What She Left by Rosie Fiore @rararesources

BOOK INFORMATION

Genre: Women's fiction; contemporary fiction

• Paperback
• Publisher: Allen & Unwin; Main edition
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1760292494
• ISBN-13: 978-1760292492

Synopsis: Helen Cooper has a charmed life. She's beautiful, accomplished, organised - the star parent at the school. Until she disappears.

But Helen wasn't abducted or murdered. She's chosen to walk away, abandoning her family, husband Sam, and her home.

Where has Helen gone, and why? What has driven her from her seemingly perfect life? What is she looking for? Sam is tormented by these questions, and gradually begins to lose his grip on work and his family life.

He sees Helen everywhere in the faces of strangers. He's losing control.

But then one day, it really is Helen's face he sees...

Review: This is a very different sort of family story. When Helen disappears, it's not because she's been kidnapped or murdered. She just walks away from her family one morning. The book is told from four different viewpoints: Sam, Helen, Sam's oldest daughter, and Lara (a mother with a child at the same school as Sam's girls).

Through the various viewpoints, we learn more and more about Helen and her life, and how her disappearance impacts her family. When we get about midway through the story, we learn some surprising information about Helen that shows readers a different side of her and of the story.

I was grabbed by this story from the first chapter and could hardly bear the times I had to put it down. Seeing how the family members grew and developed through the story was a joy.

Rating: Four stars

Book excerpt

Lara, a single mother who has a child at the same school as Helen Cooper, is the first person to know Helen has gone missing. We see Helen through her eyes – as someone, not a close friend, who has observed Helen and made assumptions about who she is.

Lara

Every middle-class London school has a Helen. Perhaps the Helen at your school has shining blonde hair or twinkling dark eyes. Perhaps she’s called Sarah, or Rebecca or Shariza. The principle is the same. Our Helen had a clear, bell-like voice, and you had to speak to her for a little while before you picked up the slight twang and upward inflection that told of her Australian origins. She had a smooth, chestnut-brown ponytail, clear, pale skin and wide blue eyes. You would often see the ponytail swinging as she ran briskly through the park, half an hour before pick-up time. But more often than not, you’d see it swinging as she laughed among a bustling group of parents in the playground. She’d be there before school, after school, at every school event, at the school gate collecting for the summer fete which she’d organized. She’d be at the open day, merrily guiding a group of prospective parents from classroom to classroom. Outside the classroom, she’d wink kindly at the harried mothers rushing in late, as her own demure girls, their smooth ponytails equally perfectly brushed, waited by her side. She produced perfect cakes for the cake sale, perfect costumes for the class assembly and perfect financial records after the astonishingly successful Christmas fayre. She was perfect.

And then she vanished.

It turned out that I was the first person at school to know she’d gone missing. Ella Barker did an interview with the Daily Mail and said she was the first to know ‘because Helen was always the first at the school gates, so I noticed immediately when she wasn’t there’. But that wasn’t true. Ella was long gone when we realized, and so were all the other Year Three mothers. Ella didn’t care if what she said wasn’t true. The Mail sent a stylist and took a picture of her in her neat front garden, and said how much her house was worth, so she was thrilled.

Purchase Links

Paperback: https://www.amazon.co.uk/What-She-Left-Rosie-Fiore/dp/1760292494/ref=tmm_pap_title_1?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Kindle: https://www.amazon.co.uk/What-She-Left-Rosie-Fiore-ebook/dp/B07253XZR4/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

About the author

 Rosie Fiore was born and grew up in Johannesburg, South Africa. She studied drama at the University of the Witwatersrand and has worked as a writer for theatre, television, magazines, advertising, comedy and the corporate market. 

Her first two novels, This Year's Black and Lame Angel were published by Struik in South Africa. This Year's Black was longlisted for the South African Sunday Times Literary Award and has subsequently been re-released as an e-book. Babies in Waiting, Wonder Women and Holly at Christmas were published by Quercus. She is the author of After Isabella, also published by Allen & Unwin.

Rosie’s next book, The After Wife (written as Cass Hunter), will be published by Trapeze in 2018, and in translation in seven countries around the world.

Rosie lives in London with her husband and two sons.

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/rosiefiorewriter/

Twitter - https://twitter.com/rosiefiore

BOOK BLAST AND GIVEAWAY: Lockdown by Samie Sands

Title: LOCKDOWN
Author: Samie Sands
Publisher: Limitless Publishing
Pages: 232
Genre: Horror/Scifi

Leah Watton’s practical joke has spiralled way out of control—all to impress a crush…

With a prank online video, Leah hopes to catch the attention of Jake Colton, a cute, blond-haired, blue-eyed co-worker she’s had a crush on for months. But instead of sending it to Jake, she manages to forward the clip to her boss—who buys every gory second.

When mass panic ensues, Leah learns the video is more than a staged act…

The government is calling the virus AM13. As the outbreak spreads, citizens are forced to stay indoors while they assess the gravity of the illness. Most people are quarantined in their homes, but Leah, Jake, and Leah’s best friend Michelle are some of the unlucky few who are stuck at work when the Lockdown occurs.

That’s where she first encounters one of the infected…

Aside from a contaminated woman devouring one of her co-workers, Leah has another problem. Does she do as she’s ordered and stay at work? Or should she disobey government orders and break free to reunite with her family?

She can’t go it alone—after all, Leah has none of the skills needed to survive—but with Michelle and Jake by her side, not even a contagious virus and a sea of the dead can keep her from…

Breaking out of the Lockdown…

Order your copy at Amazon.

 

He’s disgusting. I’ve never seen one this close before, heading towards me with such vigour. I’ve always done my best to avert my eyes from the infected, but now time seems to freeze as I can’t drag my gaze away. What I thought was him shuffling, was actually him dragging his broken, bloodied leg behind him. This wound is so deep I can see bone poking through. I can’t help but retch.

The bite on his shoulder is absolutely huge and rancid—all blackened from the infection. His arm is hanging down by his side, completely useless. He’ll never be able to move that again, no matter what happens. His face is also in a terrible state. His skin is a deep grey, much murkier than the others I’ve seen. He must have been infected for a very long time. The bags under his eyes droop incredibly low, causing his face to look deformed. The blood running down his skin, staining all his clothes, looks really old. Scratch marks cover his torso; he looks as if he’s been brutally beaten in some awful fight. I would never have thought someone could survive these injuries, they’re just so severe. People have died over much less, and yet here he is, still moving towards us, baring his teeth, ready and waiting to eat.

Jake pulls me hard and I stumble backwards, tripping over a box. I hit the ground hard and suddenly find myself unable to move, as if I’m physically paralysed by fear. It’s almost as if I’m having an out of body experience, looking down at myself, screaming run. Something is pulling me upwards, but my body is too sluggish to comply. It just won’t do what I want it to, I’m too panicked. Now I understand how Tim was feeling when he was attacked and unable to scale the fence. Limp and useless. I know an assault is imminent, but I can’t do anything to stop it. I’m utterly screwed, and I’m just sitting here, waiting for it to happen.

I’m shaking, sobs rising up in my chest. I’m going to die if I don’t get up now, so why can’t I? All I need to do is make my way over to the door, but it feels a million miles away. I don’t even know where Jake is. I can hear him hissing at me, encouraging me to move, but I can’t see him anywhere. He might have even made it outside already. If so, he should probably run before he has to witness my death.

Thud. The loud noise shocks me into looking up. Thud. There it is again. This time it’s following by a sloshing sound, like a wet mop hitting the ground. I need to locate the source of the noise. I need to know what’s happening, how long I have left. Can I escape? Can I really survive this? My heart leaps into my dry, panicked mouth and my slick palms slide across the ground.

It’s Jake, I can finally see him. He’s absolutely covered in blood. His axe is discarded on the ground next to him. He’s offering me a hand. I reach up tentatively to grab it, still trying to piece together the scene around me.

“He’s…?”I can’t finish my sentence. I can’t vocalise all the hundreds of questions that are swirling around in my mind.

“Yes, Leah, he’s gone. ”Jake blows out some air, as if all the stress is seeping out of his body.

Relief floods my chest, pushing away some of the numb sensation. I’ve never had a near death experience before, so I’m not sure how you’re supposed to feel. We sit silent for a while, just the sounds of our heavy breathing to keep us company. The shop owner doesn’t move again, so I can feel myself starting to relax in his presence. I wonder what happened to him, how he managed to get into that state, when he got bitten—all of these questions that we’ll never get the answer to now that he’s gone forever.

Samie Sands is giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card & an autographed copy of her book!

Terms & Conditions:

• By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
• One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $25 Amazon Gift Card and an autographed copy of her book.
• This giveaway ends midnight August 31.
• Winner will be contacted via email on September 1.
• Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

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About the Author

Samie Sands is the author of the AM13 Outbreak series – Lockdown, Forgotten, and Extinct. She’s also had a number of short stories published in very successful short story anthologies.

To find out more about her and her work, check out her website at http://samiesands.com or visit her on Twitter and Facebook.

PROMO BLITZ: Don't Mess With Mrs. Sedgewick by Marie F. Martin

Cozy Mystery

Date Published:10/11/2016

Publisher: 4-D Publishing

Roberta Sedgewick is stuck in a house that is too empty without her beloved Burton—the rat died and left her with his dog and rooms that rattle. She convinces her three golfing buddies, all in their seventies, to sell their homes and buy adjoining condos. The widows intend to spend the rest of their days golfing, gambling at the casino, and having fun. Oh, the heaven of it. But then they all hire the same maid who uncovers long-hidden criminal secrets kept by each woman. Oh, the horror of it. The reputations of their deceased husbands, a banker, a minister, and a respected farmer, will be tarnished forever. Three of the widows could face jail time, and the fourth fears for her life. Whatever will they do with the conniving, blackmailing maid?

EXCERPT

I catch my breath. This could be it. To make sure, I draw the newspaper almost to my nose and read the listing again. Right here in the real estate section of the Vista Harbor Chronicle is the answer. The date in the corner reads July 7, only four days ago. A happy dance springs within me, but I control the urge. No customer sitting at a high table in a bistro needs to witness a lady past her prime make a fool of herself. Instead, I jig my fists below the table in a silent yes, yes, yes. I’ve found the condos. Life at age seventy-two is about to change. I slide from the stool and head for the door, hoping no one notices the newspaper tucked under my left arm.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sedgewick,” the coffee gal calls after me. She saw the paper, and that’s her way of letting me know. Without looking back, I waggle my right hand above my shoulder and push open the door.

Outside, I dig through my Gucci for my phone. I love my hobo bag, but don’t like searching for whatever drops to the bottom. I need to figure that out. I also don’t like the dark face of the phone in the bright sunlight. Phone people need to figure that out.

I move under the umbrella of a red maple. In filtered light, I send a text to my three buddies. Meet me at the clubhouse. I have a surprise. I shuffle a little smart-step, unable to hide my joy. I’m still light on my feet even though my hair has turned soft white. I avoid coloring it but fight other signs of aging with a diet pill once in a while and wrinkle cream rubbed in nightly. Like most Pisces, I’m proud, a bit vain, and not afraid to admit it. I hop into my reliable Subaru.

A hand grabs the top part of the car door.

I gasp and brace against the seat.

A careworn woman stands there like a waif. “I did naught mean to startle you. I noticed you did a jig step before getting into your car and wondered if you are from Scotland. I’m so homesick for the heather.” She’s medium height, medium weight—medium all the way around. Her flyaway hair is sandy, and her sad eyes show more burnished gold than green. She removes her hand from the top of the door. “I’m sorry for intruding.”

“No need to be. I’m not from Scotland, but some distant relatives were. They mixed with my English ancestors, so I’m blessed with a good dose of Highland merriment and English good sense that battle each other. I hope you find your way back to the heather.” I close the car door. It thuds softly, not a hard slam to show dismay. So often anymore I’m prone to sharpness and a quick tongue, followed by guilt. Or else I rattle on about nothing and don’t worry about it.

The Scottish woman walks away, spine stiff, head high. An odd, lonely woman, but likable.

A sense of uncertainty chases around my shoulders. I banish it with a glance at my watch. There’s enough time to run by Jones Realty and arrange for a showing of the condos this afternoon. I tilt the rearview mirror and apply a boost of blush, lip gloss, and a dab of liquid concealer by my left eyelid—the dang droopy thing. There. All is repaired well enough to see Ned Jones, the realtor.

Before I swing into the late morning traffic on Harbor Drive, a white-knuckle thought smacks into my gray matter. The newspaper is only a few days old, but what if someone already bought one of the units? What a terrible thought. I press harder on the accelerator and zip through Vista Harbor, the alpine resort community I call home. It’s a small town compared to Aspen or Big Sky, but it’s more than big enough to accommodate tourists and newcomers. I don’t mind sharing the beauty of my valley, my mountains, and my lakes. Sure, there’s room for all, and yes, I claim ownership. This part of Montana belongs to me.

Ten blocks later, after having to slam on the brakes to avoid the rear end of a showoff car, I park next to a chalet-style house with a readerboard announcing homes or acreage for folks to buy. Big black letters read, New on the Market. Four Single-Story Condominiums in the Harbor Hill Area. Perfect. And no more stairs to climb.

I straighten my skinny jeans, smooth my top, and walk inside the office. A clock chimes the half hour . . . plenty of time before lunch.

Behind a glass counter, inlaid with prize listings and a Sold banner across each, a young man thumbs through a stack of listings and thoroughly ignores me. He must be the new assistant, and the talk of the town, like any new buck. No cure for small towns and gossip.

“Is Ned in?”

“No.” The young squirt doesn’t bother to look up and continues to scan a paper, nimble finger flying down the page.

I lean a little onto my right side and place my jewel-covered fingers on the counter, thrumming them on the most expensive listing. “Just tell your boss our mom called from the nursing home and wants more money.”

The kid makes eye contact. “You’re his sista?”

“No, but you should treat me like I am. Do I hear Boston in your accent?”

“Yah.”

“Moving to a small town is an adjustment. Attitude counts.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 Satisfied I have his attention, I say, “I would like to see those newly listed condos at 2:00 this afternoon.”

“The ones out on Harbor Hill?”

I nod. “The ones with the same name as the golf course, ski mountain, and every other place that isn’t called Alpine or Vista. What’s the street number?”

“101. Ned is showing a unit now.” The kid tries not to smirk. He doesn’t make it. His brown-flecked eyes shine with mischief. They probably always do. He’s a young devil, I can tell, and figure he’s teasing me.

“Please inform him Roberta Sedgewick will be at the condos at 2:00 this afternoon. If he can’t make it, have him call me. He has the number.” Halfway out the door, I lean back inside. “Oh, by the way, I’m interested in buying all four and may be interested in listing four pieces of prime property. Like the kind you have there under glass on your counter. Tell him not to sell any of the units until we talk. Understood?”

I chuckle to myself as the door closes. I’m bad.

About the Author

Marie F. Martin is the author of an intense vow in MATERAL HARBOR, surprising twists of a family’s past in HARBORED SECRETS, a grizzly attack and lover’s spat in RATHAM CREEK. Together her three thriller, mystery, or suspense novels have over 250,000 Kindle downloads and 613 five star reviews.

She now adds DON’T MESS WITH MRS. SEDGEWICK to her list of books.

Marie lives in a fertile valley at the base of the Rocky Mountains. She enjoys a quiet life where laughter comes easy, love easier. She invites you to join in her rich, rural memories on her website where she has posted a memoir of her early childhood and raising her family of four children.

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Sale Price - $1.99!

BOOK BLAST: Body of The Crime by Jennifer Chase

We're so excited to be hosting Jennifer Chase's BODY OF THE CRIME Book Blast today!  Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!

About the Book:

Title: BODY OF THE CRIME
Author: Jennifer Chase
Publisher: JEC Press
Pages:
Genre: Crime Thriller

Three grisly murders linked to five old cold cases, dubbed the Flower Girl Murders, pushes detectives to their limit to find a clever and extremely brutal serial killer, leaving a California town demanding justice. The District Attorney’s Serial Special Task Force retains the help of the reclusive Dr. Chip Palmer, a forensic expert and criminal profiler, to steer them in the right direction.

Palmer is known for his astute academic interpretations of serial and predatory crimes, along with his unconventional tactics that goes against general police procedures. He is partnered with the tough and beautiful D.A. Inspector Kate Rawlins, a homicide detective transplanted from Phoenix, and the chemistry ignites between the team—turbulent and deadly.

The Flower Girl Murders leaves three homicides, five cold cases, two seasoned detectives, three suspects, and one serial killer calling all the shots. The investigation must rely on one eccentric forensic scientist to unravel the clues to solve the case. But at what cost?

Body of the Crime is available at Amazon.

Book Excerpt:

THE DENSE PINE AND OAK trees made a semi-circle pattern in the forest. Dried leaves blew in the breeze, swirled around like unique pieces of confetti, cascading downward, and finally resting on the ground.

The isolated location seemed serene and picturesque, which lent to the stark contrast of the woman’s dead body.

Her long brown hair hung straight and spilled down over her shoulders and slender body. Each strand appeared to have been carefully washed and combed precisely in place. The unknown woman wore a light blue button-down sweater that remained in an orderly fashion with every button fastened, and it was pulled down to cover her belly. Her arms gently placed over her chest, each finger laced next to the other. Tucked carefully underneath her hands was a stem with a pale pink flower that looked like a daisy, now wilted. The victim’s fingernails scrubbed clean, and her hands lacked any jewelry or identifying marks.

Upon a quick glance, it seemed that she was merely daydreaming. Looking closely, her fixed dull eyes gave the undeniable lifeless gaze. The relaxed expression on her face seemed almost contrived and had a peculiar quality to it—even a ghostly facade.

From the waist up, the woman looked like she had taken a nap after a morning of running errands or after coming home from a luncheon with friends. The woman was in a carefully posed position that told the story of an organized killer who was in complete control, but that was where the structured behavior of the murderer abruptly stopped.

In a disturbing contrast, the horrifying viciousness of what was left of the bottom half of the body was the aftermath of a long, torturous assault from someone completely out of control. It suggested a perpetrator who lacked any impulse control and mental stability. 

About the Author

Jennifer Chase is an award-winning author and consulting criminologist.  She has authored six crime fiction novels, including the multiple award-winning Emily Stone thriller series along with a screenwriting workbook.

Jennifer holds a Bachelor degree in police forensics and a Master's degree in criminology.  These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent sociopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling. 

She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists.

Visit Jennifer Chase’s website.

Connect with Jennifer on Facebook and Twitter.

 

BOOK BLITZ: Children From Dark Houses by Carlyle Clark

Mystery/Thriller

Date Published: June 1, 2016

Cynical private investigator Atticus Wynn and his idealistic partner Rosemary Sanchez will stop at nothing to save a damaged boy, even when it means taking on a pair of professional killers and a gang of outlaw bikers in this action-packed and gallows-humored mystery thriller prequel to The Black Song Inside.

When Atticus and Rosemary are hired for the seemingly routine job of finding Imran Khan, a runaway from San Diego’s posh Barrington Academy for troubled teens, the detectives quickly discover this case will be anything but routine.  

Imran wasn’t running away from the rigid rules of Barrington, he was running into the arms of an enigmatic beauty who goes to great lengths to stay in the shadows. As soon as Atticus and Rosemary learn of this mystery woman, they’re targeted by a brutal outlaw biker gang.

When the detectives finally meet their employers in person, Imran's parents, the pieces fall into place.  They discover a family seething with rage, an abused boy seeking love, and a secret so powerful, it blows the lid off the case.  A dark world of dirty money, deadly spies, and double-crosses is brought to light, forcing Atticus and Rosemary to question whether Imran is an innocent victim or a violent avenger.

The detectives will need all of Atticus's street smarts and Rosemary's combat experience to survive as they race down a road of blood and broken people toward a showdown where the very boy they've sworn to save is the person most likely to get them killed. 

EXCERPT

Rosemary Sanchez’s phone rang, or to be more accurate, warbled into song. Specifically, Muddy Waters famous blues tune “Mannish Boy,” which she had not programmed into it. It started at the part that refers to the singer’s destiny to become “the greatest man alive.” She snorted. That Atticus.

Clad in jeans and a gray T-shirt that read ARMY across the front, she’d been in the midst of her daily bed-making duel with her nemesis, her tortoiseshell cat Mawroo, who with feline telepathy, always anticipated the moment she began to make her bed. As the sheet came billowing down, Mawroo leapt onto the mattress. The cat-hump raced around beneath the sheet like a gopher in a cartoon, all the while uttering her namesake cry, “Maaaaawrooooo!” Rosemary could only answer such an affront to bed-making etiquette by scrabbling her fingers about so that the hump raced hither and thither after them, sometimes rolling over to create four paw tent poles, claws poking through the sheet.

Rosemary answered the phone while, in protest at the interruption, Mawroo “mawrooed”!

“Let me guess,” Rosemary said. “You made one too many smartass remarks, and now we’re barred from Barrington.”

“Scoff, scoff,” Atticus said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“I wanted to scoff at your lack of faith, but I’ve only read about people scoffing and never actually seen it. Thus, I don’t know how one would actually go about scoffing in real life. So I improvised.”

“I don’t know whether it’s more disturbing to think you’ve been pondering that for a while or that you just thought it up.”

“Either someone’s playing a violin with a meat tenderizer,” he said, “or you are foolishly trying to make your bed with Mawroo in the room.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Rosemary said. “She sulks all day if I shut her out.”

“How can one tell if a cat is sulking or just being a cat?”

“When one loves another being and is in a close relationship, one pays attention and thus becomes quite attuned to the being’s sensibilities.”

“Are we still talking about a cat here?” Atticus asked.

“Meow,” Rosemary answered.

“Um, er, normally, I’d be game for the metaphorical banter, but I happen to have a gentleman tailing me. I’m hoping you can come out here and tail my tailer.”

Rosemary’s tone switched from banter to business. “Already someone following you? Feel dangerous?”

“Can’t tell,” he said, “but it’s hard to see what I could have done so quickly to make someone want to hurt me.”

“You’ve never been on the other side of your smart mouth.”

“Anyway,” he said, “once you’ve got him, I’ll lose him.”

“And I’ll follow him back to his criminal lair.”

“Criminal lair?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Any criminal associated with Barrington Academy wouldn’t have anything as uncouth as a hideout. He would merit a lair.”

“Brains as well as beauty,” he said. “Brains enough that once this ne’er do well is ensconced in his lair, you wouldn’t dream of doing something as stupid as trying to get a real good looksee before you’ve called your charming partner in for back up, right?”

“You do recall I’ve done a tour of duty in a war zone?”

“And I know you’re going back soon,” Atticus said, his voice tight, “which I don’t like to even think about. My point is that neither of us should take any unnecessary risks.”

“But that’s my specialty.”

“Computers are your specialty. That’s why we joined forces. Risk-taking is your addiction.”

“Fine, if you’re going to be such a big butt about it, I’ll play it all careful and boring.”

Atticus sighed. “All I ask is that you be as concerned about your safety as I am.”

Rosemary ended the call as Mawroo scooted from beneath the sheet, paused, and then suddenly realized it was absolutely imperative she get out of the room as quickly as possible. She galloped through the door and made it all of three feet into the hall before lying down, licking her paws, and rubbing her little baseball head with her wet feet.

Grinning at the kitty’s antics, Rosemary threw her hair into a braid, wriggled into her jeans, and headed out the door to her silver Ford Fiesta ST. Fifteen minutes later, Rosemary texted Atticus that she was in position behind the tail.

About the Author

Carlyle Clark was raised in Poway, a city just north of San Diego, but is now a proud Chicagolander working in the field of Corporate Security and writing crime and fantasy fiction. He has flailed ineffectually at performing the writer's requisite myriad of random jobs: pizza deliverer, curb address painter, sweatshop laborer, day laborer, night laborer, security guard, campus police, Gallup pollster, medical courier, vehicle procurer, and signature-for-petitions-getter.

He is a married man with two cats and a dog. He is also a martial arts enthusiast and a CrossFit endurer who enjoys fishing, sports, movies, TV series with continuing storylines, and of course, reading. Most inconsequentially, he holds the unrecognized distinction of being one of the few people in the world who have been paid to watch concrete dry in the dark. Tragically, that is a true statement.

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Twitter:@Carlyle_Clark

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Giveaway

Multiple autographed Crime Novels

BOOK BLITZ: Thirst: Blood Of My Blood by R.P. Channing

Book Information

Genres: Young Adult Romance

Paranormal Romance

High School

Vampires, Demons, Witches

Dark Fantasy

Horror

File Size: 2015 KB

Print Length: 243 pages

Publication Date: November 26, 2015

Sold by: Amazon Digital Services LLC

Language: English

ASIN: B018M5GTLI

Synopsis: ***********************************

WITH BEAUTIFUL PHOTOGRAPHS!
***********************************

~ Kira Sutherland ~

After a near fatal accident (and getting cheated on by her 'boyfriend'), and beating up the lead cheerleader (with whom the boyfriend cheated...), and being labeled as having 'issues' in her school because she, uhm, sees ghosts, Kira is left with two choices: 

1. Continue her 'therapy' (where she's told the ghost is a hallucination and also gets her legs ogled too often...) 

Or 

2. Go to Starkfield Academy, a boarding school for "Crazies and Convicts" (as the social media sites call them.)

She chooses the latter...

~ Cory Rand ~

Cory Rand has not had an easy life. His mother died in a car accident when he was twelve, and so did his mother's best friend...sort of. You see, Janice made a promise to take care of Cory just before she died, and so she lingers. Undead. A ghost that watches out for him.

Brought up in an abusive home, Cory quickly falls into a life of disreputable behavior. After his third offense (which was prompted by a girl, as usual - he has a weakness) he's left with two choices: 

1. Be tried as an adult and share a cell with a guy named Bubba (he thinks...) 

Or 

2. Go to Starkfield Academy, which Cory is pretty sure is run by vampires. But, hey, at least he'll get an education.

He chooses the latter...

It's at Starkfield that Kira meets Cory Rand, a boy with an insatiable Rage who sees ghosts, too. As well as other things, other things from his past, things that confuse him, things like fire and witches and demons.

Things he's always ignored. 

Until now.

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

-1-
The Puppy Eyes

My life was perfect.

I had the perfect shoes and the perfect friends and I lived in the perfect house. My nails were perfect and my hair was perfect (except on Sundays, it was always windy on Sundays) and I had the perfect clothes. My lips were a perfect red and my hair perfectly straight. My eyeshadow was perfect, my hips were...okay, and my waist...well...also okay. Nothing was wrong in my life.

But then there was Jack.

Jack was a problem.

He needed to go. I mean, when you’re dead, you’re dead! I had told him this endlessly. Somehow, Jack didn’t get it. I mean, I felt sorry for the guy. Sure. Being stuck between this life and the next. But just because I found him, does that mean I needed to keep him?

I think not!

Sadly, when Jack got that look in his eyes, that weary, almost teary (if his tear-ducts worked) look, I melted. I just couldn’t send him away. Not even Jack knew where he would go after he died.

Would he, like, die? As in — dead, nada, kaput, finito, gone, no more? Bye bye, sayonara, ciao, hasta la vista baby and all that?

I couldn’t have that on my conscience. No way.

I lay on my bed, wondering what to do about him. “Jaaaaaaack,” I hollered.

“Jaaaaaaack!”

Still no answer.

“Jack!”

Jack...materialized.

His eyes rolled down to the ground. He was making those puppy eyes again. “Jack, I told you not to do that. I told you not to play on my sympathies.”

His puppy eyes became worse.

His skin was gray and, well, dead.

“Oh, brother,” I said. “I have to do something about you. If mom finds out I have another ‘imaginary friend’ — at my age — well, I’d die of embarrassment. But, like, really die. Not like you.” I wondered about this. Would I die? Was Jack a freak accident, or did all people live on like him? Think of the cemeteries...

The idea excited me somewhat.

“What would you have me do, Miss Kira?”

“Knock off the Miss Kira crap. I told you it’s just Kira.”

“Yes, Miss Kira.”

The dead. There’s just no reasoning.

“Fine, Miss Kira it is then.” Rover barked like a lunatic in the garden. No one else might be able to see Jack, but I was sure my dog could.

“I have to do something about this,” I mumbled.

-2-
The Rat

Mike knocked on the door before I had time to leave the house. Mike was the guy I thought (at the time) was perfect.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, baby.”

Baby, urgh — I wasn’t his baby. I dated Mike because he was the quarterback, because girls are supposed to like the quarterback, because it’s just so darn perfect to be seen with the quarterback, like we’re brainwashed into thinking these things from the first romantic doll set mom buys us.

This was my previous life.

“Mike.”

“Uh-huh. Gonna let me in?”

So you can try rub me up and then complain when I don’t let you? This, dear reader, was the big problem with Mike. The second we first kissed, his hand went way too far south for me to be comfortable — and I pulled back.

Mike suddenly wasn’t so perfect.

“Uhm, I was just on my way out,” I said.

“Kira? C’mon, open the door.” He sounded upset. “Is there someone in there with you?”

Boys. As if.

I didn’t know much about love (nothing, actually) but I knew this wasn’t it.

“Uhm, now’s not the time, Mike.”

“C’mon, Kira, what’s going on?” He banged harder.

When in doubt...lie. I opened the door a crack. “There’s a dead rat in the house, Mike. Been here for days. I gotta go get some detergent and stuff to handle the stench.”

Mike stepped back. He peered through the crack of the door.

“It’s really bad,” I said.

“I’ll drive you.”

“I’m afraid the smell” — I stuck my armpit to my nose — “has found its way all over me. I’ll drive myself.”

“O — okay. Fine.” And then he grinned like he wanted something. “Later? My place?”

Urgh. “Uhm, sure...er...later. Not sure when though.”

“Six.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. According to girls at school, he was apparently so damn good looking — theoretically. But for me personally, he did nothing. Moved nothing. Twisted nothing. “Look, I gotta go, Mike. I gotta — ”

“Kira.” His eyes grew stern. “You’ve been avoiding me...”

Bingo! Well done contestant number one! And what have you won? A brain!

I tilted my head. “Mike, look, this...rat — I need to deal with it. We’ll talk later, okay? Bye.” I closed the door, not waiting for an answer, and peered out the peep hole. Mike hung around for a second, shoulders wide and eyes glaring straight at me through the door. Could he see me? Did he know I was looking at him?

He kicked something off the ground, and I had the distinct impression he mouthed the word Bitch before leaving. But I wasn’t sure...

-3-
The Mack

“Roll down the window, Jack.” Jack was recently dead, so he still had a smell about him. (Which only I could smell...)

I had purposely skipped breakfast. Maybe Jack would help me lose weight. I was (still am) a little wide, although it had never stopped guys flirting with me. I know how to dress.

But I could be skinnier.

Lucy Rogers was skinny. All bones and no boobs.

Charlene Carverton was a babe. Cheerleader. Big chest (which she pushed out generously with a push-up — if only guys knew). Toned thighs. Charlene only dated college boys (back then), which I still think is pretty gross for a girl her age.

“He’s not for you,” Jack said out the blue.

“Hmm?”

“This...Mike — he’s wrong for you, Miss Kira.” For all Jack’s faults (mainly, being dead), he has a good heart. Factually, probably it’s why I kept him around at first.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why don’t you dump him?”

I braked at a stop sign. Looked left and right. “Because I’d look like an idiot. I flirted with him and showed interest, and one kiss later I can’t stand the sight of him.”

“So dump him.”

“It’s not that simple. Kids at school — they can be vicious. I have to let it fade slowly. If I drop the bomb on him, I’ll never hear the end of it through senior year.”

“And you care?”

Yes, I did. Forget Guantanamo, schools are rough. “You don’t understand, Jack. Maybe school was different in your day. But in mine, well, we walk through metal detectors.”

“Schools weren’t too different in my day.” I noted the sadness in his voice.

“You okay?”

“I’m dead.”

Right. “You miss...your life?”

Jack shrugged. “I like being with you, Miss Kira. And I don’t remember much of my life. I think I’m in limbo.”

“Limbo?”

“Yes, like I have some unfinished business. If only I could remember...what...it is...” He scratched his head.

“Any ideas?”

“Well, it can’t be love. If it were love, I’d be a vampire. That’s who teenage girls fall in love with these days.”

“A vampire? That’s just what I need — two undead beings stalking me.”

“I feel I have something to do around you, Miss Kira. I don’t know what, but something. Something important.”

I looked over at him. “Me?”

I was still looking at him when I missed the stop sign.

The Mack truck drove straight into us.

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Author Bio

R P Channing started writing three years ago, but never published anything even after churning out over a million words of fiction. Thirst: Blood of my Blood is the first book he dared to publish. When asked why, he said, “Because it’s the first thing I wrote that my wife actually enjoyed reading.” When not hammering away (most literally) at his keyboard, he can be found buried in a book, reading anything from romance to horror to young adult to non-fiction to comedy.

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