with students in reading and writing. Encouraging those around him to spend more time in books.






Tour giveaway

5 - $10 Amazon gift certificates 

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Cover Reveal: Worthy of Song and Story







Worthy of Song and Story
Stian the Viking Series
Book  One
Neal Chase

Middle Grade Fantasy

Publisher: Fiery Seas Publishing

Winter 2016

 Book Description:

Twelve year-old Stian’s plans to be The Greatest Viking Ever appear to be over before they even begin. He’s captured by Dahlia—a dark elf and a girl. If that wasn’t bad enough, he discovers he may be the son of Loki, the greatest enemy of the Viking gods and the one foretold to bring about the end of the world.

Knowing he is meant to be extraordinary, Stian decides to discover the truth for himself and free Loki from the clutches of Odin. Only then, will he discover who he is and what he is meant to do.

Stian must out-think, misguide, and defeat Thor’s children. To do this he will need the power of Gram—a sword with magical powers. There is one catch, only one pure of heart with the desire to help others, is worthy of wielding it. If Stian succeeds, he will become the world’s most famous Viking, but if he fails he will fall victim to the gods’ merciless justice.


About the Author:

Neal Chase lives in San Antonio, Texas, with his wife, two children, two dogs, and a bird, which strangely has the same name as his dad. He is a member of SCBWI and the Writers’ League of Texas. When he is not writing and reading, you can find Neal coaching football or adventuring with the help of his PlayStation.




Friday, April 8, 2016

Guest Blog: The Part That Doesn't Burn


The Part That Doesn’t Burn
Goetia Series
Book One
Sam Poling

Genre: Dark Fantasy

Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing

Date of Publication: March 23rd, 2016

ISBN: 9781310401916
ASIN: B01BW0Q2Y4

Number of pages: 319
Word Count: 97,000

Cover Artist: Cora Graphics

Book Description:

In an overpopulated city-state where technology and magic are forbidden by the corrupt church, young witch, Mirabel Fairfax, plots the creation of a deadly plague to cull the burdensome rabble.

That is, until she falls in love with the very alchemist she has been deceiving.

Now, with soul-hungry geists flooding the city, the church scrambling for their prey, and her own mind at war with itself, Mirabel must decide what she's fighting for before she loses everything to the evils of Autumnfall.



Excerpt:

Mirabel waited in the darkness.  Each passing second made it exponentially less likely the power would return.
“Mirabel? Did we lose power?” Felix’s voice quivered in the darkness.
“It should return momentarily.”
They waited. Mirabel could practically feel Felix’s demeanor evaporating.
“M-Mirabel?”
“Unbelievable, the singular time I am protecting company on the geistlines, a train dies. We are not coal powered. We are coming to a stop. Perhaps your pessimism rang true. Sour fortune must have followed you from Haugen. We need to leave.”
“L-leave? As in, leave the train, and go out there?”
“Felix, without power the only thing stopping a geist from swooping in here and taking your face off is nothing. One hundred percent nothing. Essentially, we already have the cons of being outside, along with the narrow space of being inside. Not a survivable combination.”
Without hesitation Felix took to gathering his tools, and corralling them into his bags.
“No time for that.”
She tugged him out of their room and through the train car. One side of the car featured the cabins. Asleep and unaware, no one else left their rooms. Windows with their blinds drawn and a faint cyan shimmering through adorned the other side.
“They’re lining both sides of the tracks. How long do we have?” said Felix.
“Geist behavior is a constant mystery, even to me, but eventually some will strike. Even those with eternity run out of patience.”
They reached the door to the next car and Mirabel mashed on the panel. Nothing. No power, no doors. She tried the manual handle, but it wouldn’t budge. If only Miss Perfect-Priestess were here, then the door wouldn’t be able to fly open fast enough.
“Oh bother,” she said.
“Door haunted too?”
“Handle denies me. Seems rusted, and I wonder if they automatically power lock.”
She could barely make out Felix’s nervous wince. “I wouldn’t expect that, Mirabel. Emergency situations would turn fatalities.”
“That is not happening with us.” She put her weight on the lever. It didn’t amount to much, and the lever knew it.
“Let me try.”
Felix consisted of average build and height, if not a tad lanky. Certainly not the strong type. Petite Mirabel stood quite small, a whole head shorter, also not the strong type, but she expected she could generate more strength. The alchemist didn’t have the mind for it.
“Felix, darling, put your hands here.” She directed his hands next to hers. “Press down on three, yes?”
Violet light washed over the handle they gripped before she got to “one.” She didn’t have to turn around to know its source. It traveled up her arms and across the door. If another passenger had opened a blind, the light source wouldn’t be nearing them.
“Three-three-three,” she shouted.
Felix threw down on the handle alongside her. Perhaps he did have the mind for it when terrified. With a shriek the lever punched into the open position, and the partners threw their hands into the crevice at the door’s left.
“Get the blasted thing open. Pull, Felix, do not look back.”
She made a mistake. Everyone looks back when instructed not to. He turned his neck and got an eyeful of something that forced a spate foul language. Such words didn’t suit him. Pulling with whatever force her slender arms could muster, she joined his blunder and looked over her shoulder.
A geist, two-thirds down the corridor, drifted closer. Its face partially lifted from its head, hanging a few inches from where it belonged. The glowing wisp mimicked the body it used to have, but poorly. The translucent skin melted and slid ever downward. She knew the face would contort any moment: the precursor to assault. And it had the gut-wrenching violet hue. Of all the geists to enter first, it had to be a damned giftgeist. She had no hope of generating enough magic to destroy it before it reached them.
The broken door started to grind open. She fit her thin body part way into the opening. Her heels dug into the carpet and her back braced against the door’s narrow edge, with her hands pressing against the wall. “Felix, pull.”
The geist twisted into a monster far fiercer than before; its face warped into elongated grief and its jaw stretched to the side to give a dry, raspy howl. Passengers meandering into the hall heard it. They slung their own screams and ran the opposite way. The worst decision during a geistline incident: running toward the rear of the train. They wouldn’t live long.
She reached above her head and flicked her fingers. “You want electricity, you fromping door? H-have some.” More white flashes fluttered between her fingers with each flick. “Come on, I had this spell mastered yesterday.”
“Mirabel? Mirabel,” yelped Felix. “It’s-it’s coming.”
“Simmer. I am focusing.”
“Focus faster!”
With a final flick, current rushed from the witch’s fingertips up into the door mechanisms. She had no idea what it accomplished, but the lights around the immediate vicinity flashed, including the door panel. Her left hand dropped and swatted it. The door grinded opened halfway before its lights died again. Halfway gave them more than enough space. The partners darted through into the next car. Glancing back, Mirabel saw the geist stop and turn to its side. Another passenger had peeked out of their cabin an arm’s length from the specter. It shot from Mirabel’s view before the rattled cries of a man and woman reached her ears.
Felix stopped as abruptly as the geist had. “It’s attacking someone.”
“Keep moving.”
“Mirabel, you’ve got to do something, there are three cars full of people back there.”

“And we are the only valuable ones.”



"Would you ever give up writing, even if you never made any sales?"

Sam Poling – THE PART THAT DOESN’T BURN

Every writer has something different to tell when they are asked about their motivations. Some do it to advance the art of writing itself, some are compelled by the stories and characters circling around in their head, and others want the career of creative writing to save them from their tedious day jobs. In most cases it’s a mixture of those reasons, and others. But do we give up writing altogether if we don’t make the sales?

No, we don’t give up. I never carried a checklist around with me and asked the question of all the writers across the globe, but I am confident the vast majority of our breed would not stop writing. We simply would not be able to, myself included. The characters don’t stop nagging, the ideas don’t stop coming, and the urge to create doesn’t dissipate because we aren’t being handed money. Art is a human drive, a need. Each of us have that need within us, and it must be expressed. In my case, it is expressed in creative writing.

However, part of the need to create art is the need to share it. It is expression, after all. It is social, and we are social creatures. We evolved to be. For myself, as I expect it is for many writers, sales are more important to us because they show we’ve done this. We’ve shared our experience and made a small change in the world. Deep down, even if just one person reads the novel it feels as though it was worth it.

Failure in sales can be punishing. It can make one feel dejected, to be sure. But that is only because we strive to become better, as all artists do. We want to see that translation, that reflection of the effort we put into our work. And sometimes we don’t always get that. And it doesn’t matter. It’s more room to grow, more avenues to explore. It’s painful, but thick skin and fortitude are what define the writer, if not the artist.

The day job does get in the way. It is important: it pays the bills and brings value to your life as you do your part for society. The day job is honorable, noble, and fulfilling if you take pride in your work. But it still gets in the way when you need to create that next masterpiece. Because of this, sales do take on another meaning. If they grow high enough, they could be the ticket to a life where your most beloved hobby is your career. But that treasure has to be hard fought and earned. And it requires a massive amount of luck.


The link between monetary compensation and art of any kind has always been seeded in this frank, honest relationship. Sales are not an excuse to fail and forfeit; they are fuel to help you grow. They do help, they do encourage, but in the end our human desire to create, teach, and learn supersedes it.

About the Author:

Sam Poling has been writing fantasy and science fiction for the thrill of it his entire life, from short stories to screenplays. His love for each of the subgenres led to dedication to writing genre-skirting fiction with all the elements that make up the human condition. He holds a strong enthusiasm for medical studies and currently works as a medical assistant in a large clinic while taking classing for nursing. He also serves on a health and safety committee, including disaster preparedness and infection control. His interest in epidemiology and medical science tends to spill over into his writing endeavors.

Author’s site: www.samuelpoling.com


Twitter: @SamuelPoling


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