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Author of speculative fiction

Author of speculative fiction

Tag Archives: New Releases

WE DID IT!! And another chance at swag :)

16 Tuesday Mar 2021

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Blog, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Book Swag, Fantasy, New Releases, Portal Fantasy, Self Published Book

The literary campaign I launched TWO DAYS AGO for the in-class library project of an eighth grade middle school in Michigan has been fully funded!!

I’M ABSOLUTELY ECSTATIC *happy dances*

Thank you to everyone who boosted and contributed, I’m so happy about this ♥♥♥ The screenshots sent my to google form show most people donated more than $5 – honestly, book folks are amazing.

Another Chance at the Swag Pack

The quick success of the campaign also means that I have some leftover swag packs. I’m giving them away to anyone who either:

  • Orders a copy of “In the Jaded Grove”: amzn.to/3s65JWI – OR – Suggests it as a purchase to their library
  • Then fill out the updated Google Form
  • And that’s it 🙂

This is still open internationally!

I’ll be giving these away until I either run out or until the end of April, whichever comes first.

Thank you again, kind friends! I’m so thrilled we did this together!

Reminder: The Swag Pack includes:

  • A 5×7 “In the Jaded Grove” Art Print (Exclusive design by Dreamy&Co)
  • 2 Bookish Stickers
  • 1 Double-Sided Bookmark
  • 1 Signed Author Bookplate

And the book!

Simith of Drifthorn is tired of war. After years of conflict between the Thistle court and the troll kingdom, even a pixie knight known for his bloodlust longs for peace. Hoping to secure a ceasefire, Simith arranges a meeting with the troll king—and is ambushed instead. Escape lies in the Jaded Grove, but the trees of the ancient Fae woodland aren’t what they seem, and in place of sanctuary, Simith tumbles through a doorway to another world.

Cutting through her neighbor’s sunflower farm in Skylark, Michigan, Jessa runs into a battle between creatures straight out of a fantasy novel. Only the blood is very real. When a lone fighter falls to his attackers, Jessa intervenes. She’s known too much death to stand idly by, but an act of kindness leads to consequences even a poet like her couldn’t imagine.

With their fates bound by magic, Simith and Jessa must keep the strife of his world from spilling into hers—except the war isn’t what it appears and neither are their enemies. Countless lives depend on whether they can face the truths of their pasts and untangle the web of lies around them. But grief casts long shadows, and even their deepening bond may not be enough to save them from its reach.

Note: All stories in the Kindred Realms series are written as standalone books and can be read in any order.

Grab your copy on Amazon & add it on Goodreads

New Book Release & Exclusive Goodies!

14 Sunday Mar 2021

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Blog, Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Book Swag, Fantasy, Fantasy Art, Fantasy Romance, New Releases, Portal Fantasy

*******UPDATE! Interested in the preorder giveaway for IN THE JADED GROVE? Details HERE Open Internationally!********

Early 2020, I was a part of an anthology which featured a standalone portal fantasy novel I wrote. I got the rights back for it in December (yay!). The organizers had a word count maximum I had to abide by at the time, which limited some of my worldbuilding. I’m happy to report, now that it’s back in my hands, I’ve expanded the book, gave it another round of revisions, a new title, and a gorgeous new cover!

Cover illustration by the amazing Jenny Zemanek!

The book is available for preorder right now!

Release April 15th!

You can grab your copy here on Amazon


About the book:

Simith of Drifthorn is tired of war. After years of conflict between the Thistle court and the troll kingdom, even a pixie knight known for his bloodlust longs for peace. Hoping to secure a ceasefire, Simith arranges a meeting with the troll king—and is ambushed instead. Escape lies in the Jaded Grove, but the trees of the ancient Fae woodland aren’t what they seem, and in place of sanctuary, Simith tumbles through a doorway to another world.

Cutting through her neighbor’s sunflower farm in Skylark, Michigan, Jessa runs into a battle between creatures straight out of a fantasy novel. Only the blood is very real. When a lone fighter falls to his attackers, Jessa intervenes. She’s known too much death to stand idly by, but an act of kindness leads to consequences even a poet like her couldn’t imagine.

With their fates bound by magic, Simith and Jessa must keep the strife of his world from spilling into hers—except the war isn’t what it appears and neither are their enemies. Countless lives depend on whether they can face the truths of their pasts and untangle the web of lies around them. But grief casts long shadows, and even their deepening bond may not be enough to save them from its reach.

Note: All stories in the Kindred Realms series are written as standalone books and can be read in any order.

Amazon & Goodreads

A Classroom Library Campaign

*******UPDATE! The project has been fully funded (woo hoooo!) but you still have a chance to get one of the swag packs. Details HERE********

In celebration of the release, I’ve set up exclusive gifts for you! But I’m doing something different this time because the world has been awful, so let’s accomplish some good together ♥

This is open internationally!

First, the goodies:

  • A 5×7 “In the Jaded Grove” Art Print (Exclusive design by Dreamy&Co)
  • 2 Bookish Stickers
  • 1 Double-Sided Bookmark
  • 1 Signed Author Bookplate

How can you get a swag pack?

You are not required to buy the book

(though obviously that’s allowed lol)

I’m asking you to help me fund the 8th grade classroom library for a Michigan public school teacher.

You all know how important reading is. This English teacher uses her classroom to inspire the kids to read for fun and has set up a campaign via Donors Choose (a secure site and not-for-profit corp) to buy new books for the in-class library.

What to do:

  • Donate $5.00 (five dollars) to this project via Donors Choose HERE
  • Fill out THIS GOOGLE FORM
  • And that’s it! Easy peasy!
Mrs. Medendorp’s 8th Grade Classroom

From the Donors Choose website:
“Homework That Will Change Your Life – Reading for Fun!

“Help me give my students high-interest books to motivate them to do their only homework, reading a chosen novel!

“My Project

From the first day of school, my students know that their only homework in my class is to read a chosen novel for at least twenty minutes each night. With pandemic stress, family obligations, social lives, and homework in their other courses, students honestly have a hard time setting aside reading time; therefore, it is imperative that I create that time for them.”

Read more at Donors Choose: https://bit.ly/3aGBka5

She only needs $346 to fund her project.

Together, I know we can do this!

If you’re in a place to contribute, I hope you will. It’s been a dark year, especially for kids. Let’s add a little light where we can – and reward yourself with some bookish goodies at the same time!

Hidden Magic Is Out!!

12 Thursday Mar 2020

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Blog, Messages

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Anthology, Fantasy, New Releases, Urban Fantasy

3dscattered-books

I’m super excited to announce that my newest fantasy story, along with the works of 19 other amazing authors, is now available on Amazon for 99¢ & Kindle Unlimited!

Hidden Magic released on March 10th and is already #1 in one of its Amazon categories and hit #1 in Hot New Releases.

** Read Chapter One from my novella below **

What makes this anthology special?

This is the start of a trilogy of fantasy anthologies unlike anything you’ve seen before. The project required each author to write 3 interconnected novellas, like installments in a TV show, that make a complete story by the end – That’s 20 complete stories!

These are set to rapid release (March, April, May), so you won’t have to wait long for the next installments.

As promised, below is all of Chapter One from my novella: A Veil Is Parted – available exclusively in Hidden Magic

HM

The synopsis:

Simith of Drifthorn is tired of war. After years of battle between the Thistle court and the troll kingdom, even a pixie knight known for his bloodlust longs for peace. Meeting with the troll king in secret is the only hope for a ceasefire. When the trolls ambush him instead, Simith flees through a doorway hidden by magic into another world. Wounded, he’ll need to defeat his pursuers and get home before anyone realizes he’s gone. If his commanders find out what he’s been up to, the trolls will be the least of his worries.

In Skylark, Michigan, Jessa leaves a party after some devastating news. Cutting through her neighbor’s sunflower farm, she runs into a fight between creatures straight out of a fantasy novel – only the blood is very real. When one of them falls to his attackers, Jessa decides to intervene. She’s known too much death to stand idly by, but what does a poet like her know about fighting? As their weapons turn against her, Jessa realizes how much she stands to lose, even for someone who’s already lost everything.

***

CHAPTER ONE

The arrow took Simith in the back.

It punched through his left wing and lodged itself below his shoulder blade. Flitting between the trees on his way to the meeting place, he almost lost his hold on the next branch as pain exploded across his body. He scrambled for cover amid the foliage, swallowing his pained gasps, but leaves were sparse at this spot in the Jaded Grove. He didn’t find it in time.

The second arrow drove through his right wing, ripping the aft membrane, but he was fortunate. The arrowhead only split the leathers by his ribs. He found a nest of twisted branches and crouched behind them, trying to quiet his ragged breath—trying to think. He’d made certain he wasn’t followed when he left camp. No one saw him depart and he hadn’t dared tell anyone his plans, not his fellow knights and certainly not the Helms. Who was attacking him?

The arrowhead burned in his back. With sinking dread, he noted the numbness in his left arm. Iron. It was made of iron, which meant his magic was inhibited and he couldn’t heal the wound. Simith pressed his brow to the black bark. Only one creature could wield iron without poisoning themselves. He clunked his head against the wood, cursing himself. Of course, the trolls would ambush him. They had no reason to believe his appeal for a truce was in earnest, not from a knight who’d butchered more of their kind than any other. What better way to kill him off than when he was alone, on a mission no one knew about?

Hollow disappointment blended with his fury. He wasn’t sure whether it came by their blatant betrayal, or that he’d failed to make Rim’s dream come true. What did it matter? He’d been a fool. He was a fighter, not a peacemaker, and the dead buried their dreams in the ground along with their broken flesh.

Maybe soon, he’d be buried along with them.

Simith’s keen ears picked up on the whisper of footfalls over the mossy earth below. He could no longer fly and he couldn’t outrun them. He had his knives though, and his crystal blade. If he could wield it. He folded his limbs closer, shielding as much of his body as possible behind the wood. The muted green of his leathers should’ve camouflaged him, though night had fallen hours ago. The shadows were more friend to trolls than pixies. Their arrows couldn’t pierce these enchanted trees at least. Simith might have been a fool to trust them, but he hadn’t chosen the Jaded Grove as the meeting place by happenstance.

“Little Moth,” a gravelly voice called from below. “Your flight is done.”

“You’re not that precise with your bow,” he called back. “A sprite has better aim than your kind.”

“The scent of your blood is as sweet as sugar, pixie,” came another’s eager chortle. “Come down and tarry with us a while.”

“Join me up here and I’ll tarry all you want.”

Silence followed. Only stone welcomed the touch of a troll. No tree would abide them. He’d witnessed it before, the way the bark groaned in warning and the branches trembled with outrage before the wood shook them off like a tick. The roots would draw themselves from the soil to squeeze throats and ribcages. The Fae of the former Seelie and Unseelie courts had made sentinels of the forests that ringed their respective domains. Even a century after the destruction of their race, the Fae’s powerful influence lingered in the green world.

It might’ve been the certainty of this power that slowed Simith’s reaction to the snapping of twigs and the scrape of boots against the tree trunk. They couldn’t be climbing up, he assured himself. He’d have felt the rising ire through the bark. A trick, then, to lure him from cover.

Simith risked a glance. Eyes glowed up from the lower branches, yellow witchlights in the gloom moving steadily closer. He gaped down at them in astonishment.

“Impossible,” he whispered.

The brush of air whizzed by his face before he felt the skin split high on his cheekbone. Simith reacted on instinct, hurling a silver blade at the encroaching eye shine. One winked out. A scream rent the quiet grove and a body crashed to the ground. He counted four more pairs of eyes, their stout forms a shadowed outline in the darkness. None of them watched their comrade’s demise, gazes fixed upward on him. They continued to climb.

Simith did the same. Magic, he decided, gritting his teeth as he clambered toward higher branches, the iron arrowhead scraping against his shoulder blade. They must have procured a conduit through which to funnel their magic in a way that the trees didn’t recognize them as trolls. He didn’t know that was possible. Every conduit had a particular signature that marked its user. Sprites typically used a crown of roan berries, the hobgoblins steel piercings they wore on their skin, the boggarts the bones of their first kill. A conduit could not simply be swapped for another. They became as near and familiar as a limb.

Could they be using power without a conduit? Simith dismissed the notion out of hand. To draw raw magic into oneself was as lethal as swallowing flames. Only the immortal Fae had been capable of wielding it, their very blood fabled to be made of the same elements. Even the fairies, their cousin race, had to use conduits.

Yet, he couldn’t refute the quick sounds of pursuit behind him. None of this made sense. For now, it didn’t have to. For now, he simply had to escape, get back to the Thistle Court and confess to his commanders his foolhardy attempt to forge an accord with the trolls—and hope the fairies wouldn’t see it as treason.

Escape first, he ordered himself, noting with some worry that his mind was growing unorganized. It had to be the iron still lodged in his body. He didn’t have time to stop and remove the arrows. He wasn’t moving fast enough either; they were closing in on him. If he could leap to another tree, it might impede their chase. They’d managed to climb this one, but the ground-loving trolls weren’t as experienced moving between tree tops as he.

Simith found his chance in a tangle of branches that led away from the trunk he climbed. He followed them, barely as wide as his calf, but sturdy enough to bear his weight. With any luck, it would snap under the much heavier trolls should they dare to follow.

Working his way across in a crouch, he was halfway to the neighboring tree when a third arrow struck him. It plunged through his sword arm, just above the elbow. Simith couldn’t silence the hoarse cry. His foot slipped, slamming him chest-first into the solid wood. He threw another knife, a mere guess at the direction the arrow had come, barely clinging on with his legs. He heard a troll curse, but knew he’d hit nothing vital. The distraction bought him enough time to struggle the rest of the distance and put the trunk between them.

“Where is your famed battle lust now, Sun Fury?” one of them mocked. “We thought there’d be a better fight than this.”

Hazy with pain, Simith hadn’t the breath to pretend at bravado, his hands shaking, his skin soaked in blood.

The branches he’d used to cross trembled with the weight of another crossing. His heart sank. How were they doing this?

Simith dragged himself up and climbed anew. Slower than before. They must’ve heard his graceless movements. Triumphant snickers filled the night air.

“Why do this?” he called down, grasping at the frail hope of parlay. “My intention to discuss peace was in earnest.”

“Safer to trust a boggart with a newborn babe than to allow you near our king.”

He gritted his teeth. “Your army is on the brink of collapse. The fairies will send their legions to rout what’s left of it and march toward your homes.”

No reply.

“You’re making a mistake,” he shouted.

“It’s too late for peace.”

He said no more, cold despair settling on his feverish skin. Rim’s last words to him sounded in his head.

Don’t let the blade wield you, Sim. It’s your hand on the hilt. Your choice. Your will.

But she was wrong. Violence had wrung all choice from him. Even under a banner of peace, his enemies saw him as only a weapon.

Those same enemies crossed from the first tree to this one more expertly than he would’ve expected of a troll. The branches somehow held their substantial weight. Simith drew a steadying breath and prepared himself. Though he likely deserved it, he refused to be felled like an injured bird. He gripped his crystal blade, not yet drawing it. His magic would light the darkness like a blinding ray of dawn. They might know his position and scent his blood on the air, but he doubted they expected him to turn and fight, not after he’d already fled so far.

A tremor beneath his feet pulled his attention to the branch on which he knelt. He frowned at it, wondering if he’d imagined the wood had stirred. He bit back a sound of surprise when the bark under his palm did the same. It rippled, a vibration that travelled up his fingers and down the bones of his hand. As if it beckoned him. He put his cheek to its rough skin, and listened.

Climb, it murmured into his ear. Up. Now.

Simith released his sword, summoned what strength he had, and obeyed. The Fae had taught their trees to speak, though they rarely did. Until this moment which he’d thought his last, he’d never experienced it before. And he didn’t believe in serendipity. With clumsy arms and shaking legs, he pulled himself slowly and unsteadily upward, knowing all the while that he likely climbed toward a dead end. Toward death. The sentinels of the Jaded Grove were known to be tall enough their branches could block the midday sun in some areas, but once he arrived at the top, it was over.

Still, he continued without hesitation, the tree murmuring at him all the while; Higher. Higher. Go. Sounds of pursuit came from below, though blessedly, no more arrows. The branches grew dense here, weaving between each other in the complicated patterns of the green world. Perhaps they didn’t think they could aim for him clearly. Perhaps they needed to concentrate on their hand and footholds this high up. Or—the more likely reason—they saw no need to put in the extra effort when eventually they’d catch up to—

His head collided with something solid. Startled, he jerked down a pace, staring upward in confusion. He could see nothing. That, in itself seemed odd. No sky, no stars. Not even the shadowy outline of branches leading on. He lifted a hand, wincing with the movement, and his fingers brushed against a wide, smooth surface. Pressing the whole of his palm against it, he swept outward, trying to locate the edge. Could it be a knotty shelf grown out of the tree?

It didn’t feel like wood. It was soft, and gave when he pressed in, bits of it breaking off to scatter over his face in a gritty rainfall. Dirt? He rubbed it between his fingers. The texture held that of soil. How could that be?

Up, up, up, the tree chanted again.

Branches creaked somewhere farther down. His pursuers approached. Simith skimmed his hands across the silty surface, but he found nothing. No edge. No hole. Nothing to get him past this barrier.

Higher. Climb. Climb!

Not knowing what else to do, Simith burrowed his fingers into the cool surface and gouged out a palm-full of…yes, it was dirt. He tossed it away, delving back in again and again as a hole formed above him. His arm and shoulder became a thundering agony greying his vision, but he could’ve sworn light came through the thinning layers. If he could just get to the top of them—

His hands broke through. An avalanche of dirt fell with it and he turned his head to the side just before he caught a face full of it. Irritated grunts came from below. The trolls had come close enough to be hit by some of that. Hopefully, it gave them pause while Simith frantically dug along the sides to widen the hole enough for his lithe frame. A dim glow filtered its way to him, a breeze whispering past the opening with unfamiliar scents. It didn’t matter where this led. The priority was escape and this was the only one.

He reached for it. His hands found purchase on either side. With fresh blood pulsing from his wounds, he hoisted himself through.

And found himself on the ground.

He gawked at the grass under him, at the solid weight of the green floor. His thoughts couldn’t cobble any sort of logic together to explain it. Simith got his knees under him, trying to gain his bearings. Above him, he glimpsed the stars, a sliver of moon suspended in the sky like a ready scythe. He was no longer in the forest. What magic brought him here? Had he, in his desperation, unwittingly used his own? He touched his chest, his conduit hidden beneath the leathers he wore, but felt no tell-tale heat. If magic had done this, it hadn’t come from him.

He looked behind him and stared at the hole in the ground. A hole he’d carved with his own hands at the top of a tree in the Jaded Grove, a hole that led to…Where? Even the air smelled different.

He glanced around him, but what he saw only disoriented him further. Rows and rows of sunflowers, planted in organized lines like crops. A warm breeze moved between them, shifting them so their round heads waved in greeting. In the distance he heard something. Music. Drums, but unlike any he’d known before. A battle nearby? In a field of sunflowers?

“Where am I?” Simith whispered, just as a hand grabbed his leg.

***

What other stories will you find in the anthology?

HM_3D

No matter the world, life can be dangerous. Be they wizards and shamans, assassins, or everyday people, Hidden Magic tells their stories about escape, consequences, and most of all, magic. From Earth cities and fantastical new worlds comes a collection of stories where heroes grapple with the seen and unseen in order to save themselves, their families, and often the world. This collection features:

  • Elderly antiques experts interacting with souls
  • Shamans growing outlawed magic
  • Baby chimeras battling for their lives
  • Children sprouting fluffy tails
  • A king’s boat thrown off-course
  • A perfect life coming at a not-so-perfect cost
  • Vikings defending a village against the unseen
  • A lone shifter atoning for his past mistakes
  • Trolls and pixies tumbling through the doorway to another world
  • And more!

The book will only be 99¢ on Amazon for a little while longer, so grab your copy quick!! – Or download via Kindle Unlimited!

Night Latch – Chapter One

01 Tuesday Oct 2019

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Blog, Messages

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Giveaway, Indie Author, New Adult, New Releases, Urban Fantasy

It’s launch day for NIGHT LATCH, a new adult urban fantasy full of dangerous quests, supernatural dangers, and loads of good-natured snark. I had loads of fun writing this one and can’t wait to share it with you!

REMINDER: There’s a giveaway contest running through Oct. 8th for those who order the book. More info on that after the excerpt – otherwise go HERE.

Sam Alvarez doesn’t just open locks. He’s the key.

Living in Bellemer, Iowa, Sam leads a typical small-town life. When he’s not looking after his Nana or dealing with his mother’s expectations, he runs a one-man locksmith company. Unlike regular locksmiths, he can open anything with a touch and a wish, but Sam keeps that secret to himself. No reason to alarm the neighbors, after all. And if he sometimes feels an indefinable pull to do more with his life, well, that’s probably just indigestion.

Then one day, an unsettlingly beautiful out-of-towner asks for Sam’s help to open a door. Only one problem: The job’s in a graveyard. And the client? Turns out she’s Death.

Maybe that’s two problems.

When Sam unlocks more than he intended and demons come out to play, he discovers he’s far more than a locksmith with a hidden quirk. Now, he needs to figure out who he is and what he’s been called to do before darker forces close the door on him for good.

***

CHAPTER ONE:

IT WOULD happen any minute now.

The clock on my phone wouldn’t rewind or fast forward no matter how much I stared at it. I would just have to endure what came next.

The walls of Clover Mall echoed with its standard orchestra of early evening shoppers and the intermittent screech of hungry toddler. Almost five-o’clock on a Friday afternoon and time, once again, to steel myself for the inevitable encounter. There was always a chance I’d get lucky this go around. Maybe a massive sink hole would suddenly swallow the town of Bellemer, Iowa and spare me from this weekly ritual. Was it selfish to wish myself and 2,500 innocent bystanders out of existence to avoid an awkward situation?

I shook my head at myself, slouching a bit on the stool propping me up behind the counters of the kiosk. My contract with Clover Mall stipulated someone had to man the center lane space I rented for at least ten hours during the business week. A chronic procrastinator, I wound up doing all of them on the last possible day. Which Mr. Upland knew. Ah, the land mines of owning a small business no one tells you about.

And there he was now. Right on schedule and headed this way. The man had punctuality even German transit operators would admire. He waved cheerfully to shoppers and store owners, exchanging pleasantries with a few. A man in his late-fifties, he became the town celebrity when he won the national lottery jackpot five years ago. Two hundred million. He spent some time in New York but came back home and poured money into Bellemer’s failing economy. He fixed up the schools, the roads, built a museum, a new movie theater with awesome stadium seating, and yes, constructed this fabulous strip mall just off the main highway. He was a great guy. We all loved him.

And he wanted me to date his daughter.

I slouched a bit more and tried to appear engrossed in the ninety-nine-cent comic book I’d rummaged out of the bins at the dollar store. There was no escaping this though.

“Sam, my boy!” Mr. Upland boomed as he leaned his forearms against the counter and gave me an earnest smile. “Big plans for the weekend?”

I lowered the comic and smiled back. “Not really. Work, the usual. What about you?”

Mr. Upland shook his head in exasperation. “You work too much, kid. Business going okay? I could make some inquiries for you with a few companies.”

With a town our size, hardly anyone locked their doors even at night, but there were only three certified locksmiths in operation within thirty miles. Supply and demand, baby. Sam Alvarez, Locksmith Co., LLC was doing fine. Or fine enough for my ambitions.

Better to not say that out loud. He’d only insist on helping me then—which was kind, but wrong knowing the motivation. Not to mention, I didn’t like drawing too much attention to myself. Most locksmiths needed their tools to open locks. Unlike me.

“I appreciate that, sir, but I prefer to make my own way.”

“You’re a stand-up guy, Sam. Hard worker.” His gaze took on a proud twinkle and I tried to avoid direct eye contact. Here it came. “Why don’t you come have dinner with Anna and me at the house tomorrow night? Heidi’s home from college.”

Heidi was a great girl. We went to high school together. She was fun, kind, and had a pair of brown eyes that warmed your soul like hot cocoa in December. She was also a lot smarter than me and her vision for the future after Cornell University didn’t include living out her life in Bellemer, no matter how many improvements her dad made to it. I had no plans to go anywhere. Mr. Upland’s strategy to dangle me as a love interest who’d convince her to move back home for good—probably within a few miles of her parents—wasn’t going to work out.

But she was their only daughter and try as I might each week, I just couldn’t bring myself to fully crush the man’s dream.

“Maybe next week, Mr. Upland. I’m pretty busy this weekend.”

Disappointment dimmed the smile in his eyes. He tapped the counter top and shrugged good naturedly. “All right then. Have a good weekend, Sam. Don’t overwork yourself, hear?”

“You too, sir.”

He turned away, which would’ve been a great moment to shove my face back into the comic book and keep my mouth shut. He moved off, a slight slump to his shoulders.

And it got to me.

“Tell Heidi I said hello, will you?”

He looked back, the twinkle returning. “Absolutely, Sam. Hey, you know she has the Skype on her laptop. Maybe you two could catch up on there.”

“Uh, definitely. Next time I’m online, I’ll send her a message.”

“Good man.” He shot a pair of finger-pistols at me and sauntered off with a lighter step.

I was almost never online. Heidi knew that and would get the message. Besides, from what I’d heard, she was dating a guy on the university football team, a Rhodes scholar and a native New Yorker.

Me? Well, I was hardly the stuff of romance novels. Thanks to my free weights and my evening runs I hadn’t gone into complete Cheeto decline in the three years since graduation. The combined heritage of my parents had given me the height of a Scandinavian with the dark hair and burnished skin of a Colombian mestizo. But girls were looking for someone with ambition, someone who wanted to get out of this town and make something of themselves. One look and it was obvious that wasn’t me.

I lacked inspiration and they all knew it.

Staring blankly at my comic book and mulling over this cheerful thought, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I glanced up to find a young woman standing at the counter. Watching me.

I didn’t hear or see her walk up. She’d simply materialized.

“Sorry, I hadn’t, uh—” I bent down to pick up my fallen book and convince my fists to unclench. Jeez, it was just a customer. Pull it together. I stood and made another try for professionalism. “How can I…?”

Of course, professionalism became more difficult when I focused enough to look at her. Long hair fell in a sheet of black silk down her shoulders with eyes like blue ice set into pale gold skin. She was not from Bellemer. I’d have remembered her. She was beautiful and unsettling at the same time, like watching the skies go dark as a storm rolled in from the east.

I cleared my throat. “How can I help you?”

“You open doors.”

As was my custom around stunning women, my fumbled response was peppered with undeserving bravado.

“Mm-hmm, that’s me. Sam the door opening man.” Dear God, no wonder I hadn’t been on a date in months.

She did not react with the typical pity laugh to which I’d grown unwillingly accustomed. In fact, she didn’t react at all. She did not blink, lean, tap, or shuffle her feet. She didn’t even lay her hands on the counter the way everyone did.

She was just…still.

“I need you to open a door,” she said finally.

“Definitely. Sure. I can do that. I’m available.” Ugh, no. Somebody hit me.

“Not now. Tonight.”

“Okay.” No, it wasn’t. I didn’t do calls at night. “What time?”

“When the moon is high.”

“So, what is that, like, eight o’clock?”

She gave a nod. “That is acceptable. You will find me again at Sunny Oak Hills.”

I turned to my pad and pencil at the register behind me to jot down the information.

“Sunny Oak. That sounds familiar but I don’t think I know it. I’ll need your name and the address.”

But when I turned back, she was gone.

***

Available on Amazon & Kindle Unlimited

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Beneath Cruel Fathoms – Chapter One

17 Friday May 2019

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Blog, Messages

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Fantasy, Indie Author, New Releases, Self Published Book

Today is RELEASE DAY for Beneath Cruel Fathoms!!

This was one of the harder books I’ve written. It took longer than expected to finish, required loads of research, and dealt with a topic that is very personal to me. Beginning to end, it threw a lot of surprises into my path and had me scratching my head going, “Well. That was unexpected.” I had an outline, people. I swear.

And today, I sent it out into the world. Phew, where’s that glass of wine? 😉

BeneathCruelFathoms_LoRes

After a violent storm destroys her ship, Isaura Johansdottir knows better than to hope she’ll be rescued from Eisland’s vast Failock Sea. Adrift and alone, her plans to start over lost, it’s a tragic conclusion after the disastrous end of her marriage—until she’s saved by Leonel, one of the merfolk, a creature long believed extinct. In repayment for her life, Leonel enlists her help to investigate the Failock’s mysterious and deadly plague of squalls. When Isaura discovers Eisland’s ruthless new Lord commands the storms, her life will be in more danger on land than it ever was at sea.

As guardian of the Fathoms, Leonel must find the cause of unnatural storms ravaging the tidal currents and destroying the sea life. There are rumors of dark magic stirring in the Orom Abyss, the resting place of old, vanquished gods who tried to submerge the land millennia ago. Yet without proof, no one in King Ægir’s court will listen to him. And if it’s discovered he broke the Blue Laws to save a shipwrecked landweller, he might not survive the consequences.

As storms spread, Leonel and Isaura uncover secrets as forbidden as the bond that grows between them. Betrayal lurks in the restless sea, and when ancient powers lay siege to Eisland’s coast, the truth may be drowned along with everything else.

***

CHAPTER ONE:

The Failock Sea spoke gently.

From within her quarters aboard the Visundr, Isaura listened to the steady ritual of nighttime waves brushing against the hull and the relative quiet of the ship. Most of the men would be in their bunks by now, leaving the night crew to man the cargo freighter until dawn. If she wanted to go out there, this was the moment.

As had been her routine each evening, Isaura cracked open her cabin door to listen. The sea breeze streamed in like a visitor she’d been ignoring, ruffling the strands of blonde hair that had escaped the hood of her cloak. Hearing nothing more than the murmur of sailors and the creak of ropes, Isaura stole out from her cabin for the breath of fresh air she’d been longing for all day. This was the only time she could be sure Captain Wendelsson had retired to his bunk and would be unavailable to herd her back inside like some vulnerable lamb wandering away from the flock.

When she’d negotiated her passage aboard his ship, she had agreed to obey his rules while on board. She just hadn’t expected one of them to be so outrageous. Her ability to accede to his edict that a single and unchaperoned woman should not traipse about the deck had expired within a day of this two-week journey from Dinark to Eisland. Isaura made other arrangements to secure her freedom of movement—even an unaccompanied woman was entitled to air, wasn’t she?—and sailors taking the night shift were more than happy to exchange their silence for the services of a healer. She had only just finished her apprenticeship, but natural talent and five years learning from renowned healer Hekla Larsdottir inspired their confidence where her twenty-five years might not.

The wheelman, Gunnar, sighted her as she stepped onto the deck. He shot a quick look toward the entrance to the crew cabins and then beckoned her over with a toothy smile.

“I’d hoped you might come out. Watch your step now. Kristofer’s been decorating the wood from his watch,” he nodded toward the crow’s nest at the top of the mast he stood beside then gestured at deck boards. Even in the dim light of the lantern secured beside the wheel, Isaura made out the chunky splatters speckling the area.

She stepped carefully around them, wrinkling her nose. “Is he sick?”

“Ate something what didn’t agree with him.”

“Like the cheese I told him he’s allergic to?”

“Aye,” he chuckled, swiping wisps of his frothy red hair out of his wind-worn face. “Said he couldn’t believe the gods would be cruel enough to cleave him from his favorite food. He sent a few coins over the side in appeal to Ægir and supped on both cheese and faith.”

And idiocy. Isaura dug into the satchel slung across her shoulder. “What did he think the Lord of the Ocean could do to alleviate a dairy allergy? That’s not exactly His domain.”

Gunnar shrugged. “A sailor knows better than to pray to other gods whilst crossing the Sea King’s territory, especially with the temper of this year’s storm season.”

That was true enough. Several ships had gone down in recent months. Even in the midst of sorting through the wreckage of her life, the news of them had reached Isaura’s ears. No survivors, only bits and pieces of debris scattered across the white-capped waves. Not all storms were spun by the gods of Aegirheim, but even the oldest sailors couldn’t recall when the sea had been as treacherous as this.

Isaura had planned to wait for a calmer season before leaving the greater isle of Dinark for Eisland. After that day at the market though, drowning by sea sounded preferable to drowning by sorrow. Now that she was out here, remembering those accounts turned her gaze skyward with a nervous pang.

She needn’t have worried. The night sky twinkled quietly above, the breeze a steady puff against the sails, and although she could not see the slide and shift of the waves, they whispered an untroubled hiss from the darkness. All was well.

A low call came from the crow’s nest. The flicker of the distant torch high above outlined the silhouette of someone leaning over the railing of the basket.

“Keep your voice down lest you want the captain to come out,” Gunnar called back in the same lowered tone, cupping his hands around his mouth. He turned back to her. “I don’t suppose you have something in your miracle bag to stop that fool boy from painting the ship more than he has? We’ll be up swabbing the deck till midday as it is.”

Isaura grimaced sympathetically and retrieved the tonic she’d been looking for from her satchel. “Two draughts now and two at sunrise,” she instructed. “That should settle the digestive upset.”

Gunnar took the clay flask and set it in the canvas sack sitting on a loop of rope at the base of the mast. With a quick whistle, he signaled with his hands—two fingers, then two fingers again—before sending the sack upward on the pulley. When it arrived, the silhouette dipped down to retrieve it, then signaled something back.

“He sends his thanks,” Gunner told her.

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Do you mean to head to your spot, miss, or have you inhaled enough of the perfume Kristofer provided us down here?”

That had been her intention, but the night was cooler than she’d expected, her fingers already stiff since she’s forgotten to bring her gloves. Still, the quiet of her cabin made her chest feel tight and her thoughts deafening. She usually slept better after she spent time in the night air with the Failock’s song filling her head.

“I think I’ll take in the view a few minutes before heading in.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you look at from the prow? Not much to see in the dark.”

It was hard to explain why the absence of a view comforted her. For some reason, she liked the inability to see ahead. No reason to worry about what might happen if you didn’t know it was there. Then again, being blind to things hadn’t spared her from any heartbreak.

“It helps me clear my head,” she told Gunnar.

The wheelman nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “Not too long, if you please. Captain’s been checking in on us at odd times and I’d rather he didn’t decide his night crew needs a flogging for insubordination.”

She gaped. “Would he really do that?”

“He’s in a mood this trip.”

“Because of me,” she sighed in exasperation. “What is Wendelsson’s displeasure with me? I paid him well and haven’t gotten in anyone’s way.”

“Captain’s not used to passengers, this being a cargo ship. And, well,” Gunnar offered a slight smile that gentled the blunt words that came next, “might be he resents not having a choice in the matter, what with you mentioning your father’s name.”

“I never gave him my father’s name. Only mine.”

“Johansdottir, you told him, on your way to Eisland to see your father. There’s but one Johan living there, and no man, even a captain, would refuse to bring home the daughter of a celebrated knight such as he, retired or not. As I’m sure you knew, miss, smart as you are.”

She didn’t try to argue it. He was right. In a week’s time, a passenger liner could’ve taken her, but she hadn’t wanted to wait. She couldn’t bear another seven days. If she were honest, she had more or less bullied her way aboard, forcing the captain to make adjustments, including, though she’d argued it unnecessary, giving up his cabin to ensure she slept secure and separate from the crew.

Isaura stared at her boots. “I never meant to be a nuisance.”

“Not to worry, miss. We’ve had a merry time watching the captain bluster and stomp,” Gunnar replied, all smirk. “Haven’t had a ship’s healer in a few voyages neither, which has been fine indeed.”

She smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’re a kind man, Gunnar.”

“Might be that I am. Just don’t mention it to Kristofer. When I tell him I mean to toss him overboard if he so much as looks at cheese again, I want him to believe it.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she laughed as she stepped away. “I won’t stay out here long.”

The wind had picked up, blustery and damp. Isaura pulled her cloak tighter around herself, grateful she’d remembered to put on that second pair of woolen stockings under her layered skirts. The darkness greeted her as she reached the prow and braced her forearms against the railing. The shredded sigh of waves splitting against the Visundr’s nose echoed from the inky black.

Isaura stared into the absent horizon. Tonight, it gave no comfort, the initial pleasure of the open air blowing away like the gusts skimming past her cheeks. Six months ago, she would not have believed she’d be traveling home to Eisland, or that she’d even think of the rural isle of her childhood as home again. Dinark, the kingdom’s Great Isle and glittering capital, had become home to her. Love and her studies had made it so, even in five short years. Hekla, her mentor and friend, had filled her days with purpose and learning, while Jan’s loving arms met her in their little home each evening.

Isaura’s thumb rubbed at the indent on her finger where her wedding band had rested. She wondered if Jan had retrieved the ring from the floorboards after she’d chucked it at him, if he’d dredged up more emotion than that infuriating calm he had used to tell her it was over.

“Isaura, aren’t you tired of pretending?”

It didn’t matter, she informed the wounded, bitter pit lodged in her guts. That life was gone. That love, too, was over, no matter how much passion Jan had professed at the beginning. A lesson in managing expectations, really. Why had she thought he would still love her after learning she was broken?

With difficulty, she pushed the thought of him aside. Better to think ahead to the reunion waiting for her on Eisland, and her father’s enthusiastic letter of reply when she’d written to say she was coming. For a visit. Shame had kept her from telling him of her failed marriage or asking to move back to the family farm as she had no home to return to in Dinark. He would take her in, blessed as she was with the best of fathers, but her need for it, at her age, was humiliating.

Maybe it was better not to think of this either.

Instead, her hand went to the silver broach on the collar of her dress, a farewell gift from Hekla. Isaura had gone slightly faint at the sight of her mentor pinning the Helm of Awe there. The eight spiked tridents tipped with onyx gems radiated out from a central point, a symbol of both protection and strength.

“But I’ve only just completed my studies,” she’d argued. “I haven’t earned the healer’s sigil yet.”

Hekla had brushed aside her hands, ivory braids swaying as she shook her head. “Then do so,” she told her and pulled her into a tight embrace. “One day, and not far off, your skill will surpass mine. May it remind you of your worth and that not all love is fickle.”

Love and friendship. Shame and heartache. Endings and beginnings. Such was the storm of Isaura’s thoughts that she didn’t notice the pungent scent of rain until she turned to go back to her cabin and glanced upward. The stars had disappeared.

A jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the sky and illuminated a monstrous spiral of clouds. She gasped. The clouds hung so low they almost snagged on the mast. Kristofer’s warning cry went up from the crow’s nest.

“Typhoon!”

The word sent a jolt of confounded terror through her. A typhoon? That wasn’t possible. Typhoons occurred in warmer climates, far south of the kingdom’s chilly northern isles. Another crackling blaze of lightning fractured the sky and sent an avalanche of rain plummeting down, soaking her through in an instant.

The crew swarmed onto the deck, appearing as if out of the rain itself, rushing to take down the sails and secure anything loose. She spotted Captain Wendelsson with them. His bellowed orders threaded the rising wail of the storm, though Isaura couldn’t make them out. Thunder roared. Waves slammed against the hull and she gripped the railing with both hands to keep from being thrown from her feet. She caught a glimpse of three men grappling with the spinning wheel at the helm before someone seized her arm.

Her startled shout was lost to the wind. Gunnar stood beside her, his red hair gone black where it plastered to his brow. He shouted something she didn’t hear. She followed when he tugged her away from the railing. His sea legs far sturdier than hers on the lurching deck, he guided them between the chaos of men toward the quarterdeck and the ladder that led to the crew cabins. There, he paused.

“Get below,” he had to shout in her ear for her to catch any of his words. “Lock yourself in quarters and find something to hold on to.”

She nodded with a glance toward the crew. Her eye landed on Captain Wendelsson. The expression on his face was frighteningly neutral, like a man concealing all emotion lest he give away the truth of his thoughts. She’d seen Hekla wear the same one around dying patients.

Fear squeezed her heart. She needed to let Gunnar get back to the wheel, but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Is the ship going to make it?”

Gunnar was less skilled at hiding his thoughts, his eyes wide with alarm. “Storm feels wrong. Unnatural to come up like this.” He shook his head. “If we have to abandon ship, the life rafts are on the starboard—”

The hairs on the nape of her neck rose and Gunnar whirled around. A spear of lightning dropped from the swollen sky. It impaled the main mast, a needle of white flame. The wood cracked like a cannon shot, splintering as it snapped in half. The thrashing outline of Kristofer where he tumbled from the crow’s nest followed the sails as they fell into the sea.

The ship pitched down sharply, hurling Isaura and Gunnar away from the ladder. She lost sight of him. A wall of seawater muscled over the railing. It swept her off her feet, thrusting her up a deck turned vertical. Then the ship righted, the water rushing back and taking her with it. She skidded across the deck, arms flailing for purchase in the utter darkness. Before she could find it, she bashed into something. Hard. The impact jarred her back and almost knocked her senseless. Distantly, she was aware of rolling, of crashing through the railing and falling.

It felt like forever, a suspended moment without beginning or end—until she plunged into the frigid shock of the sea. Icy cold raked her body and brought her back to herself. Waves swarmed her, shoved her down, sideways, up. Seawater filled her mouth. Panic filled her belly. Her skirts tentacled her legs in heavy fabric while the Failock tossed her around like a toy. She fought with all the desperate fervor of trapped prey, thrashing, gasping for tiny sips of air before the waves pushed her head under. When her arm bumped against an object, one her body recognized as something other than the liquid iron of the sea, she grasped it. Her fingers closed around the slanted rim. A skiff? One of the life rafts? The rescue it offered sent relief and terror and dread through her all at once. It could save her. It could be torn away.

Isaura didn’t know how she held on to it with her numb fingers. Didn’t know how she managed to clamber into its narrow shell without capsizing it, but she did. She lay on her back, gripping either side while the rain battered her face and the waves punished her injured back. She held on all night. She held on until the scream of the wind quieted, until the shear and crest of the waves gentled, and the sky bled with the colors of dawn. She survived. She wept for it and for the souls who had drowned with the noble Visundr. Gunnar, Kristofer, and all the others.

It wasn’t until the end of the following day that she realized it would have been better if she’d drowned along with them.

***

Available on Amazon & Kindle Unlimited

Add it to Goodreads

Pre-Release Giveaway – Urban Fantasy!

13 Wednesday Mar 2019

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Blog, Messages

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Giveaway, New Releases, Urban Fantasy

Fellow author and good friend A. C. Spahn has an awesome new urban fantasy series coming out called Arcane Artisans. For the first book, Enchantress Undercover, she’s put together an amazing pre-order giveaway that you don’t want to miss!
Enchant
All you have to do is:
– Pre-Order the book before March 18th (it’s only 99¢ right now!)

– Send a quick e-mail with your details and a copy of your e-Receipt.

It’s as simple as that.

Everyone who pre-orders gets the Tier 3 prize and is in the running for the bigger prizes – just for pre-ordering the book!

I got my hands on an early ARC and really enjoyed it. Magic, mayhem, and crafts, it was awesome!

Head over to the giveaway page for a look at the prizes

Or just pre-order your copy right now!

Book Synopsis:

Adrienne Morales is a hunted woman.

Stalked by Voids—people immune to magic—and pursued by a deadly past, Adrienne wants nothing more than to avoid spells and sorcery. Her powers as an enchantress make that impossible. Every few days she must release the magic gathering around her, or it’ll steal her sanity. The only way to stay alive is to practice her magic in secret, hiding enchantments in works of art she sells in her craft store.

When a firebreathing psychopath controlled by enchantment tries to burn down her store, Adrienne unleashes her powers to stop him. Unfortunately her battle has a witness—Adrienne’s handsome business partner. Turns out he’s a Void, and sworn to a Union that executes rogue magic users. Worse, the firebreather isn’t the only victim to pop up around San Francisco. Someone is using magic to create monsters and destroy minds, and the Void Union wants them dead.

Now Adrienne must capture the rogue enchanter before they ruin more innocent lives, and before the Voids punish her for the rogue’s crimes. But Voids aren’t the worst thing chasing her. Every enchantment she crafts makes it more likely her past will track her down. And if it does, madness will be the kindest fate awaiting her.

*** To read some fun excerpts from the book click HERE ***
ACA. C. Spahn is the author of the Endurance series and the Arcane Artisans series. Her shorter works have been published by Daily Science Fiction, Star*Line, Outposts of Beyond, Disturbed Digest, and others.

She wanted to be an interstellar starship captain when she grew up. Since nobody was hiring, she became a writer instead. She enjoys martial arts, vegetarian cooking, and debating the physics of fictional technologies. When not commanding imaginary starships, she lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, son, and feline overlord.

Connect with A. C. Spahn via:
Author website
Twitter
Facebook
Goodreads

Spotlight: On the Brink: A Dystopian Anthology

07 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Blog, Messages

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Tags

Anthology, Dystopian, Indie Author, New Releases

One world. 12 possible futures. Pre-order your copy of this limited edition collection of dystopian and post-apocalyptic fiction for only 99¢!

anth

Mikhaeyla Kopievsky, Alison Ingleby, Michael W. Huard, et al.

From the ashes of the world that was, a new dystopia will emerge…

Join our gritty heroines and courageous heroes as they battle for freedom. Their societies are divided by politics and technology, devastated by war, climate change, toxins, and plague.

Fighting for the future will mean conquering their pasts, but not everyone is who they seem. In these futuristic worlds, every day is a fight for survival.

Discover 12 page-turning stories from bestselling and award-winning dystopian authors that will leave you shocked, fascinated, and entertained.

Will hope prevail? Or is the darkness just too strong?

Publication Date: 3 January 2018. Available for pre-order for $0.99!

Or add it to Goodreads today!

excerpt

From “Revelation: A Divided Elements origin story”, Mikhaeyla Kopievsky

ONE

It is easy to hate the flashy opulence of the apartments in Precinct 4. Their white bricks seem too pure under the brown Otpor sun, their large balconies and windows ostentatious in flaunting their riverside views. Still, Lira’s gaze lingers on them. She doesn’t have much of an imagination – Earth Elementals are bred to be useful, not creative – but it doesn’t take an Air Elemental’s mind to picture herself living in one of them. It’s not imagination that makes it easy, but desire; simple, pure, burning desire for something she doesn’t have, will never have, but wants nonetheless.

Slowly, she lowers her gaze from the upper-level apartments and turns back to the streetscape beyond. While the riverside apartments no doubt hold lucrative treasures to lift, they are too well-protected – by nearby Infrastructure Protectors, by patrolling Peacekeepers, and by the scores of Elementals that swell in the nearby streets and laneways. The better option is the row of apartments six blocks to the east.

Adjusting her backpack straps and hefting the weight into a more comfortable position, Lira heads south instead. She doesn’t need to case the apartments in nearby Precinct 12; she has been stealing from them since she was a Trainee. And besides, it is too early to return – she has already chanced her arm by hitting the apartments three times in the last week.

She will return to them in a few week’s time. Now, she needs to collect.

***

The narrow bridge over the Syn River leads Lira to the maze of streets and laneways in Precinct 5. The early morning sun seems hotter here, heating the oppressive concrete and steel and amplifying the stench of the nearby canals. She scrubs at the sweat pricking her brow, pushes up the sleeves of her grease-stained shirt and picks up her pace. Ahead, the streets splinter into a smaller maze of alleys and arcades, reminding her of the cracks that creep across the plaster ceiling of her apartment.

“You’re late.”

The voice murmurs to her from the shadows of an empty arcade. Lira slows her pace and steps inside. Yvgeny stands at the far end against the service door of an abandoned nutrient store, his fingers tapping against his thighs in that way of his when he’s anxious or frustrated or both. Yvgeny shares her love of the money, but his nerves don’t handle the risks as well.

Despite his weak constitution, his greedy eyes light up like wallscreens when he sees the next-gen, fully optimised glass screen she pulls from her polyprop satchel.

He reaches for it, but she pulls it back.

“Nuh-uh. I want to renegotiate our deal.”

“No renegotiation,” he says, gaze still firmly pinned to the screen. “We agreed on a two-day wage equivalent.”

Lira pulls the screen in tighter, tucking it under her arm. “For a second-gen, two terabyte model. This demands more respect. And by respect, I mean money.”

“Three-day wage equivalent,” he says, folding his arms.

“Five-day,” she counters.

He scowls, eyes twitching to the laneway beyond. His nerves are getting the better of him; these trade sessions are usually over by now  – every extra minute increases the chances of getting caught. If she were an Air Elemental, Lira would almost see him calculating the probability, weighing up the risk variables and offsetting them against the profits that were destined for his own account. But, as an Earth Elemental, all she sees are his greedy eyes and twitchy hands.

“Fine,” he says, reaching again for the device.

This time she relents, letting him pull the glass screen to his chest.

“But, I want more,” he continues. “If you can get me more, I’ll pay six-day equivalent.”

It is a better offer than she had hoped for. She nods slowly, not trusting her mouth to contain her enthusiasm. Earth Elementals are terrible liars  – all raw honesty with no grasp of subtlety or manipulation. She needn’t have worried  – Water Elementals, with their blinkered, microscopic focus and disinterest in all things social, are just as bad at reading emotional cues.

“Good,” Yvgeny says, stashing the screen away in his own satchel. “Meet me back here next week. And don’t be late.”

END EXCERPT

Pre-Order your copy for 99¢ on Amazon or add it to Goodreads!

about author

MIKHAEYLA KOPIEVSKY is an independent speculative fiction author who loves writing about complex and flawed characters in stories that explore philosophy, sociology and politics. She holds degrees in International Relations, Journalism, and Environmental Science.  A former counter-terrorism advisor, she has travelled to and worked in Asia, the Middle East and Africa.

Mikhaeyla lives in the Hunter Valley, Australia, with her husband and son. Revelation is the first origin story released in her Divided Elements series. Resistance (Book 1) and Rebellion (Book 2) are available now. Revolution (Book 3) is in development and expected for release in 2019.

You can follow Mikhaeyla on Bookbub or sign up to her author updates newsletter for exclusive content and giveaways.

 

 

Failsafe: Chapter One

14 Monday May 2018

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Messages

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Cyberpunk, Indie Author, New Releases, YA Sci-Fi

Failsafe is releasing this Sunday, May 20th!!

*breathes into paper bag*

Below I’ve got all of chapter one for you–and of course, another look at the awesome cover by the amazing and talented Jenny at Seedlings Design Studio. The book was up on Netgalley for a full month and her design didn’t get a single down vote.

At the moment, Failsafe is a standalone novel, though several early reviewers have asked if there’ll be a sequel and the answer is…There could be. I have a plot outline for a second book to make this a duology so if you love the story and want it, let me know!

Failsafe_FC

There is only one rule: Never leave the settlement

Nobody remembers when human civilization fell to the living computer known as the Interspace. Trapped within its massive expanse, what remains of humanity struggles to survive. There are no maps to the outer grids, and drones patrol the network. Escape is impossible.

Except seventeen-year-old Sol can access the network’s secrets in her dreams. The information comes at a physical cost, but with food and medical shortages threatening her community, it’s a small price to pay for survival. The supply runs are also the best way to prove she can still contribute, especially after her recent epilepsy diagnosis took away the role she’d been training for.

When a grave mistake alerts the drones to her trespassing, Sol finds herself running for her life. She never expects to encounter Echo, a stranger who may hold the key to humanity’s freedom.

Together, Sol and Echo will attempt to reach the central core of the Interspace and shut down the system. To survive the journey, they will need to evade drones, signal towers, and a dangerous enemy known only as the Override. Even with Sol’s access to the network and Echo’s incredible abilities, they may still fail. The Interspace is always watching, and if they’re discovered, it will mean the final extermination of all mankind.

* * * * * * *

Failsafe

Copyright 2018 Anela Deen – Fine Fables Press
All rights reserved

Chapter One

If the world hadn’t ended generations ago, the broken stabilizer on my hoverbike wouldn’t have been a life or death problem. Sure, I’d gotten myself in this jam through a delightful combo of pride and stupidity, but it still didn’t seem fair.

The back-half of the bike sagged to the ground under the faulty stabilizer and I crouched beside it, examining the cracked casing along the cylinder with a deepening sense of dread. The tools dangling at my waist wouldn’t save me this time. I spotted the problem immediately—towing too much weight in the container hooked to the other end. What was I thinking? I’d let my excitement over finding that cache of supplies and foodstuffs override all engineering sense. As if the settlements’ desperation could convince an inanimate object to hold out longer than it had the capacity to do. Idiot me.

Solution-based thinking, Sol. Come on, girl, you can do this.

Right. As if my plucky optimism would fix the thing.

A string of profanity my mother would have been shocked her seventeen-year-old daughter had knowledge of stampeded through my thoughts. Not a peep slipped past my lips. Not out here in the network where the Interspace’s drones terminated any human they found.

I scrubbed shaking hands over my face as I considered my options, careful not to bump the cortical node affixed to my right temple. Wouldn’t want to add more flavor to this craptastic situation by throwing off its alignment and aggravating my condition. Halfway back to my home settlement, I’d marooned myself in grid one-thirty. Towering structures of dark metal and blinking circuitry surrounded, power conduits as tall as the skyscrapers in the cities of the Time Before. They reached toward the decking and interconnect bridges of the higher levels, and somewhere beyond that, the roof that sealed us all inside with the machine. Cables neatly embedded in the deck crisscrossed the broad rail paths I traversed like roots in a cybernetic forest.

The mind-numbing maze of the Interspace defied memorization, even for a photographic memory like mine. My dreams of the network—or visions since they were as accurate as holding a map—displayed the innards of a horizonless superstructure too immense to fully absorb. The solution? Narrowing my focus to the only grid that mattered; the one containing the twelve separate human settlements. Still massive, but doable.

I coaxed the memory of this area forward. Had there been somewhere I could hide until the drones completed their circuit and moved on? The gear didn’t matter. They wouldn’t pay attention to that. After three months of doing these supply runs, I had their directive figured out: Patrol the area, scan for life signs, and extinguish any found. This meant I had to get my pulse out of their way. On the other side of the rail path, I spotted a recessed panel on a circuit tower with an access door to a maintenance alcove large enough to slip behind. That would do perfectly.

I grabbed my pack and quick-stepped it toward my hiding place. The rubber boots quieted my steps, the threadbare fabric of my patchwork trousers hissing between my legs. I shivered, having forgotten to grab my jacket off the bike, but I wasn’t going back for it. The network always held a chill. Leithan, my community’s physician, and a talented engineer, taught me that even small electronic devices exuded heat while activated. Too much and things malfunctioned. For a machine as massive as the Interspace, whose network compound might well encompass the entire world at this point, the brisk environmental levels made sense but they bugged me all the same. I wondered if the mechanical sentience behind the Interspace could feel the temperature too, if the chilly air kept its sprockets and gears comfy while the remains of humanity withered in their designated settlements.

I set the thought aside. Anger and fear made you reckless. Besides, if my mysterious dreams of the network meant one thing for sure, it was the Interspace didn’t control everything. Too bad I still hadn’t figured out where the dreams came from or how and why only I got them. Yet another topic to ponder later.

I’d nearly crossed the wide swath of the rail paths when a shiver that had nothing to do with the chilly air went down my back. My gaze went to the silent towers surrounding me, my skin prickling with the sensation of being watched. Oh good. Paranoia. Drones did the watching for the Interspace, and if they knew I was here, they’d be on me in a flash. Humans were prohibited from wandering around the network. Rule number one of the Armistice my ancestors established with the machine and an edict I violated every time I did these runs. But what choice did we have? The Interspace had stopped delivering the supplies we needed to survive months ago.

I did a quick check of the countdown on my wrist patch. Plenty of time to get hidden. The situation wasn’t ideal but still manageable. I had no idea know how I would haul the supplies home without my bike. I’d figure something out. Everything would be—

Behind me, the puff and grind of failing machinery cut through my thoughts. I swung around. The front stabilizer on my bike gave out with a death-wheeze, and the whole contraption crashed to the ground with a deafening bang.

Sun, stars, and sky, I’d forgotten to power it down.

Above that terrible realization came the high-pitched whine of drones speeding this direction. I whirled and sprinted for all I was worth, the panic so sharp in my gut it was as if I’d swallowed shards of glass. A shrill alert went up, echoing across the network. They’d spotted me. I groaned, a scared, pleading sound. It’d be impossible to get away now. I might as well stand there and wait to be incinerated.

Instead, I threw myself behind the access door and slammed it shut. In the darkness, I crawled into the far corner and curled into a ball. The space was only a few meters deep, and that flimsy panel wouldn’t stop them. Crushing futility made me ill inside.

Gears whirred and screeched as the drones came in close. Laser bolts punched holes in the door and seared the wall over my head. Terror locked the screams in my throat and I tucked my head under my arms. The shine of their sleek oblong shapes and the red light of their targeting eye glared in at me.

This was all my fault. My parents hadn’t wanted me to do this alone. Here, at the end, I could admit I’d been trying to prove something. To my family and to everyone else. It wasn’t only about ferrying goods between the settlements. I’d wanted them to see I wasn’t just a glitchy brain. I wasn’t defective, no matter how many murmurs and stares said otherwise. Now I would never see home again. I was so stupid. And so dead.

The force of the next bolt blew the access door open so hard it smacked the inner wall and banged shut again. Mostly destroyed, it hung off its hinges. Red beams focused on my huddled form. I squeezed my eyes shut. Nothing noble came to me for my last thought, only a prayer I wouldn’t feel it.

A thunderous explosion shook the plating under me. My eyes snapped open. Beyond the drones, flames erupted, coiling and curling with black smoke. They turned, clacking and trilling, and for a wondrous moment, I thought they’d take off and forget my execution. Two departed to investigate. The third turned back to me.

What admirable delegators.

This time I didn’t try to hide. If this was the moment of my death, I wouldn’t face it cowering in a sad little ball. I sat up and stared right back at the thing.

“Go on then.” I spread my shaking arms, teeth chattering.

Its targeting beam painted my chest. The hum of a charged weapon reached my ears. I realized it hadn’t come from the drone a split second before an amber beam streaked in from the side and ripped through the machine’s body. Circuits blew from its bulk like brain matter and it clunked to the ground. The red eye flickered and went out.

Dazed, I stared at the incomprehensible sight, then lurched back in alarm when a figure sped past the door. Tall. Dark clad. What the—Was that a human being? I didn’t get a better glimpse before the dark shape disappeared in the direction of the explosion.

The explosion. Where the drones went. I wrangled the broken door open, kicked away the remains of the destroyed drone, and crawled out. Smoke hazed the air, acrid in the back of my throat. I edged my way alongside the rail path, a circuit tower at my back. The drones remained airborne, swooping left and right over the pocket of flames, dragging tendrils of smoke with them like snagged curtains. They fired toward the ground, but their targeting systems hadn’t locked on, the beams spread wide searching. The fire must have distorted my rescuer’s heat signature.

An amber beam sliced through the smoky veil and impaled one of the drones. It quivered, electrical bolts sizzling across its length. It split in half and dropped to the ground. The other zeroed in on the point of origin, sending a barrage of focused bolts toward the ground. My shoulders slumped. No one could have evaded those shots. I should get out of here and find another hiding spot in the distraction. That drone would sweep the area in a minute.

Yet…it didn’t seem right to run off. Someone had risked their life for mine. What if they were injured? I had to help somehow. Whoever this person was, they’d come equipped with a powerful weapon. Maybe if I diverted the last drone’s attention, it would give the stranger the opening they needed.

I dug my slingshot out of my pack and readied a bolt in the pocket. As I drew back the cord and fixed the drone between the prongs, I had trouble believing I meant to do this. The slingshot was enough to stand up to a Wraith—an exiled human condemned to death in the network—but not a drone.

“This is really dumb,” I whispered and released the bolt.

It ricocheted off its armored hide with an adorable plinking sound. Instantly, it whirled my direction. And there I stood, completely in the open. My survival instincts were absolute junk today. Nothing stirred between the flames. Of course not. The machines always won.

It glided away from the fire, targeting beam honed in on me. The slingshot fell from my hand. A shape blurred through the swirling smoke and a man catapulted from the ground onto the back of the drone. My jaw dropped open. He held on as the thing swiveled and bucked, thighs clamping on the smooth, metallic surface. His arms rose above his head, a glowing amber blade in his hands. He drove into the machine. It whirred and screamed, careening in a downward spiral. The man slid off and landed nimbly in a crouch, the glowing blade swept out to one side. The drone collided with the ground in a burst of sparks and metal shards.

I stood there, plastered against the tower wall, unable to absorb what had just happened. No one could move like that. Backlit by smoke and flames, my rescuer seemed like a figure out of a mythic tale of heroes from the Time Before. He stood slowly, the amber blade retracting into a black cylinder with a hand grip on one end. He didn’t appear to have another weapon. Did that thing have multiple functions? Dressed all in black, it was the only thing he carried but for items he had strapped, stored, or clipped to his body.

He secured his weapon to his side, turned, and looked right at me. My shoulders stiffened, fear still flush in my adrenaline-soaked system. If he’d wanted to hurt me he could have left me to my fate, right? My heart picked up speed anyway as he strode toward me.

Broad shouldered, lean muscle flexing beneath the dark clothes, he cut an imposing figure. He looked unlike anyone from the settlements, a fact which had me gaping in outright astonishment. With so few humans left, our bloodlines had mixed and remixed over generations, resulting in mostly everyone possessing the same thick brown locks, prominent brown eyes, and copper skin.

Black, tousled hair fluttered over the stranger’s brow, his skin a tawny-beige with deep-set eyes shaped like teardrops. Although his face remained expressionless, intensity burned in the dark green gaze he leveled at me. He called out no greeting as he approached. In other circumstances, I might have thought his angular face handsome but his demeanor intimidated me.

I put my hand over the laser cutter on my tool belt, ready to pull it free and defend myself if necessary. He’d saved me, yes, but that didn’t mean I could trust him. His gaze flicked to the cutter in my white-knuckled grip, then back to me.

“What is our current network location?” The quiet voice had a slight gravel to it as if he didn’t use it often.

I blinked up at him. “Our location? This is block one-thirty.”

“Which sector? Which grid?”

Was he serious? There was only one sector and grid for the human settlements. I rattled it off to him, then fidgeted under his relentless stare before I realized he wasn’t looking at me but through me. Puzzling over the information I’d given him?

His gaze refocused. “I seek grid one, block one, alpha sector.”

“The ICCS? The Interspace Central Command Space?”

“Yes.”

It was my turn to stare. “Are you…asking for directions?”

“Yes.”

My brow furrowed incredulously. “No one knows where that is. Buried someplace deep in the network where no human has ever been since the End War.” He continued to watch me. I shifted uncomfortably. Did he expect me to say more? “Uh, thank you. For saving me. I don’t know why you did it, but I’m grateful to not be a pile of ash right now. I’m Soleil, by the way. Sol for short.”

He didn’t reply or offer his name. Officially weird. Had he been expelled from his settlement? It didn’t happen often and usually only for a capital crime. He seemed a tad too well provisioned to be a Wraith, however, and um—my gaze flitted over his solid form—too healthy as well. If he was out here looking for the flipping ICCS, he’d obviously lost his mind. Did he think he was going to stroll in there and singlehandedly deactivate the system that’d ruthlessly overrun the world countless years ago? Even if he’d bested those three drones, it seemed a good bet anywhere near the central core would be crawling with them. And speaking of drones…

“Hey, it’s probably a good idea to get moving while we can. Only three drones were assigned to sweep this area today but I’m sure they sent off an alert to the ones a few grids over.”

It would take several hours for them to get here and I’d need all that time to cross the remaining distance.

His keen gaze sharpened. “How do you know this?”

Oh, right. How would I explain why I knew such oddly specific details about drone locations? Definitely wasn’t about to reveal my network dreams to a stranger.

“Er, just a guess.” Smooth.

“I observed you leave the path before the drones arrived. You knew they were coming. How?”

So someone had been watching.

Slowly, casual-like, I bent to retrieve my slingshot. “I had a gut feeling?”

“A gut feeling.” The hint of a question there.

“Yeah, you know, sixth sense. Instinct. That kind of thing.” I took a step away. He followed.

“Your pulse is elevated and your cortisol levels indicate increased stress. You’re lying.”

Huh?

“Well, I did almost die a couple of times there. Everything’s elevated right now. Just look at my hair.”

Something was off about this guy. His speech held no inflection. Between the impossible physical feats he’d just performed and his now eerie stillness, it didn’t take a genius to see he wasn’t entirely human even if he looked it. The sooner I put distance between us, the better.

Inching away, I said, “It sounds like we’re headed different directions, so I’ll just be on my way. Again, thanks for the help.”

I moved off at a stately trot—no, this didn’t count as running—and slowed as I recalled the supplies I’d abandoned by my bike. Crud. I couldn’t leave those behind. Too many people were counting on them.

A hand clamped around my arm. “Stop.”

Startled, I didn’t think. I whipped around and swung a fist with my free hand as hard as I could. I aimed for the guy’s jaw but he anticipated this and leaned back. My knuckles missed his face entirely and hit his shoulder with a wet smack. Something spattered my cheek. I flinched, then gaped at my blood coated fingers. That wasn’t mine. My gaze found the wound on his shoulder, the bleeding soaked into his dark clothes.

“Oh. Oh no.” Impulsively, I pressed my hand to it. “You’re hit. You were hit.”

Not that one could tell by the way he stood there. No hint of pain creased his face. He tilted his head to look at my hand on him.

“The injury is negligible.”

“Are you crazy? You’ll bleed to death if this isn’t tended.”

“You will tell me how you became aware of the drone maintenance schedule.”

“The what? Are you a robot or something? Doesn’t this hurt?”

His jaw twitched. “I am not a robot.”

“Who are you then?”

“Echo.”

“Is—That’s your name?”

“Yes.”

Totally did not make him seem less robotic.

“Can’t you feel there’s a hole in your shoulder? Where did you come from anyway?”

“Answer my question.”

Okay, a change of tactic was called for here. I had to get myself and the supplies back to my home settlement on the other side of this block before more drones showed up. Somehow, I had to convince this idiot to come with me and be treated for a laser wound. I didn’t know precisely what he was but he couldn’t be a tool of the Interspace if he had no idea how to reach the central core. He hadn’t even known where he was. Besides, he’d saved my life. I owed him.

“I have a better idea. You come with me to my settlement and I’ll tell you how I knew where the drones would be.”

His green eyes cooled. “You will tell me now.”

His grip on my arm was firm but not painful. As much as I didn’t appreciate being grabbed, my instincts said he wouldn’t hurt me.

“A compromise then. I’ll answer one question here on the condition that any others have to wait until we get to safety.” He stared at me blank-faced and didn’t reply. “You know, a non-robot would see the benefit of compromise in this situation.”

Did his eyebrow twitch ever so slightly? He released me.

“Very well. Tell me how—“

“I knew because I saw it. I saw the schematics for this grid and the schedule the drones would follow. I saw the access codes of the other settlements for entry and departure. I can see everything. Every detail.”

And each time I did, I risked my life.

End of Excerpt

Release Date: Sunday, May 20th

* * * * * * *

Pre-order Failsafe for 99¢ on Amazon or add it to your Goodreads shelf

Thanks for reading!

Book Reminders & An Update

28 Thursday Sep 2017

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Messages

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Cyberpunk, Free Books, New Releases, Science-Fiction, Time-Travel

First, the reminders:

If you love Sci-Fi and Time-Travel, check out W. R. Gingell’s A Time Traveler’s Best Friend which is currently only $0.99. The sequel, Memento Mori, just released September 26 and is priced at $2.99 for a limited time (will go up to $3.99 after release promotion, so grab your copy!!).

W. R. Gingell was recently a guest on the blog. Check out her article Voyager, Stargate, and Patchwork Storytelling

Here’s the synopsis of book one:

TTBF_FC

Meet Marx. Meet Kez.

Marx is a small, angry man with a time machine and a chip on his shoulder. Kez is a homicidal little girl with a price on her head and a penchant for kicking people where it hurts the most.

After a narrow escape from the owners of the stolen craft he pilots, the last thing Marx wants is another gun pointed at him. What he wants and what he gets, however, are two very different things.

On the run from killers, shadowy corporations, and one very specific Someone, the last thing Kez wants when she points a gun at yet another apparent killer is a self-appointed protector.

What she wants and what she needs, however, are two very different things…

Amazon

Kobo

iBooks

Google Play 

B&N

Smashwords

If you need more Sci-Fi Time-Travel goodness, I have a short-story you can pick up on Amazon for FREE:

dev2

Indra knows adjusting to life in a new town can take time but after a month she still hasn’t settled in. The gaps in her memory and her husband’s tendency to run mysterious errands at night don’t help matters. When she believes he is being unfaithful she follows him, never expecting to find an unimaginable confrontation and a stranger who knows her better than she knows herself.

Free on Amazon

In other news, I’ll be getting back to reviews and other speculative fiction snark very soon. Early September an opportunity came up to get a YA Sci-Fi novel I plan to publish next year edited by someone who’d been closed for submissions. A last minute cancellation got me into her schedule (woo hoo!) however it also required me to send her the revised manuscript by the end of September. At that point, I had the weedy first draft done–the version I don’t allow into the light of day let alone in front of the eyes of an editor.

Did I finish revisions in time? Bet your ass, I did. Just don’t ask me to compare this month’s units of caffeine to hours of sleep because one vastly outnumbers the other *rubs at twitching eye*

What’s the novel I slaved over all about? It’s a cyberpunk standalone about a girl with epilepsy, the fall of human civilization, and an unlikely partnership with someone who is more than he seems. I’ll post other details and the official synopsis in the coming weeks but that, in a nutshell, is what I’ve been up to.

Hope you are all enjoying Fall and haven’t overdosed too much on the pumpkin spice!

In the Spotlight: The Blood Mage

18 Tuesday Jul 2017

Posted by amidtheimaginary in Messages

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Book Series, Fantasy, Indie Author, New Releases, Self Published Book

I’m excited to announce the release of The Blood Mage, book two in the Changing Tides series by author and fellow Indie cohort Aimee Davis. Book One, The Wheel Mages, is currently available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited if you want to catch up.

The review of The Wheel Mages is coming soon to Amid The Imaginary!

Monster. Murderer. Oathbreaker.

mage

Three years after the events leading to the deaths of her friend and lover, twenty-one-year-old Alena Kozlov is still trying to outrun her past. But the darkness within her is not something she can simply leave behind.

The nightmares plaguing her become reality when a familiar face seeks her out in her isolated desert home bearing news that awakens all she’s tried to keep locked inside. There’s a promise she made long ago she’s determined to keep, even if it means she will have to tear what remains of herself, and her world, apart.

To save her friends, she may have to become the monster once more. But fear is not for the damned.

Grab your copy on Amazon or add it to GoodReads today!

If you’d like to know more about the author and her work, explore her website here

 

 

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Amid the Imaginary

I'm a Hapa Haole Hawaiian girl living in chilly Minnesota, reading, writing and working full-time while raising my family.

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