COLD ROCK RIVER by J.L. Miles

Cold Rock River
J.L. Miles
Historical Fiction
Cumberland House Publishing
320 pages

In 1963 rural Georgia with the Vietnam War cranking up, seventeen-year-old and pregnant ADIE JENKINS discovers the diary of seventeen-year-old and pregnant TEMPE JORDAN, a slave-girl, circa 1863, with the Civil War winding down. Adie’s haunted by the memory of her dead sister; Tempe’s overcome with grief from the sale of her three children sired by her master. The diary’s determined to destroy them both. Adie—married to BUCK, her baby’s skirt-chasing father—is unprepared for marriage and the demands of motherhood. She spends her days with new baby GRACE, while BUCK spends his with IMELDA JANE, the storekeeper’s conniving daughter.

Adie welcomes the friendship of midwife WILLA MAE SATTERFIELD and the
kindness of neighbor and chicken farmer MURPHY SPENCER. Willa Mae was
Murphy’s mammy and has secrets of her own. Soon Murphy is hiding something, too—a deep love for Adie. Willa Mae entrusts a diary to Adie. What’s in the diary could destroy her life.

I was five that spring Annie choked on a jelly bean. She was twenty months old—she wasn’t supposed to have any. Mama made that quite clear. Sadly, I wasn’t a child that minded well, so I gave Annie one anyway. I figured she ought to taste how good they were. I figured wrong.

Annie choked bad on that jelly bean and Mama wasn’t home—she’d gone to Calhoun to sell her prized jams; sold twelve jars of her double-lemon marmalade. Imagine that; there’s Mama, waving folks over to get a sample of her jam—selling her heart out—and all the while Annie’s choking to death.

My pa slapped Annie on her back. Pa had hands the size of skillets. It didn’t do any good; might have made it worse. Annie stopped making the sucking sounds she made when her face changed colors, and her body went limp, and her pretty blue eyes just rolled up and disappeared right inside her cute little head.

My older sisters, Rebecca and Clarissa—twin girls Mama had two years before she had me—got on their knees and prayed like a preacher. I didn’t get on my knees. I watched Pa beat on Annie instead. It was more interesting.

“She can’t die,” I said. “She’s in our family.”

“Oh hush, you ninny,” Rebecca said. “You don’t know nothing.”

“Call an ambulance, Rebecca!” Pa shouted.

Rebecca dialed zero for the operator on the big black phone and tried to explain where Route 3, Box 949 was.

“It’s in Cold Rock, but it’s not on a street, ma’am,” she said. “It’s on a route! Ain’t you ever heard of a route? Who hired you anyway?”

Pa heard it all and realized help was not coming anytime soon. His eyes were crazed as a horse that’s been spooked by a snake. It scared me plenty. I dropped to my knees.

“Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegodpleasegod. . .” I chanted sing-song.

Pa stuck his thumb backwards down Annie’s throat and choked her worse. But, what do you know? That jelly bean popped right up out of her mouth! Annie started coughing real hard and crying. Pa hugged her to his chest and patted her softly on the back—like she was a China doll and would break—which I thought was very strange, seeing as he nearly pounded her to death when she was choking.

We found out later what Pa did is the worst thing to do if someone’s choking. Pa didn’t know that. He did what he thought he had to, and it saved Annie’s life. When Mama got home she hugged every one of us and said, “Well, sometimes the worst thing turns out to be the best thing.”

Too bad it didn’t work out like that the next time Annie needed help.

I was five that spring Annie choked on a jelly bean. She was twenty months old—she wasn’t supposed to have any. Mama made that quite clear. Sadly, I wasn’t a child that minded well, so I gave Annie one anyway. I figured she ought to taste how good they were. I figured wrong.

Annie choked bad on that jelly bean and Mama wasn’t home—she’d gone to Calhoun to sell her prized jams; sold twelve jars of her double-lemon marmalade. Imagine that; there’s Mama, waving folks over to get a sample of her jam—selling her heart out—and all the while Annie’s choking to death.

My pa slapped Annie on her back. Pa had hands the size of skillets. It didn’t do any good; might have made it worse. Annie stopped making the sucking sounds she made when her face changed colors, and her body went limp, and her pretty blue eyes just rolled up and disappeared right inside her cute little head.

My older sisters, Rebecca and Clarissa—twin girls Mama had two years before she had me—got on their knees and prayed like a preacher. I didn’t get on my knees. I watched Pa beat on Annie instead. It was more interesting.

“She can’t die,” I said. “She’s in our family.”

“Oh hush, you ninny,” Rebecca said. “You don’t know nothing.”

“Call an ambulance, Rebecca!” Pa shouted.

Rebecca dialed zero for the operator on the big black phone and tried to explain where Route 3, Box 949 was.

“It’s in Cold Rock, but it’s not on a street, ma’am,” she said. “It’s on a route! Ain’t you ever heard of a route? Who hired you anyway?”

Pa heard it all and realized help was not coming anytime soon. His eyes were crazed as a horse that’s been spooked by a snake. It scared me plenty. I dropped to my knees.

“Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegodpleasegod. . .” I chanted sing-song.

Pa stuck his thumb backwards down Annie’s throat and choked her worse. But, what do you know? That jelly bean popped right up out of her mouth! Annie started coughing real hard and crying. Pa hugged her to his chest and patted her softly on the back—like she was a China doll and would break—which I thought was very strange, seeing as he nearly pounded her to death when she was choking.

We found out later what Pa did is the worst thing to do if someone’s choking. Pa didn’t know that. He did what he thought he had to, and it saved Annie’s life. When Mama got home she hugged every one of us and said, “Well, sometimes the worst thing turns out to be the best thing.”

Too bad it didn’t work out like that the next time Annie needed help.

HEART OF DIAMONDS by Dave Donelson

Heart of Diamonds
Dave Donelson
Romantic Thriller
Kunati Books
352pages

Heart of Diamonds implicates an American televangelist, the President of the Congo, and the American White House in a diamond smuggling scheme that leads to U.S. military involvement in the Congo’s civil war. TV journalist Valerie Grey uncovers the conspiracy and tries to expose it before America is drawn fully into the endless war. Powerful forces—a ruthless mercenary, the Congolese army, and cold-blooded agents sent by the White House—try to stop her in a magnificent chase along crocodile-infested rivers, overland through raging gun battles, and into the sky in armed helicopters. A big romantic love triangle propels the main characters and adds depth to the book.

The intricate story opens as, passed over for a promotion in New York, Valerie Grey takes an assignment in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where the brutal civil war is escalating and rebel assaults are increasing. After surviving an artillery attack in the capital, Valerie meets an American doctor who operates a small clinic in a remote part of the country. She learns that an American televangelist has recently bought the local diamond mine, once nationalized by the Congolese government.

Intrigued by the notion of a church running a diamond mine, Valerie and her crew travel to the distant village to investigate. She is appalled by the conditions endured by the mine workers. There is evidence of torture. They are forced to live in a virtual prison, with no freedom to visit their families. The missionary who oversees the mine is strangely unsympathetic to the plight of the workers, and that of the many orphaned children who survive only because of the small clinic in the village.

Her suspicions deepen when she sees the women of the village making small dolls out of scraps of cloth and stuffing them with a special “American filling.” Armed guards watch over the women. Each doll must be logged twice as it is completed. The level of security surrounding such trinkets is beyond her understanding. That is, until she discovers what is in the “American filling,” and where the dolls are sent.

When the US president announces that thirty thousand American troops will go to the Congo to protect American interests, Valerie knows she must tell the world what “interests” the president means.

The novel comes to its tragic climax as Valerie and her crew, the American doctor and several children desperately flee rebel soldiers, the diamond mine’s mercenaries and US agents sent to kill Valerie. Heart of Diamonds is a fast-paced thriller and heartbreaking romantic adventure set in one of the world’s most unfortunate countries.

Dr. Jaime Talon sliced into the boy’s cheek where the corrupted flesh festered just below the eye. When he pierced the skin with the lancet, a thin, clear fluid dribbled from the incision. He applied a little pressure with the flat of the blade and was rewarded with a gush of viscous brown pus. The boy flinched each time the knife touched his face, but that was his only reaction. Jaime guessed he was no more than fourteen. He placed a gauze pad over the weeping incision and told the boy to hold it there while the wound drained. With antibiotics and constant attention, the infection could be kept out of the eye, he thought. The antibiotics would come from the clinic’s nearly empty medicine locker; Jaime didn’t know who would attend to the dressing when the boy returned to the Lunda Libre guerillas who held him in the mopane forest of the Congo highlands.

“What is your name?” Jaime asked.

“Christophe,” the boy answered. His voice was high and tight with tension. He cleared his throat quietly, asthough he were afraid to disturb Jaime’s concentration. Jaime put the lancet down and smiled gently, hoping to

calm the boy’s fears.

“Would you like to stay here for a few days?” he asked. The boy shook his head slowly and looked down.

“What if I give you food? Enough to take some back for the others?” Christophe shrugged but shook his head again, glancing furtively at the armed figure waiting for him near the trail at the edge of the forest. Even from a distance, Jaime could see the man’s eyes constantly shifting from the boy to the road and back to the trail leading into the forest.

“You must stay at least for tonight so the wound can drain. I will speak to him. Stay here and do not remove the pad.” Jaime locked his meager tray of surgical instruments inside a cabinet to remove temptation, then walked purposefully across the clearing to the gunman, keeping his hands out of his pockets and in full sight. He stopped a few feet away when the rebel shifted his weight from one foot to the other and casually pointed his rifle at Jaime’s stomach.

“The boy will stay with me tonight,” he declared firmly, trying to forestall any argument.

“No, dakta bandia,” the man replied with a sneer.

EASY ENTERTAINING FOR BEGINNERS

Easy Entertaining for Beginners
Patricia Mendez
Nonfiction; Entertaining; Cooking
Maple Heights Press
176 pages

Readers don’t have to be gourmet chefs or nervous wrecks to host casual at-home entertaining. Beginners will have all of their questions answered, from what to serve to what to do. Included are 13 delicious complete menus with easy-to-follow recipes, full color photographs, ideas for music, activities and drinks. Checklists ease readers step-by-step through every phase of planning, preparation, and presentation. Readers will gain confidence and have a terrific time putting together successful celebrations.

MY FIRST COCKTAIL PARTY

When planning your first cocktail party, think simplicity. I learned a valuable lesson with my first cocktail party. I made too many different hors d’oeuvres (small bites or munchies). I was tired by the time my party started, and I overwhelmed my guests with too much. Live and learn. Now, when I host a cocktail party, I follow the rule of simplicity. Do a few things and do them well. The tone for the party is more relaxed, and so am I.

Twelve to sixteen guests are a good, manageable number for a first cocktail party. Start with one or two different cocktails, rather than having an open bar. This really simplifies serving drinks. Choose a cocktail recipe that you can make a couple of hours before the party and serve in pitchers. That way you are not spending all your time tending bar and can visit with your guests. Offer beer and wine along with two or three nonalcoholic beverages, and have bottled water available as well. Plan to serve six or seven choices of hors d’oevres, at about three or four pieces each per person.

A cocktail party doesn’t always need a special occasion, but it certainly is appropriate for one. A birthday, an anniversary, or even a promotion are all good reasons to throw a cocktail party. A beautiful table for the food will suffice for the extent of the decorations. I use one or two tablecloths and will sometimes put a large, sturdy box (such as one from a case of beer) under the tablecloth so the food can be placed at different heights. It is more appealing to look at than having one flat table with food on flat platters. You can always add some fresh flowers, herbs, fruit, or candles in hurricane lamps. (Be careful where you place candles, so on one can get burned when reaching for food on the table.) If you have any pretty serving platters, or even cake stands, use them.

On the menu are small bites of shrimp ceviche (pronounced say-vee-chay) served in glasses with tostaditos. A ceviche generally consists of raw fish marinated in lime or lemon juice. The citric acid “cooks” the fish, which is served in a luxurious concoction of sweet and piquant flavors. We are using cooked shrimp for this recipe, and the flavors of tomato, lime, and avocado, along with the crunchy cucumbers and jicama, are quite delicious. The ahi tuna is marinated for extra flavor, seared on the grill or under a broiler, and served on crostini (toasted slices of French baguette) with a small dollop of Lime-cilantro Mayonnaise. The Crab-Stuffed Mushrooms are prepared in advance and are served warm. The rest of the menu consists of crudités (fresh, cut-up veggies) served with an artichoke dip, a cheese tray with assorted cheeses and crackers, and a selection of mini-desserts.

Follow the checklist and before you know it, your guests will be arriving. Seven o’clock in the evening is a great start time. As the host, be sure to introduce guests who may not know one another. It can be awkward to be the new person at a gathering when everyone knows each other well. You can encourage conversation when making introductions by trying to offer something your guests have in common. For instance, you could say, “Mary, I would like you to meet John.” “John, Mary was born and raised in your birthplace, New York City.” Or offer a conversation starter with something interesting from your guest’s life, such as “Mary works as a nurse at Memorial Hospital” or “Mary has run the L.A. Marathon two times.” You get the picture. These attempts can encourage the start of a conversation for guests who are unfamiliar with each other.

Offer drinks and let your guests help themselves to the cold hor d’oeuvres on the table. In 20 to 30 minutes, heat one or two baking sheets of the crosstini and assemble some of the hot ahi hor d’oeuvres. Pass the tray to your guests and in another 15 minutes make a few more trays. Repeat with the Crab-Stuffed Mushrooms. This way, your warm hor d’oeuvres can be offered intermittently throughout the evening. Enjoy yourself and have fun with your guests!

AMERICAN QUEST by Sienna Skyy

American Quest
Sienna Skyy
Fantasy
The Story Plant
330 pages

American Quest is a rousing contemporary novel filled with unforgettable characters, passionate relationships, dazzling magic and epic drama. It is the premiere of a quartet of novels that will capture your imagination and your heart.

Two supernatural forces – the benign Auxilium and the malevolent Pravus – are attempting to affect the balance of life on Earth. The mission of the Auxilium is to aid humanity in its quest to make the most of itself. Its “angels,” a consortium of entities that work for a common purpose, offer various forms of assistance and protection, but cannot fight our battles for us.

The mission of the Pravus, however, is to destroy all that is good in humanity. Its “demons,” led by an oligarchy of supreme despots known as Macul, regularly interfere in the affairs of man, actively seeking to undermine humanity’s nobility and pursuit of enlightenment and evolution. For each of our noblest qualities, a Macul leads a team of lesser Pravus to destroy it.

For the most part, the opposing forces balance each other out. Occasionally, though, the stakes rise to a new level when a person imbued with extreme potential unites with another person of extreme potential. When a match of this sort occurs, humanity gains the opportunity to make major leaps – unless a Macul can subvert it. If the Macul succeeds, it will gain so much power that the entire world – humans, Auxilium, and all other Pravus alike – will become its plaything.

American Quest is the story of two lovers, Bruce and Gloria, whose intense passion for life and for each other has made them unwitting pawns in this cosmic battle. Enervata, the Macul who opposes romantic love, captures Gloria. To save her, Bruce must embark on a quest across America, armed with only the scantest of clues, to collect the Four Pillars of Humanity before he can battle the enormously powerful demon.

Several people join him on his quest, including his best friend, a rocker, a stand-up comedienne, a little old Italian lady, an old-beyond-her-years child, and a strangely visionary fortuneteller. The questers face challenges from Enervata’s minions at every turn and struggle mightily in their quest to uncover the Pillars…all the while unsure of Gloria’s fate.

At once a spirit-stirring fantasy, a moving love story, and an endearing tale of friendship and sacrifice, American Quest introduces a wonderful new storyteller to the public and presents us with a thrilling new vision of our world.

- 1 -
New York

Gloria pressed the cell phone to her ear and strode across the street, black boots mirrored in wet pavement. “I’m so ready to go home,” she said with a sigh. “I’m starving, but I only have time for a quick bite. I need to work tonight.”
The cool, misty air wreaked havoc on her curls, sending them aloft. The elastic band in her hair managed only to cinch her low ponytail into a bishop’s sleeve shape and errant curls haloed her olive face, tangling in her dark lashes. She brushed them aside.
“I have maybe an hour, two at most. Then back to ‘the Chang Enigma.’”
“Still an enigma, huh?” Bruce said through the earpiece.
“As much as ever. Benefactors can be such a drag sometimes.”
“They’d be insufferable if not for the massive sums they throw your way.”
“Or not, in Chang’s case. Anyway, I have to keep trying. If I can just refine the pitch a little tonight, things should normalize at the office.”
“Do what you have to do. You’ve put in a good sixty hours this week already. Maybe you only need a few more to crack this guy’s code.”
“That would be great.”
Gloria scanned the streets and saw a figure among the passersby that she thought was Bruce. The figure turned into a café and disappeared. She smiled, imagining Bruce’s easy posture and stride. No one walked like him, certainly not the guy she just saw.
“You close by?” she said.
“Pretty close.”
She arched her back and surveyed the shop windows with a swivel of her chin. The crowd replicated itself in the glass and in the shining slick pavement. Sunlight broke through the cloud cover and bounced from one sparkling surface to another, leaping across the street and back again in hide-and-seek fashion.
“If I can just get Mr. Chang to provide funding for this project, my schedule will ease up a little and we can have more nights to ourselves.”
“You’ll get him. Woven Hillside does great stuff. I was telling someone just yesterday about the schoolbook program and the shelters you’ve gotten funded.”
Gloria gazed at the display where an opulent tapestry hung; a peacock woven in green, blue and gold, with backdrop motifs in royal purple.
God, it’s gorgeous. Her fingers itched to stroke the delicate threads.
Then, for a moment, she caught the reflection of a pale woman’s face. Someone so beautiful it sharpened the senses. And with her a man, also very pale. In the distortion of glass, it almost looked as if they had wings and impossibly thin, bent legs. Pivoting to look over her shoulder, Gloria searched for them, but saw no sign of anyone in white.
She stared at the window again. This time her eyes fixed on a reflection from across the street, where she found Bruce standing there, phone to his ear, watching her.
She grinned, refusing to turn around. “This unbridled faith wouldn’t have anything to do with our being engaged, would it?”
“Maybe we’re engaged because I have unbridled faith in you.”
Gloria’s heart melted a little and she longed to touch his hair. Still, she resisted the urge to wheel around and make eye contact. Her shoulders eased downward and the arch in her spine went slack.
He continued. “After all, I met Gloria the tireless fundraiser before I ever got the chance to touch Gloria the—aw, damn. I’ve been made, haven’t I?”
She laughed. “In fact, you have.” She turned to face him directly, phone still pressed to her ear. “And how long have you been watching me while I fussed about waiting for you?”
She could see the breadth of his grin even from across the street. “Actually, I kinda got here before you did.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, really.”
She ended the call and slapped her boot against a puddle, waiting for him to jog across to her. He did so and gathered her up into his arms, brushing his lips along her brow. “Bessy-me, baby!”
She playfully evaded him, heading instead toward the subway as he followed at her elbow.
“Shame on you!” she said. “Making me wait with my stomach growling!”
“Is that what that racket was? I thought we were getting some kind of cell phone interference.”
She chuckled and threw him a playful slap. “How did you suddenly know that you’d ‘been made’? Did you see me looking at your reflection in the window?”
Bruce laughed boyishly. “Nah. I could tell you saw me by the way your body changed.” He slid his hand down the length of her back.
She shivered luxuriously. “Am I so transparent?”
“Afraid so, babe. That’s why I had to watch you for a while first. I never get to see you in your powerhouse mode.”
“What do you mean? You see me in business suits all the time.”
“Yeah, and you’re beautiful in them. But I’m not talking about what you wear; I’m talking about how you are. Your face is all serious and you stand like you’re ready to lead a marching band down the street.”
“Is that so? And how am I otherwise?”
Bruce grinned. “Well, once I come around, you get all kittenish.”
“What?”
Bruce gave a rueful shake of his head. “You can’t help yourself. You stop leading the marching band and instead you walk all sleek and catlike. And you get a kind of sleepy smile.”
She harrumphed, but could not banish the smile—probably a sleepy one—from her lips.
“No use fighting it, babe. It’s my natural pheromones. They’re awfully powerful. You’re pretty much helpless against ’em.”
Gloria snorted. “I see. Then explain this: since you observed this ever-so-dramatic change in me from across the street, how could I have been reacting to your, um, devastating pheromones? Wouldn’t I have to catch your scent in order for that to happen?”
“That might have been true a while back. But you’ve been with me long enough now that all you have to do is see me. Your response is downright Pavlovian.”
Gloria’s eyes widened. “Oh my. I had no idea I was making such a spectacle of myself.”
Swiftly, completely taking her by surprise, Bruce spun Gloria into an alley and kissed her deeply, pulling her tight into his warm chest. She felt the unmistakable flow she felt every time they touched like this. The first time it happened, she thought she might be coming down with something. Now she realized it was just the opposite.
“They want to do scientific research on me, you know,” he said huskily, their faces still touching.
“They?”
He stepped back to wave his hand dismissively. “Yeah, they. They want to get to the bottom of this irresistible beacon of attraction I send out.”
She nuzzled his neck. “Well you know what? They’re right. To hell with dinner. I need to have you now.”
At first, Gloria thought Bruce was actually going to take her up on this. After all, there was that time in Prospect Park. But in midtown Manhattan? Even in an alley, they were completely exposed.
Then he kissed her again and took her hand to lead her back onto the street. “We’d better just get dinner instead. I can’t concentrate with your stomach growling so loud.” He led her back to the sidewalk and down the subway stairs. “Yeah, all those hunger growls scared some poor couple dead white.”
Gloria gave a start and a different kind of tingle went up her spine. “The people in white? I think I saw them, too.” She remembered the harsh exoticism of the woman’s beauty and the way the scrambled reflection made it look like they’d had wings and bent, ostrichlike legs. “Did you see what they were wearing?”
“I didn’t get a good look.”
Bruce’s face suddenly tightened. Gloria turned to identify the cause for his discomfort, and as she did, he steered her away from a man ranting near the token booth. The guy had wild brown and gray hair and a denim shirt. He carried a sign that read, THINE LOVE IS MINE DEMISE.
As Gloria made unintended eye contact with the man, his voice thundered.
“Kneel down now!” he said. “Swear your allegiance! You put them in power to rule us all because of your selfish longings!”
Gloria felt pressure on her arm as Bruce quickened their pace. But the subway prophet leaped into their path, cornering them before they reached the turnstiles.
“You!” he said. “A bond-recherché! My God. And you’re not even listening. Didn’t you hear what I just said? Can’t you see he’s sent the yellow-eyed canteshrikes to watch you?”
Bruce raised his hand. “Easy, friend. We’re just trying to get on a train.”
The man stared at Bruce, heaving, and then let his eyes travel to Gloria. “Yes. Oh, yes, yes. Enjoy it my friends. My dear, delusional friends. Take it. Ha! Wallow in it.”
He nodded in derision. “Soon there will be hell at your feet.
“Hell for all of us.”
§
Enervata watched the lovers on the street below. He could taste it full in his mouth. The taste of opportunity.
His bronze claw released the curtain as he turned back to the three Pravus attending him, the two brothers and the mouthless one, Sileny. Their eyes were intent on the young couple beyond the window, but he could tell they were subtly watching him as well. They were taking his measure. Sampling his mood. But he had no desire to cultivate their fear at this moment; his mind was on the lovers, and only the lovers.
“The time has come,” he said, his voice deep like the grinding hull of a ship as it buckles upon the ocean floor. “We have a rare bond-recherché before us. I shall assume a human form and take the woman soon.” He cast his black gaze upon each Pravus in turn. “And this time there had better not be any mistakes.”
Sileny averted her gaze. The other two—the round brothers, Hedon and Glueg—ambled to the settee and preoccupied themselves with fatty chops and pint jars of honey wine, their plump fingers tracing glistening streaks on the glass.
But Sileny’s worried eyes spoke the things she could not say. Enervata had removed Sileny’s mouth long ago. He might have simply killed her when she dared speak against him, but he preferred to keep her alive and suffering for his entertainment. A single mole capped her left cheekbone, the only feature marking the lower half of her face, and from it protruded spikes of brown hair that matched those on the top of her head.
He could see that her mind calculated all the ways in which they might fail.
Enervata’s tail twitched with a readiness to lash her. “Have you something to say, Sileny?”
Sileny’s hands flashed in quick gestures, daring to cite the incident, nigh on two hundred years ago, when last a bond-recherché dangled its promise so close within Enervata’s reach.
So close.
Enervata raised a hand. “No more, Sileny. It is not so difficult. They are but a man and a woman, a twosome. Does this twosome know anything of magic? I think not.”
The brothers laughed, muttering, slurping their honey wine.
Again, Sileny’s hands moved swiftly, recalling those lovers of long ago, the courtier and the minstrel in Paris at the time of the revolution. They, too, had remarkable talents, and they, too, had found each other, forging a rare, passionate, blind love.
Enervata affected a yawn, his tongue lolling across his fangs, a growl erupting from the depths of his throat. At last, Sileny halted. She seemed to sense the danger.
“You speak for her, Glueg,” Enervata said as he turned his back to Sileny and sat upon his chair. “I grow weary of bearing witness to this woman’s insufferable twitching.”
Glueg’s eyes flew wide even as his teeth tore off a bit of chop. He smacked it down and stared, his lips forming an O deep within his red beard. Hedon, his brother, tapped his fingers on his pint jar.
“Right.” Glueg jammed a fist across his mouth to smear away the fat.
Enervata could see Sileny’s reflection in the glass panel doors of the Rococo cabinet. With hesitation, hands shaking, she began to sign again.
Glueg cleared his throat. “She’s talking about the last bond-recherché, master. How you managed to break through their bond. You’d turned the woman to your side good and proper.”
Hedon broke in, shaking a chop at Sileny. “Tell’m somefin he don’t know, you stupid ninny! Why must you always try our master’s patience?”
Enervata felt the blackness welling inside him, gathering up all the hatred and putrefaction that defined his Macul heart. The Parisian courtier of long ago had been willing to lay with him, indeed, setting him on the verge of the ultimate fulfillment of his mission. To destroy a bond-recherché, to break their love, was to generate enough dark power to enslave all living things of the Earth—mystic, man, and beast alike.
But in a trice, it fell apart.
Enervata’s claws clenched and unfolded. “If you’ve a point, Sileny, you’d best make it, but I warn you to take your measure!”
The room was still. Hedon and Glueg stared at the floor. Enervata could see Sileny’s reflection tremble where she stood behind him. And then her hands began to move again.
Hedon cast a glance her way and shook his head, muttering. “The canteshrikes are down below in the heart of it and we must sit and endure this stupid mouthless slattern!”
Glueg cleared his throat with uncertainty but continued to interpret Sileny’s sign language. “She says how it could very well go like it did last time.”
Enervata needed no reminder of that. A rival Macul, the one focused on the defilement of human capacity, got the minstrel to leave the courtier by offering success in the symphony. The love between the courtier and the minstrel disintegrated because of this.
Enervata seethed.
The trio of Pravus went very still. None dared speak.
Enervata’s words came slow and cutting. “Sileny seems anxious to remind us of this failure. By all means, Sileny, speak of how the bond was prematurely broken. How it rendered the courtier’s betrayal meaningless. And I was cheated of the power I might have gained in the despoliation of their love!”
Hedon waved a hand. “Why listen to this woman’s drivel, master? That’s all behind us now. After all this time, we’ve a new bond-recherché, and we’ll break them to pieces, we will.”
Sileny stepped forward, letting her hands fly.
But what’s to stop another Macul from getting to them first? Just like last—
Enervata snatched Sileny’s wrist, his claw cutting into her skin. She turned her face from him.
“Are you so devoted to the notion of failure, Sileny?” Enervata hissed.
Sileny pulled, but Enervata would not release her. A sound dislodged from her throat, a stifled mew. Finally, he cast her away and she stumbled onto Hedon’s lap. The brothers pinched her as she disentangled herself and stood, tapping nervously at her skull.
Enervata rose from his chair. “There will be no failure this time. And you have my promise: any hint of it shall mean your deaths. All of you.”
He parted the curtains again and watched the lovers on the street, enchanted with one another and oblivious to the canteshrikes who hovered about, cloaked in a different kind of enchantment. Passersby went about their business, lost in their own worlds. All of them ignorant, all of them destined to fall to their knees before him.
Soon.
Glueg cleared his throat, swirling his honey wine. “When are we to begin, then, master?”
Enervata kept his black gaze fixed beyond the window. Eventually, he said, “I shall meet her a few days hence.”

KILL 4 ME by Joel M. Andre

Kill 4 Me
Joel M. Andre
Horror
Lulu

Kill 4 Me, a technological thriller set in rural America. The story follows Casey Dwyer, a small town girl who becomes caught in a spirit’s unrelenting quest for vengance after she receives a cryptic and seemingly harmless text message. A supernatural thriller that explores how technology can be used to torture others through the lens of a horror novel.

Chapter 1

Casey Dwyer wiped the steam away from the chilled windshield of her old beat up ‘85 car. White paint was starting to peel and the tires were worn dangerously thin. The cold autumn night was thick with fog, and with the moon hidden behind clouds allowed no light to beam down on the road before her.

The only light to save her were two unreliable headlight beams, which flickered on occasion, and really needed to be changed. By the sound the brakes were making, they probably needed to be changed as well.

Her pale blue eyes remained intent on the road before her; she had quickly thrown on a pair of dirty blue jeans, a white sweat top, and threw her shoulder length red hair under a tattered ball cap that had lost its logo over the years.

Tonight’s trip was unplanned and more of an annoyance than anything else. Her sister Carol had been out with some guy that she had just met, and he took her for a ride into the woods for a little action. That however, was not on Carol’s mind. So she had called Casey and begged her sister to come get her after being left alone on a hilltop.

Of all the nights she had to be in the woods. Casey shook her head slightly. It was all a setting from some bad horror film, and she waited for some maniac to jump in front of her with a chainsaw, and her sisters severed head dripping blood dangling in his hand.

However, as she approached the end of the road and the trail, the moon snuck out from behind the clouds to give her a little break, and the vaporous fog appeared to be a little less thick. Slowly she heard twigs and leaves crunch beneath the tires of the car. She hopped that she didn’t end up stuck out here. While she loved camping, she also appreciated that warm down comforter on her bed.

Finally reaching the top of that trail, she turned slightly and saw her sister, standing there shivering in the cold autumn air. Her hair a mess from the moist air, her lace top appeared to be torn around the shoulder. The cream pants she wore having met their match with the dirt and brush of the area.

Casey could see the sense of relief in her sister’s face as she approached the car. It appeared her sister was limping slightly. She watched carefully as her sister entered her car, and sat down hard. Her sister turned to her, blew some hair from her own face, and whimpered a meek thank you of some sort.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Casey started. “A different man all the time is giving you a bad image. I knew something like this was going to happen. Thank God nothing more happened to you.”

“Thanks Mom,” her sister replied rolling her eyes. “It doesn’t matter what others think of me, it’s about what I think Casey.”

“Really?” Her sister snapped. “Is it okay that your escapades are driving mom through hell? I guess it doesn’t matter, as long as Carol is happy.”

“Whatever.”

A long silence built on tension lingered in the car. Finally, Casey spoke back up.

“Are you okay? I noticed you were limping.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t mean to be hard on you. You just worry me sometimes.” Casey offered,

“Wonderful.” her sister pulled down and started to fidget with her coal hair. “Is Mom awake?”

“She had already gone to bed when I left.” Casey looked at her sister again. This time she noticed a dark mark under her sister’s left green eye. “Carol-”

“Just stop it now. This doesn’t leave the car.” Her sister growled. “A little make up and its fine. We move on.”

“If this asshole does it to you one time, what happens next time? The next girl might not be as lucky as you.”

Her sister huddled close to herself in silence. Casey looked on with concern, half her attention on the deserted road. This was not something she was going to drop, she would let it lie for a moment, and give her sister a little space for the ride home. However, it certainly would not be a dirty little secret.

Igniting the Moral Courage of America by Dean Kilmer

Igniting the Moral Courage of America

By Dean Kilmer

Christian self-help/Inspirational Nonfiction

Moral Courage Publications

178 Pages

 

The moral landscape of America is eroding. The values of “The Greatest Generation” have been replaced by greed, selfishness, and a widespread disdain for the traditional moral values on which this great nation was founded.

Dean Kilmer, author of Igniting the Moral Courage of America, challenges individual Americans to take action to reverse the tidal wave of negative values that is destroying the greatness of America. It must begin with a personal commitment to integrity. “Integrity, however, cannot become the norm in our nation’s people until good people become courageous people.”

When individual Americans commit to becoming courageous people of integrity, they will intentionally spread that commitment to their families, schools, communities, and ultimately to our nation as a whole.

It is not too late to reverse the tidal wave of negative values that has been robbing America of its moral strength for half a century. It is not too late to restore this great country’s commitment to traditional moral values. That restoration will happen when America, one person at a time, steps forward with renewed moral courage to make it happen.

Will you accept the challenge?

 

EXAMINING AMERICA’S MORAL DECLINE

1

EXAMINING AMERICA’S

MORAL DECLINE

Igniting America’s moral courage sounds like an incredibly daunting task, doesn’t it? Before you slough it off as too big a job, read the next few pages! As we approach the mission of improving our nation’s moral standards, you may ask yourself, “How can I affect the future of the whole nation?” The answer, of course, is you can’t! However, if you will allow God to work in you, He not only will control your heart, but He will expand your influence in ways that you could never imagine.

 

It surprises people when I tell them that many of my heroes are elderly widows, some of whom have had a great impact on my life and the lives of other people. On a warm August day, I stopped to talk with ninety-two-year-old Durcie Turner as she mowed the lawn at her little house. It was always fun to stop by her house because she had the warmest toothless smile I’ve ever seen, and the vegetables from her garden were some of the best in town. This pleasant, cheerful, little lady, who had been fighting cancer for almost six years, never complained about her health problems. Her contagiously positive attitude had a great impact on my life.

 

Not long after her ninety-third birthday, the cancer got the best of Durcie, and she was forced into the hospital. Now if you can get the picture, this was an eighty-six-pound, ninety-threeyear-old  lady, who was in pain every minute of her life, lying alone in the hospital, waiting to die. She had every reason to be bitter and unhappy. However, she had such a wonderful attitude that I would wait until I was a little down to go see her because she always picked me up with her cheerful spirit. The first time I visited Durcie, I took my Bible and read from John 1. Her response was, “Dean, that’s my favorite passage of Scripture.” The second time I visited her, the passage was John 2. She responded, “That’s my favorite passage of Scripture.” The next visit was John 3, and of course Durcie exclaimed, “That’s my favorite passage of Scripture.” Durcie loved God’s Word. She loved life, and she loved people. The only thing Durcie didn’t like was nursing homes. She had heard some stories about nursing homes that scared her, so her goal was either to go home and finish harvesting her garden or to go home and be with the Lord in heaven. The only thing she didn’t want was to be placed in a nursing home.

 

Things got worse for Durcie as the doctors realized there was nothing they could do for her in the hospital and determined that she needed to go to a nursing home. She now weighed eighty-four pounds, couldn’t get out of bed, was in constant pain, and was in the one place in the world she didn’t want to be. I must admit that I hesitated before going to see her for the first time in that place. I remember the sterile appearance, the nursing home smell, and the big metal door; this just didn’t seem to be the right place for this sweet, little, elderly lady. After a little hesitation, I opened the door and walked in, and from the second bed I heard an excited voice saying, “Dean, come over here. I‘ve got something to tell you.” I walked to her bedside, looked at that wonderful toothless smile, and asked, “Durcie, what are you so excited about?” She pointed to the bed next to hers and remarked, “That’s Jo Ann, and that’s the reason God put me here!” What an incredible spirit! She went on to explain that Jo Ann had suffered a stroke that caused her to lose the use of her body, except for one arm and one leg. Durcie explained that sometimes Jo Ann would kick off her covers with that one leg and would then get cold. At other times, when she was hurting, she would raise her arm so Durcie would know that she was in pain. Although Durcie couldn’t get out of bed to help her, she could hit the call button to let the nurses know that

Jo Ann needed help. It was now her mission in life to care for Jo Ann. With that mission and a call button, she drove the nurses crazy!

 

Durcie had such an impact on people that at her funeral, Jo Ann’s family said they had never seen such a godly, Christian woman. Since her death, Durcie has continued to influence people for good, as other preachers and I have shared her story with thousands of people. Her purpose was to serve God, and God did something great with her life. She was just a sick, little widow, but what a great world this would be if all of us lived with the same love and purpose! Durcie had integrity born of the character she developed by serving God.

 

What about you? Do you know what purpose God has for your life? It is average people just like you and me, common people, ordinary people, that God can use to restore the upward movement in our country, if we are willing. Are you willing? Paul said, in Philippians 4:13, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” People like you and me make a force for good that becomes the answer to the problems our country faces. If we will live as people of integrity and honor, the downward trend in our nation will turn into a peaceful, upward movement.

Sam’s Quest: The Royal Trident by Ben Furman

Sam’s Quest: The Royal Trident

Ben Furman

YA Fantasy Adventure

BlackHawk press

240 pages

Guided by an unseen evil force, Pax hordes invade the World of Bergeron, destroying a thousand years of peace.

 

Samantha Costas, called Sam, a descendent of the Originators, the keeper of the Crimson Crystal, and the savior of the Awokian people, is the bridge to the World of Bergeron and its lands of good and evil.

 

Prince Buznor, an Awokian from Innerworld on a diplomatic mission, is seriously wounded during a surprise attack. He calls out to Sam as he falls into a raging river and is swept away. The Crimson Crystal glows, alerting Sam that her friend is in danger. She descends to the World of Bergeron where she comes face-to-face with the most powerful evil she has ever encountered. This evil must be defeated or all is lost.

Sam ran into a huge cavern that was filled with sunlight, and on the far side was the cave exit! She and Patch raced to it and stopped a few feet away. A thin, wispy waterfall fell past the outside opening.

“It’s like a wavy, moving window, Patch.” Sam carefully inched through the spray of the waterfall. She was getting soaked and her glasses were fogged from the mist. She quickly rubbed the lenses clear with the dry cuff of her jacket and peered over the shear ledge. “Wow. We’re really high up, boy, and I don’t see a way down.”

“You are three thousand, four hundred, twenty-two feet, and one-quarter inch above the Green Sea, to be exact.” The voice was deep and the words were spoken with perfect diction.

Sam whirled around at the sound of the unexpected voice. She spied something hidden in the shadows, sitting on top of a tall rock column. She brushed her long, wet hair off her face and peered into the dark, trying to figure out who or what had spoken.

A giant head with short legs? Or maybe no legs! It was the oddest-looking creature she’d ever seen. She could make out two large horns curling back, and scaly skin. Its large red eyes were set far back from the tip of its long, pointy nose.

The head stirred and moved upward. Sam’s mouth dropped open. Whoa! The head is attached to a neck as long as a giraffe’s. Heavy footsteps pounded and shook the cavern floor. The giant, bright red form moved into the light, and shuffled toward her.

It’s got four scaly legs with claws and wings like a bat’s! Sam stumbled backward until she was stopped by the cave wall. Her heart pounded as she watched the creature draw closer. Patch jumped into her arms and ducked his nose under the crook of her elbow.

A dragon. It’s a DRAGON!

Sam’s mind whirled trying to come up with some way to escape. They’d have to jump through the waterfall or run back into the caves.

“Who…are you?” Sam asked meekly.

“I am Telegu the Magnificent, the Exalted Ruler of the Black Dragons and the Gate Guardian to the World of Bergeron,” he declared with a very precise clip to his voice. “I am the most intelligent, most handsome, and most fierce of all that exist.” He fanned his wings, ruffled his iridescent red scales in a flash of dazzling color, and flared his nostrils. “Am I not stupendous?” he asked as he looked down his long nose with an air of superiority.

“Well…yes. Yes, you are.” Sam was scared, and she didn’t want to be rude, but she had never met anyone as full of himself as this Telegu creature. Then she realized that if he was really the guardian of the gates, she would have to get his permission to pass. He might be her only chance of finding her way home.

RUE DE LA POMPE by James Earle McCracken

Rue de la Pompe: A Satiric Urban Fantasy
James Earle McCracken
Satire/Humor
iUniverse
244 pages

Celebrating his thirtieth birthday alone in Paris, American businessman Michael Whyte realizes that it’s entirely possible to live an unglamorous life in the most glamorous city in the world. But an unexpected gift of formal wear followed by a party invitation from his eccentric neighbors lands him in a curious search for the first French franc—a coin said to be incredibly valuable and wickedly dangerous.

Guided by a deaf-mute and mentored by an epistemologist, Michael careens across the city in his quest for the coin. From the Chateau de Vincennes and the Musée d’Orsay to the sewers of Paris and the base of the Eiffel Tower, he braves the city for an answer to the perplexing question of the franc’s true nature.

Assisting, thwarting, or simply confusing him along the way is a bizarre collection of lunatic personalities, including a Castilian hit man, a Zen Buddhist Swiss jeweler, a flatulent statue of Benjamin Franklin, a foul-mouthed rhinoceros, the Concierge from Hell, and an enigmatic beauty named Chione.

Unforgettable characters and vivacious details make James Earle McCracken’s debut novel sizzle with expectation. Both hilarious and introspective, Rue de la Pompe is a fast-paced ride through the City of Lights with a hapless American who is caught in an exhilarating journey of discovery.

“Maybe I don’t like Paris after all,” Mikey said.

Michael was unsure why the confession felt like an admission of defeat. Four months after his arrival, he remained ambivalent toward living and working in Paris. On the good days, the city struck Michael as a beautiful woman that wasn’t his type; the rest of the time, Paris was a bad summer camp with weird counselors and lousy toilets. He had come to the City of Lights looking for magic, but instead had discovered that living an unglamorous life in a glamorous location was entirely possible.

“Oh, boo hoo,” said Smart Ass, another of Michael’s streams of consciousness. “If I’m done wetting my pants over bumping into the little girl, could I find a freaking beer?”