BLOG TOUR – One Flew Through the Dragon’s Heart – PROMO

OneFlew

I’m pleased to share this new book with you all today! One Flew Through the Dragon Heart is the first book in a new steampunk series by C.S. Johnson. Today I have an exclusive excerpt for you to read, and a chance to win a paperback copy of the book!

FavanFlowBook1Cover03.jpgOne Flew Through the Dragon Heart

Publication Date:December 21st, 2018

Genre: Steampunk/ Fantasy

A Chinese Legend. A British Secret. Star-Crossed Lovers with Incompatible Magic.

Brixton Flew works as a professor of wielder instruction at Rembrandt Academy, hoping to erase the regrets of his youth along with the resulting debt. But when he comes face to face with his biggest regret—the woman who broke his heart, Adelaide Favan—Brixton soon realizes his troubles have only begun.

Unable to control her magic, Adelaide knew leaving Brixton was the only way to protect him when they were younger. Now she discovers he is the key to recovering the Dragon Eyes, a legendary treasure connected to her magic and her family’s disgraced legacy—and she knows the risk is great, to both his life and her heart.

With others seeking the power of the Dragon Eyes, Brixton and Adelaide must outwit their foes and face down their families to save London from an ancient legend that sleeps beneath the magic portal in their city.

But the renewed passion growing between them may prove to be the greater peril …

One Flew Through the Dragon Heart is the first book in a new steampunk series by C.S. Johnson, blending together history, romance, mecha-dragons and magic against the glittering backdrop of 1880’s Victorian London.

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Excerpt

FavanFlowBook1Cover03

“Brixton.”

His sixteen-year-old self was scurrying past the materials room when he heard his name spoken with a soft, foreign lilt. The sound broke through him like a magic spell, disrupting his intellectual musings and forcing him into an uncomfortable position.

He was in a hurry; his professor would be upset if he was late for class. As a star pupil, Brixton knew he had a certain reputation to live up to, and he had learned well not to call any negative attention to himself.

But at the sound of Adelaide Favan calling for him, he felt helpless—helplessly nervous and helplessly intrigued. It was almost as if some part of him had been waiting for her to call, and he had been more than ready to answer.

Out of guilt, if nothing else.

He nearly lost his grip on the stack of books he carried as he stumbled to a stop and glanced back at the doorway to the materials room. He could see a slim shadow at the back, where her dark skirts whipped around as she moved between stations, pulling out supplies and looking for spare coils, cogs, or anything else she decided she needed.

He did not have the faintest notion why she would be calling him. Adelaide never seemed to talk to anyone unless it was out of necessity.

“Are you coming in or not?” Adelaide straightened, looking up at him from behind a thick pair of black-rimmed goggles, the kind that magnified her eyes behind the protective glass.

Brixton felt a quick twinge of regret. She always wore them when she was working on something. He had a sinking feeling he was going to be late for class—but he stepped into the room regardless.

“I’m surprised,” she said as he tentatively approached her.

“Why? You were the one who called me.”

“Is that what I need to do to get your attention?” Adelaide put her hands on her hips as she stepped back from the table, where a box full of wires and screws and other various building materials winked up at him.

Brixton felt his face turn red. “If you’re talking about earlier, I—”

“I don’t want to talk about earlier,” Adelaide said. “You know who my father is. Do you think your friends are the first people to make fun of me because of my family?”

“They’re not my friends. Not exactly.” Brixton sighed. “They’re just people we go to school with. You don’t have to be friends with them. You just have to get along with them until we graduate.”

“Is that your plan?”

He shifted his feet as the clocks chimed loudly, the pleasant ringing turning sour in his ears. He was officially late for class. Brixton glanced back at the door.

Adelaide did not pay attention to the clock. She saw to her work, fiddling with one of the gearshifts. Brixton noticed she was also still wearing her workshop gloves. Along with her goggles, they were a semi-permanent part of her wardrobe. They were thick and black, going up past her elbows. The school issued them as part of the engineering department; Brixton hated wearing them, since the synthetic material of the gloves interfered with his ability to use magic. Adelaide was the only one who consistently wore them.

“It’s mostly my plan,” he said, finally answering her.

“Seems like a silly plan, especially for the next four years.”

“Earlier, when those girls were picking on you, I didn’t say anything—”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about earlier. People have made comments about me all my life. Getting accepted into Rembrandt two years earlier than everyone else is merely another unearned privilege in their eyes.”

Her voice was calm, but Brixton saw that her fingers, even buried in her large gloves, shook ever so slightly.

“I don’t presume—”

“But you do.” Adelaide pushed up her goggles onto her forehead again, brushing back her long black hair.

Brixton hated how he stared at her. Up close, her eyes were cloudy gray, speckled over with a silver lining. He noticed they were slanted, ever so slightly; along with her flattened nose and full lips, there were plenty of hints at her Chinese heritage. He had heard the whispers of her family, especially her father, the famous Captain Favan who led Her Royal Majesty’s Airship Force.

That was one of the main reasons he had tried to befriend her before. Brixton had approached her when she was first introduced to their class, eager to talk about her father’s legacy and how it was his dream to be in the Airship Force one day, too. Adelaide had ignored him then, brushing off his introduction.

Remembering that, he frowned. She has some nerve, admonishing me for poor manners.

He cleared his throat to give himself a moment to recover. “You should know you’re presuming that I’m presuming something. I don’t know you well enough to presume anything.”

For the first time, Adelaide softened her expression. Brixton briefly wondered if he had hurt her feelings, or if it was possible he had successfully pointed out her double standards.

She tugged the goggles down over her eyes a moment later, returning to the project before her. She said nothing as she picked up a suturing iron and began to burn a twisted bunch of wires together.

For a long moment, Brixton watched her. Despite her gloves, her movements were very precise—so precise that they almost seemed awkward.

Just like the rest of her, he thought with a small smile.

Adelaide was fourteen years old, two years younger than everyone else at Rembrandt. She had transferred into the school during the middle of their second semester, and ever since their failed first meeting, Brixton kept his distance from her, even if he continued to watch her out of the corner of his eye. He knew the others in his class teased her for her youth, her connections, and her ancestry.

He could sympathize with her some in that regard, given he received plenty of his own mockery. He was only at Rembrandt because of his scholarship. Most of the students were from the aristocracy, and the idea of rich merchants or lower-class workers—such as his parents—sending their children to Rembrandt was nothing short of scandalous.

He easily dismissed those who badgered him; he was here for an education, and nothing more.

But as Brixton gazed down at Adelaide, he suddenly wondered if she was able to do the same.

She was such a small thing. She was not only two years his junior, but she was also at least a foot shorter. The Rembrandt Academy uniform nearly swallowed up her body. He could see her vest was pinned in the back, and her long skirt was clearly hemmed. Brixton had a feeling she liked to wear the goggles on her forehead if for no other reason than they lent her another two inches in height.

“Why did you call me?” Brixton asked, daring himself to speak again.

Adelaide bit her lip, and Brixton found himself staring again.

Finally, she sighed. “I need you.”

His breath caught and his body went still. He was only able to move after she added, “I need your help.”

The words came out with a ripe bitterness in each syllable, and Brixton almost laughed at her discomfort. It was clear she never asked for help if she could avoid it.

He cleared this throat again, swallowing the last of his laughter, and nodded. “Tell me what it is.”

“I need help assembling this,” Adelaide said, pointing to the neat array of metal scraps and parts before her.

“What is it?”

“A dragon heart.”

“Beg pardon?” Brixton dropped his books, missing the table and causing them to clatter to the floor. He was certain he had misheard her as he bent to pick them up, but he was even more surprised when she laughed.

Her eyes were pushed back into slits behind her goggles, giving her a wizened, animated look as her smile widened. Brixton stared at her as he picked up his books and stacked them neatly beside hers.

“I’m only kidding,” Adelaide said, before she arched her brow. “Or maybe I’m not. Either way, I need your help with this part.”

She opened the top panel and pointed to a small knot of wires lined with alloy and copper. “This is an energy loop I’ve been working on. It’s a special type of power source. The Board wants to develop more efficient batteries, especially since the Edison Project has shown promise. Now they want to see what the wielders can do to improve it.”

“I talked with Professor Ohm about this,” Brixton said. “He wanted to find a way to generate perpetual energy. He thought electricity could possibly be infused with magic.”

“I know. I overheard your conversation after class a few days ago.”

“You did?” Brixton took the suturing iron out of her hand.

“He was dismissive of the idea as an alternative life source, but he was interested in seeing if you could figure out how to make his own theories work.”

He bit down on his cheek. He knew which conversation Adelaide was referring to, and it was one where Professor Ohm spent several minutes admonishing him for his eclectic reading tastes.

“What?” Adelaide asked.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

She jutted her chin forward. “It’s also rude to ignore people who need help.”

“I don’t know if you’re saying that to make me feel bad about before, or if it’s just to make sure I stay here and help you,” Brixton muttered. “Do you care to tell me which?”

“I have an extra pair of gloves if you need them,” Adelaide offered.

He rolled his eyes as she sidestepped his question. “I don’t use them if I can help it.” He called up the power that resided inside of him. He could feel it flowing from his heart down to his fingertips, filling his palm. “I like working with my hands better. It’s easier to conjure up my talent. That’s my magic, as you might have known already. I can build things. Anything, really.”

“Well, no wonder you’re so good at this.” Adelaide pouted as Brixton undid her work. “You’re using magic.”

“And you don’t? Why are you in school to be an engineering wielder if you’re not using magic?”

“I like working with machinery,” Adelaide said. “I’m here because Rembrandt produces the best engineers in London. The fact that it’s a magical school does nothing for me.”

“Do you even have magic at all? I thought that was a requirement for coming here.”

“It is.” Adelaide went silent, and for the first time, Brixton saw her blush. With the small patch of red on her cheeks, he could just make out a light trail of freckles across her nose.

“Ouch.” He flinched as the suturing iron slipped across his fingers.

“Pay attention to what you’re doing. You don’t have to worry about my talent right now. All you need to know is that it’s not helping me fix this.” She crossed her arms and looked away.

“Right.” Brixton turned back to the item in front of him.

Available on Amazon

About the Author

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C. S. Johnson is the award-winning, genre-hopping author of several novels, including young adult sci-fi and fantasy adventures such as the Starlight Chronicles, the Once Upon a Princess saga, and the Divine Space Pirates trilogy. With a gift for sarcasm and an apologetic heart, she currently lives in Atlanta with her family. Find out more at http://www.csjohnson.me

CS Johnson | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Pinterest

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BLOG TOUR – Glasgow Kiss – PROMO

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How Far Would You Go To Catch A Serial Killer?

Glasgow Kiss Episode 1 eBook-final.jpgGlasgow Kiss Episode 1. (Publication Date: February 7th, 2019)

Genre: Thriller/ Serial Killer

Author: C.S. Duffy

Haunted by the fact that he never got the chance to tell best friend Lorna that he loved her before she was murdered, Ruari sets out to track down the man he saw her with the night before she was murdered – the man police are certain was her killer.

Forensic psychologist Amy Kerr has been watching prominent Glasgow lawyer Alec McAvoy for months, certain that he is the so-called Dancing Girls Killer who evaded capture in London five years previously.

Now Ruari and Amy are closing in on the same man – but every step they take draws them deeper into the killer’s web.

“…completely addictive. Very fast paced with the short punchy time-stamped chapters adding to the sense of a fast-moving investigation.” – Joanne Baird, Portobello Book Blog

“…full of the Glasgow banter and humour laced with a good old-fashioned murder mystery. Lots of twists and turns and little pools of red herrings kept me engrossed all the way through.” – Sharon Bairden, Chapterinmylife Blog

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Excerpt

None of this is happening, Ruari thought furiously.

His now don’t laugh but… speech was still rattling around his head.

Any minute now Lorna would come barreling up, laugh her head off and call him a fanny for sitting there with an ice pack on his head and blood dripping over his face. Everything would start to make sense again.

A torrent of pins and needles roared through him and for a horrible moment he thought he would make a liar of himself and puke after all. The paramedic rubbed his back and Kevin pressed a paper cup of strong tea into his hands.

‘Has she been formally identified?’ Ruari croaked, the delusional note of hope sounding pathetic in his own ears. ‘Lorna.’

He had to keep saying her name. If he kept saying her name, then she wasn’t gone.

Kevin nodded, catching Boyle’s eye with a brief nod Ruari only just caught out of the corner of his eye. He was on the other side of it now. How to Treat Recently Bereaved Witnesses. He was struck by the absurd notion that if he hadn’t been sacked then somehow he would be standing where Kevin was now, and it would be somebody else’s best friend’s flat being ransacked for evidence. He shuddered, an abyss of horror lapping at his toes.

‘Her parents are there now. Sister’s on her way up fae London.’

‘Greer,’ muttered Ruari pointlessly.

‘When was the last time you saw Lorna, Ruari?’ asked Cara gently and Ruari blinked at her. He hadn’t noticed her approaching.

‘Monday,’ he said, his voice sounding thin and faraway in his own ears. ‘Our Crossfit —’

No.

That wasn’t the last time he saw her.

The memory struck him like kick in the ribs and he folded over, gasping for breath as though he’d been physically winded.

Tuesday night.

Last night.

She’d come in to the restaurant where he worked in Finnieston, all cosy with some slimy chancer. Ruari had been seething. He snapped that he was busy when she came up to the bar to talk to him, cutting off any potential requests to evaluate the new man. He’d wondered what she was playing at, flaunting it in front of him like that. At his work, for goodness sake, where she knew fine he couldn’t escape.

Then on the way home he remembered that she wasn’t flaunting it. She had no idea how he felt about her. Because he’d never told her.

‘Can you remember anything about the man she was with?’ Cara asked, and Ruari shook his head. He was some slick bastard, that’s all he knew. He hadn’t been looking at the guy, after all. He’d just been staring at Lorna. Feeling like hell because she looked happy.

That was when he burst into tears.

Now Available!

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About the Author

CS Duffy

C.S. Duffy writes crime thrillers with a healthy dose of black humour. Her background is in film and TV. She has several projects in development in Sweden and the UK and her other writing has appeared in Elle Canada and The Guardian. She is the author of Life is Swede, a thriller that was originally written as a blog – leading several readers to contact Swedish news agencies asking them why they hadn’t reported the murder that features in the blog. She was selected as a Spotlight author at Bloody Scotland in 2018.

CS Duffy | Twitter | Instagram | “Author on the Go” Instagram

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BLOG TOUR – Still Not Satisfied – PROMO

Still Not Satified

STILL NOT SATISFIED THUMBNAIL.JPGStill Not Satisfied

Publication Date: December 30th, 2010

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Christian Goodman loves the ladies. When an old girlfriend calls, it’s game on until her game plan forces him to the sidelines. While there, his grandmother and best friend lose faith in him. With no one left, he finds Dr. Devin Rainey in her own struggle. Christian enters her life only to serve as a reminder of what she is missing, thus, creating tension between the two. She fights to remain professional, but personal needs force her to leave Christian, too. Completely alone, he turns to an unlikely ally to assist him in his quest for satisfaction.

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Excerpt

Moonlight dimly illuminated the room as Chris stumbled into his bathroom. He admired his silhouette as he walked past the mirror. Even his muscular frame was sexy in the darkness. Chris’ self-admiration was interrupted when he noticed a small figure reflecting in the corner of the mirror. His mind had always played tricks on him and, lately, the occurrence had been more consistent. As always, when he looked over his shoulder, nothing was there. This time would be no different.

When he returned to his bed, he found himself alone. His lady friend had dressed and left without making a sound although she left a note on his nightstand.

We really should stop this.’

Chris chuckled. “Lauren, that’s what you said the last time and the time before that.” Chris spoke as if talking to her. He crumpled the note and lay back on his poster bed. Deep down, he knew she was right. It was just a matter of time before Ellis found out.

As Chris stared into space, he hoped he would sleep peacefully this night. Just one night without the dream. Please, just one night.

Christian James Goodman was the epitome of a beautiful African-American man. Standing at six feet-two inches and 220 pounds, Chris defined sexy. His chiseled body and broad physique got him a lot of attention from the ladies. His warm smile and mocha color added to his style. His light hazel-green eyes simply perpetuated his swagger while his strong baritone voice made the women yearn with desire. Yes, Chris had several physical attributes that men would pay money for and the confidence to use them.

Chris was a scholar and an athlete. Having won two state championships in high school and a national championship at University of Tennessee, he looked destined for the NBA. Yet, a shattering knee injury in his senior year ended this dreams.

“God had other plans, baby.” His grandmother reminded him whenever he got down about his knee injury. After two years of playing overseas, he came back to his high school alma mater, Bradford High, as an assistant basketball coach. Christian patiently awaited his turn, now it was his first year as the head coach. The job couldn’t have come at a better time in his life.

Chris Goodman had everything he could possibly want. He had his new two-thousand square foot home in Dunwoody, an affluent suburb of Atlanta, his SUV to be practical and his motorcycle to be relaxed. He had more than his fair share of women and settling down was nowhere in his sight, that was until Mama Van brought it into his peripheral.

***

As she peered into the darkness, Angela wondered how she had gotten to this point. “Why me?” She asked aloud. “What did I do to deserve this?”

She had not been at work in a week. She had not eaten in days. She lacked personal hygiene. Despite the numerous phone calls and messages from family and friends, Angela never felt so alone. Her whole world was in her one-bedroom apartment. That was where she wanted to keep it.

She pulled out her journal and wrote to the one person who understood what she was going through.

Dear God,

I have got to get over him but before I do, I will make him feel the same pain I do everyday. My plan is to use his own devices to destroy him. It will be flawless. I know I am supposed to wait on You, but vengeance is all mine, Lord.

Love Angie

Angela slammed her journal shut and slid it off her desk. It landed with a loud thud. Then another thud, Angela collapsed on the floor next to the book and sobbed quietly. Her body quivered with cold. Her muscles rocked with pain. She eventually cried herself to sleep.

***

Christian woke to soaking wet sheets. His plea for a peaceful night fell on deaf ears as the same dream interrupted his night’s rest. He routinely woke with cold sweats, a hot body, and a rigid muscle. Nothing was different this morning.

His cell phone sang Tupac’s “Dear Mama”.

“Yes, ma’am?” Chris answered the phone just as the lyric, ‘Don’t you know we love you, sweet lady’ ended.

“Morning, baby. I just wanted to make sure you was up.” Mama Van’s chirpy voice made him smile.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m woke.” He muttered.

“Well, ‘sho don’t sound like it but you grown now. Mama hopes you have a good day. Love ya.”

She hung up her phone before he could respond.

Mama Van was the one woman he respected unconditionally. It was the least he owed her considering all she had done. Chris loved her with all he was.

“Making love between the sheets.” The ring tone startled him. Since it sang the Isley Brothers, he knew it meant one of the three women he was “admiring” at this time. He told himself she would have to wait—whichever one it was. He did not even check to see which one it was. He simply rubbed his fingers over his well-groomed goatee and delighted in knowing he would have sex sometime tonight.

***

Angela stumbled into her bathroom. She slept most of the day. She walked past a mirror and despised what she saw. Her 5’6” and 150 pound voluptuous frame had lost its attractiveness. ‘Life is over’ is what the mirror taunted. After releasing a hollowing scream, she shattered the image with her fists. Her life was in as many pieces.

After a cleansing cry, Angela decided to pity train had run long enough. She showered for the first time in four days. Her need for revenge drove her to make herself presentable. She found the sexiest dress in her wardrobe and draped it over her body. She wanted something that would definitely get his attention. She washed and curled her daintily-cut crop. Once she examined her work, she felt ready for exact her scandalous scheme. Once upon a time she knew his number by heart. Now she needed to thumbed through her phone to make the call.

Available on Amazon

About the Author

SA Brown

SA Brown is a writer in every sense of the word. She started as a contributing author in one of Zane’s Chocolate Flava series. After that, she was hooked.

Born and raised in Mississippi, SA began writing full time in 2010. She started writing one act plays and producing them in the community theaters. She completed the first draft of Still Not Satisfied in 2012 and actively searched for a publisher. After numerous rejection letters, she decided to focus on the stage. She traveled South Mississippi with her socially motivated one act plays using the Theater for Social Change model.

In 2015, SA moved to Atlanta and felt it was time to bring Still Not Satisfied to life. She found Prodigy Gold Books, a press out of Philadelphia and a dream was born. In addition to her novel, she has launched her own production company, SAB Entertainment. Through this channel, SA is writing and producing short films. In May 2018, she produced her first full stage play, Family Lies and plans to tour the Southeast with it in 2019. Always writing, SA just completed the screenplay adaptation of Still Not Satisfied which she will pitch to producers. Currently, she is writing a web series, The Inner Circle. SA hopes to start production in summer 2019.

With hopes of educating while entertaining, SA’s biggest desire is that everyone learns a life lesson every time they walk away from any of her stories.

SAB Entertainment |Facebook| Twitter | Instagram

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BLOG TOUR – Gwenna the Welsh Confectioner – PROMO

Tour BannerWelcome to my stop on the blog tour for Gwenna The Welsh Confectioner by Vicky Adin. Today, I have an excerpt for you to read and a chance to win a print copy of the book, so be sure to enter the giveaway at the bottom!

Gwenna the Welsh ConfectionerGwenna_TWC_front

Publication Date: July 24th, 2018

Genre: Historical Fiction

Against overwhelming odds, can she save her legacy?

Amid the bustling vibrancy of Auckland’s Karangahape Road Gwenna Price is troubled. For all her youth, she is now the master confectioner in the family business since her father died. She promised to fulfil her Pa’s dreams and open a shop, but with her domineering and incompetent stepbrother Elias in charge, the operation is on the brink of collapse.
In an era when women were expected to stay at home, Gwenna is a plucky young woman with uncommon ambition. She is determined to save her legacy. Despite the obstacles put in her way, and throughout the twists and turns of love and tragedy, Gwenna is irrepressible. She refuses to relinquish her dreams and lets nothing stand in her way. Blind to anything that distracts her, Gwenna risks losing the one person that matters most.

Inspired by a true story, Gwenna is a fascinating insight into life in Auckland at the turn of the 20th century.

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An absorbing read. This fast-paced novel once again demonstrates the author’s trademark flair for telling great historical stories.”

“Adin is a master of her craft. Gwenna, the confectioner; charming, irrepressible and utterly unforgettable. A must read for those who love historical fiction.”

Awarded a BGS Gold Quality Mark – “This is a wonderfully well written, constructed, and edited book. The story moves along at a good pace and the reader is pulled into the world and time in the first chapter.”

Excerpt

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Auckland New Zealand

1900

With a start, she leapt out of bed and, grabbing her dressing gown, hurried towards the hallway. Before she’d taken three paces her head started spinning and nausea rose from her stomach. She slumped to the floor by the door jamb, trying to take deep breaths and gather her senses.

“Johnno,” she called, then again louder, but received no response. She willed herself to be still and quiet her breathing, straining to hear any movement. Anything, but no sounds reached her ears. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it pounding and echoing in her ears. She pulled herself to her feet and, holding onto the wall, made her way down the dark, wood-panelled hallway leading to the kitchen at the back.

The early morning sun seeped in through the grimy window; an errant thought she’d have to clean it drifted through her mind as her eyes searched for evidence she wasn’t alone. Any sign. Anything to quell the mounting terror, but she found nothing. No signs. No note. No fire in the range. She’d never been this alone before.

Shaking, and with the queasiness mounting, she opened the back door, ran down the steps and across the grass to the outhouse before she realised she was barefoot. The stench emptied her stomach in seconds.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she tiptoed back across the grass, her feet now sensitive to every stone and foreign object in her path, and into the dimness of the house. Her teeth started to chatter, despite the warmth of the morning, as she stood by the door surveying the room. Clamping her jaw tight, she folded her arms across her body trying to calm her nerves while her mind listed what she should do next.

The square wooden table was as she’d left it last night, so the men hadn’t had any breakfast. The hamper she’d packed for them had gone, so they’d not go hungry. Although why she should worry about whether they’d eaten or not when there were more immediate things to worry about, she couldn’t explain.

Light the fire. At least then she could have a cup of tea. That might help calm her. As soon as she moved the dizziness came on her again; she reached for a chair and sat down, scared she would faint. And then what? How long would she lie there before someone found her? The quivering and shaking started again.

Sunlight shining into the room highlighted its dinginess. The sagging scrim-lined walls, yellowed with age and darkened with soot from the fire, closed in on her. Despite her meagre efforts, ingrained dirt still lay on every surface. Doorknobs wouldn’t turn, window catches wouldn’t shut, and the cracked and broken floorboards let the vermin in. She loathed the place, but she felt so weak and shaky at the moment she doubted she had the strength to do anything about it.

How she would tackle the outhouse on her own she had no idea, and the thought of carrying the water from the rainwater tank up the steps at the back seemed impossible. Johnno had done that for her. Tears fell as she contemplated her lot. They would have to get out of here before winter – before the baby was born. She couldn’t, just couldn’t live here any longer. Giving way to her unbearable gloom, she laid her head on her arms and sobbed.

She must have dozed off because when she next stirred pins and needles prickled her arm and her back ached. She stretched, easing her strained muscles, and this time she did light the fire. Johnno had left a pile of kindling, a basket of logs and a scuttle of coal for her.

Sipping on a cup of tea, she weighed up her options, her mind spinning with questions to which she had few answers.

Should she stay here, not knowing how long Johnno would be away? Could she introduce herself to the neighbour so she’d have someone to talk to? But her strength had deserted her in the last few days. She’d never felt so weak. She didn’t know if she could walk the good half-mile to the nearest house.

And where were the shops? Johnno had collected what she’d needed when he’d taken the wagon out last time. Could she walk to the village to get fresh food?

Should she go to Bethan? She was sure her stepmother would be more than pleased to take her in, but Gwenna couldn’t risk upsetting the precarious balance that existed between Bethan and Elias right now.

Should she go to Tillie? Her sister had enough to do, with her expanding girth and seeing to Charlie as well as caring for Tom who had his job. She was sure Tillie would welcome her in, but she couldn’t put her in such a difficult position.

So, she was back to staying here – alone.

Every fibre in her body screamed, ‘No!’

But stay she did.

Her father’s words kept echoing in her head. “Gwenna, bach. We can do anything we put our mind to.”

It was the argument he’d used when they’d moved to the Valleys to live with the Hughes family in the first place. He used the same argument after Owen was killed and he married Bethan and rose to be head of the household. He’d said the same thing over and over to push his argument about coming to New Zealand. Pa had had such hope.

At first, thoughts of her father deflated Gwenna’s spirits further. If he hadn’t died, life would be so different, but then her mood lightened. Pa said she could do anything. She just had to get on with it.

From somewhere in the centre of her being, she would find the strength. She had to. She placed her hands over her stomach. “I don’t know who you will be yet, but you are Pa’s grandchild and that means something. You are the future. For your sake, I will fulfill Pa’s dreams. I will.”

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About the Author

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Multi-award winning historical fiction author, Vicky Adin is a genealogist in love with history and words.

After decades of research Vicky has combined her skills to weave family stories and history together in a way that brings the past to life.

Fascinated by the 19th Century women who undertook hazardous journeys to find a better life, Vicky draws her characters from real life stories: characters such as Brigid, the Irish lacemaker and Gwenna, the Welsh confectioner, or Megan who discovers much about herself when she traces her family tree in The Cornish Knot.

Vicky Adin holds a MA(Hons) in English and Education. She is an avid reader of historical novels, family sagas and contemporary women’s stories and enjoys travelling. Her writing has been compared to that Catherine Cookson.

Vicky Adin| Goodreads | Facebook

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For your chance to win a print copy of Gwenna the Welsh Confectioner, click on the link below! (Open Internationally)

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Mini Tour Schedule

Feb. 11th

Reads & Reels (Excerpt) http://www.readsandreels.com

Love Books Group (Author Feature) https://lovebooksgroup.com/

Go By the Book (Review) http://gobythebookblog.wordpress.com

Feb. 12th

Valerie’s Musing’s (Excerpt) https://valeriesmusings.com/

Dash Fan Book Reviews (Review) https://dashfan81.blogspot.com/

Feb. 13th

The Voluptuous Book Diva (Excerpt) http://www.thevoluptuousbookdiva.com/

The Reading Nook (Excerpt) http://readingnook84.wordpress.com

The Cozy Pages (Excerpt) https://thecozypages.wordpress.com/

Feb. 14th

Jessica Rachow (Review) https://jessicarachow.wordpress.com/

Blog Tour Organized By:

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R&R Book Tours

BLOG TOUR – WITCH WAY TO MINTWOOD – CHARACTER GUEST POST

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Welcome! I swear, I seem to go in spurts where I get posts up on time and then I always have one that I forget. Today was that post. Anyway, today I’m hosting a stop for the Great Escapes Virtual Book Tour for Witch Way to Mintwood by Addison Creek. One of Ms. Creek’s characters has stopped by today to visit with us!

More information about the book and the author will be beneath the character’s guest post!

Guest Post

Hello! I’m Lemmi, or Lemonia if you’re my least favorite aunt. I’m the Witch of Mintwood, Maine, and I’m here to tell you what that’s like. Maine is a big state with only a few people in it. Mintwood has four thousand of them, and I live on an old farm with plenty of space. The only trouble is that townsfolk before me somehow managed to build the farm on a graveyard. I probably wouldn’t even know this, except that as a witch I can see and speak with ghosts. My farmhouse is occupied by the tea lady ghosts, the former mayor ghost, and a ghost named Mr. Bone, but that’s to ignore the most important ghost, the cat Paws.

 We all get along just fine as long as everyone does what Paws wants at all times.

 Most of my job as the Witch of Mintwood involves investigating murders, helped by my ability to see and talk to the ghosts of the victims. My two friends Greer and Charlie, who are also my roommates, help me out.

 Somehow there’s always a ghost around of someone who’s been murdered, but tensions in Mintwood don’t just come from ghostly sources. There’s also Jasper Wolf of the Wolf Corporation to consider. He’s a dreamboat in a corporate greed sort of way. I’ve loved him since high school. Unfortunately, now that I’m the Witch of Mintwood, my life doesn’t exactly scream cool and fast track. It’s more like the falling down porch, mouthy ghost cat, outspoken friends, and ratty hair track. Come join the fun! If you need me I’ll be investigating a murder or refereeing a fight between loved ones. Just a normal day in a witchy small town!

About the Book


Witch Way to Mintwood (Witch of Mintwood Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Self Published (December 19, 2016)
Print Length: 208 pages
ASIN: B01N5HIGH5

Purchase Link: Amazon

House falling down? Check. Pet sitting job with annoying clients? Check. Ability to speak to ghosts, which has the unfortunate side effect of having to listen to what they say back? Double check! Hot high school crush still in town being all successful and stuff while you protest his building projects? All kinds of checks! Did anyone say Witch of Mintwood? Yup! Just add murder and this will be a week to remember!

 

About the Author

Reading, writing, dark chocolate, and cheese.

Hello! I’m the author of the Witch Way to Mintwood series and the Spooky Business series! I live in New England and love it. I survive the winter by layering, good-natured complaining, and more layering. In case you were wondering. Hearing from readers is always lovely, so come visit me here me on my blog or Facebook.

 

Thanks for joining me today! If you’re interested in visiting other stops on the tour, please click the banner below!

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