Category Archives: BOOK BLITZ

by | August 7, 2016 · 5:00 am

PROMO BLITZ- NIGHTLORD: SUNSET BY GARON WHITED

Fantasy / Epic Fantasy
Date Published: September 2014
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Eric didn’t ask to be a vampire. In fact, he didn’t even believe in them. Then he hooks up with a hot babe, wakes up with a hangover, and bites his tongue with his own fangs.
Which pretty much settles the question.
Now he’s trying to hold down his day job while learning the rules of the Undead — the most important being that bloodthirsty urges and predatory instincts are a real bitch.
Upside; Eric has the beautiful Sasha to teach him the ropes, including the magic he’ll need to survive.
Downside; they’re being hunted by members of the Church of Light, who are determined to rid the world of vampires.
Then Sasha is killed, and Eric is thrust into an alternate world in his quest to avenge her death. There he becomes a Nightlord, fights a dragon with the help of his magical steed, Bronze, and upchucks a sword named Firebrand.
But things get really interesting when Eric finally finds Tobias, head of the Church of Light. Soon Eric finds himself at the center of an epic battle at the literal edge of the world in a fight to keep a terrible darkness at bay.
In other words, just another day in the life of the Nightlord.
“When you fall off the Edge of the World into hordes of demonic Things from the Outer Darkness, you really start to wonder if you haven’t made some mistakes.”  –Eric, part-time undead, expectant father, and short-term astronaut.
Other Books in the Nightlord Series:
Published: August 2015
“I’ve awakened in a stone box about the size of a large coffin… I’m filthy, everything aches, and, by the various so-called gods, I smell awful.
“I’ve woken up in worse places.
“Hmm. What does that say about my life choices?” —Eric, amateur magician, part-time vampire, and accidental king.
It’s not easy, being King. Especially when you’ve got an allergy to sunrise and sunset, a fire-goddess for a mother-in-law, demonic adversaries, random assassins, and a basement full of insecurities to cope with.
Add to that his daughter, the fire-priestess/princess, a couple of lightly-deranged professional magicians, a whole city full of wizards, and enough squabbling princes to resemble a kindergarten argument.
It’s enough to make a man want to just go home.
Luckily for Eric, he has the world’s fastest pet rock, a smart-mouthed sword, and a horse that not only understands him, but likes him anyway.
“An awful lot of young ladies seem to be up all night, wandering around the halls on the off-chance they’ll bump into the King when he’s in the mood for a snack. Since when did I become sexy? And why didn’t anybody warn me it was going to be work?” —Eric, elder geek and occasional idiot.
Published: May 2016
We all have inner demons. We fight them all the time. Some of us achieve inner peace by coming to terms with them.
But how do you come to terms with inner demons that tear free and become outer demons?
Eric has been a vampire for nearly a century, and his demons are more than metaphors. While they controlled him, he was the Demon King. Now he has to avoid the monsters in his own mind, as well as angry nobles, fanatical religions, assassins, magi, other vampires, criminal organizations, and the neighborhood gossip.
He wants two things: To find Tort, and to have someplace to call home.
It may be too much to ask.
EXCERPT
 I ignored the susurrus of voices, dashed up the avenue between the ruined monuments, and took the broad stairs before the door in three skipping jumps. The door itself was a carefully-balanced block of stone. It stood about eight feet tall and was perhaps twice that in width. Opening it required it to pivot around the center, its balance. Judging by the scrapes along the dusty portico, Tobias had found it no trouble at all. I, however, shoved on each side of the block in turn without result. Maybe he locked it.
I backed off, got a running start, and jumped. I kicked it with both feet, as high up as I could manage. Something snapped in the wall as I hit the door. I came to a sudden halt, thudding into the stone like a cannonball, then fell heavily to the dusty floor. I rolled to my feet awkwardly—Firebrand can be an annoyingly large chunk of metal—and was in time to watch the whole block of stone finish a slow, majestic topple inward. It landed flat with an echoing, tomb-door thud and sent up a huge cloud of white dust.
I was over that stone and past the cloud in an instant, dashing down a long tunnel before the echoes had finished. Directly ahead, far distant, I could see Tobias out in the open air. I came out of the mouth of the tunnel like the bullet from a gun.
The plaza was large. Two football games and a cricket match could have been held concurrently in that space—complete with spectators. The tunnel I exited was at the floor level of a grandly-curving amphitheater facing Tobias. All of this was scoured from rock and worn by years of use. The floor was also natural stone, cut only to smooth it down and level it. There was no roof at all.
Perhaps a quarter-mile away, the radius of the half-circle, Tobias had his back to me. Shada was lying naked on a slab of rock just beyond him. And beyond her…
The world ended.
I once wondered about the nature of the world I’m in. Is it round? Is it flat? Does it go around the Sun or vice versa?
The world is flat. Sure, it may be round—like a coin. But it has an edge, very real, and sharply defined. I know. I’ve seen it. At least that explained why my compass never found north.
Beyond that edge exists a gulf of yawning blackness, speckled here and there by the distant stars—or are they stars? I don’t know what they are. Maybe they’re just lights on the inside of a great sphere of crystal, or holes in that sphere to an even greater space that happens to be better illuminated. Maybe the stars are really angels with flaming swords and glowing halos.
Maybe they really are distant suns… but I doubt it.
Right up near the edge live the Things. I recognized a few from having seen them before. The rubbery monstrosity from the lab in Baret, along with the multi-tentacled creature that tried to eat me outside the gata camp. They had a bunch of brothers with them, along with a whole lot of more distant relations. There were hundreds, no, thousands of the Things in every shape and size imaginable—and many I wouldn’t choose to imagine without serious drugs. They seemed to have no gravity out there. They weren’t a flat crowd, but a wall, extending up and to the sides, as though they were all pressing against a barrier of glass, trying to get in. They were clustered most thickly near Tobias, thinner out away from him. All of them were fairly frothing at the mouth to pour from the outer darkness onto the stone floor of the world. They chattered and chittered, hissed and clacked and moaned. Their sounds were muted, as though there really was a barrier, but there was nothing to be seen holding them at bay.
Tobias was chanting. He had some tools in his hands—I couldn’t tell quite what, but one seemed to be a knife.
About the Author
 

Garon Whited was supposedly born in either 1969 or 1970; the original birth certificate is suspiciously unavailable and other records do not agree.  After spending some years in college playing with computers, he finally joined a radical group of jellyfish herding nomads. Having fought zombie dolphins, quasi-corporeal spirits, and brain-sucking mole rats, he is uniquely qualified to write fantastic fiction. His subsequent attempts at professional salsa repairman and key line salesman met with similar success. He claims to live in Texarkana, on Earth, but people have been known to disagree.
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by | August 6, 2016 · 5:00 am

PROMO BLITZ- SHELTER ME BY STEPHANIE TYLER

New Adult Romance, Romantic Suspense
Date Published:  July 25, 2016
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There are ghosts in my past—ghosts I can’t recognize.
My painting heals me, but Lucas Caine has made me come alive. My past could take both those things away forever. What started out as an undeniable need to create was quickly turning into danger as my longing for memories fed the rough canvases I filled.
Falling for Lucas will force me to revisit my lost memories—and possibly lose myself, my art, and him in the process.
And now he has me skating the thin edge between desire and fear as I use a past I don’t remember to leverage a future I’m not sure I want.
(This is book 1 in a 3 book series. Book 2 will be available November 2016 & Book 3, January 2017)
EXCERPT
I absently tucked it into a loose braid over one shoulder while I studied the painting in front of me. I’d wanted to let Brayden pick the order, but he’d refused earlier that morning, and told me I was running out of time. At that memory, I murmured “Bastard” in his absence.
That’s when a low, rough voice said, “People usually know me at least five minutes before calling me that.”
Still on the floor, I whipped around to see the tall, brutally handsome man standing maybe ten feet away. How long had he been there? I hadn’t heard him come in, but now that he was coming closer, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
The fight or flight response had remained intact when my memory hadn’t. Everyone, every stranger wasn’t necessarily a stranger. They could know me. They could be a part of my past.
Whether this man was or not, my base response to him was a purely physical one.
“The door was open,” the man explained.
And it might’ve been. Brayden told me to lock myself in but I often forgot. Panic must have flashed across my face because he stopped advancing and held up his hands like a show of surrender. But he didn’t try to tell me he was harmless, because he wasn’t. Never could be. And the man who waited for him had moved too, turned his back in an effort to appear less threatening.
“My name’s Lucas. I buy a lot of art from Brayden.”
“Mine?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“I guess you’ll have to try harder.”
A smile ghosted across his chiseled face and I liked that. Wanted to see it more, wanted to be the one who could always bring a smile to his face.
 These men could be here to harm me and I was too busy with my tongue hanging out to threaten them with the police.
Because you rely on your gut, Ryn, my therapist, foster mom and Brayden always told me. That will get you through just about any situation.
My gut said this man knew I was Ryn Taylor, artist, but didn’t know anything beyond that about me except what he’d read in interviews. Maybe he was here for my art, or maybe it was for me. But how could I feel so connected to someone I’d just met?
Lucas.
I rolled the name around in my mind as my eyes took in the black leather motorcycle jacket and the tighter black T-shirt underneath…the worn-in jeans and the heavy black motorcycle boots. I saw the hint of an expensive watch peek out on his wrist as he came closer.
I knew too, if I pushed up those sleeves, I’d find some ink. Incongruous, and ultimately intriguing.
 The angles of his face begged to be drawn, to be touched, and I held my hands down rigidly at my sides so I wouldn’t do just that. “My show’s not until tomorrow night,” I managed.
“I know.”
“Are you here to…” I looked around for Brayden, like he would magically appear and caught another glance of the other man by the door. “Are you here for Brayden?”
“For Brayden? No.” His mouth quirked up to the side a little and he ran a hand through his dark blond hair. It was long enough to curl a bit at the nape of his neck, and it was rumpled, like maybe he’d just rolled out of bed…and maybe he hadn’t been alone.
“You’re not his type.”
 His blue eyes pierced me. They were a dark blue and they missed nothing. “Whose type am I?”
Mine, I nearly blurted out. I was nervous, my stomach fluttering but not in that panicked way I recognized. Just the opposite, actually. Heat flooded me as he stared at me in my tank top and jeans with utmost appreciation, the frank gaze of someone who understood beauty and acted on it.
I wanted him to act, but at the same time, I needed him to stay away. I was too drawn to him, an electromagnetic pull that spun the earth on its axis differently. Something told me that I’d never get this man out of my life. I’d never be done with him, or him of me, and holy hell, that was a heady enough thought to make me dizzy.
I remained on my knees, stock still, looking up at him. I had the odd feeling that if I moved, even a little, I’d fall, trip, completely ruin the moment.
He gave me a heated look, and dammit, he knew what I was thinking.
Every woman who came into contact with him probably had that reaction. And that made me unnaturally, irrationally jealous because, in my mind, I’d already claimed him.
Finally, his gaze shifted to the paintings I’d been appraising. He focused on one that was part of a series that’d already sold well, thanks to Brayden. I’d wanted to call the series Man in Trees (and still did so) but Brayden told me it was creepy and insisted on simply, Catskills as the official series title. And while I could see what he meant, the person these were based on had never, ever scared me. But I couldn’t tell Brayden these were based on someone real, because he’d freak out.
 Even though I was building an entire series around him, I’d never seen the man’s face. Still, I’d always sworn I’d be able to sense him the way I’d sensed him out there before I’d caught sight of the shadowed figure, and even though I hadn’t been able to see his face clearly, I knew he was big, broad and utterly male. I’d wanted to walk across the lawn, strip him and paint him…and then climb him after I stripped myself.
When I’d shown Brayden the first picture, he’d insisted on bringing it to the gallery. I hadn’t wanted that, but I’d felt foolish telling Brayden about why the painting was so special to me, why I wanted to keep it. He told me that if I was sentimental about my work, I’d never get anywhere. In the end, after a terrible fight, I agreed to let him show it in his gallery, but I’d have final say if it was to be sold.
It was stolen a week later.
I stared up at Lucas as he stared at my painting—the fourth in a collection of nine, not counting the missing first one, all attempts to recreate those initial feelings that had propelled me to paint the first one. His expression unshuttered for a brief moment, like he was letting me in, drawing me closer to the fire.
I couldn’t afford to play with fire, but he was like the ghost of the man I thought I’d conjured up on that warm summer’s night in the Catskills. I was seventeen, dizzy and half high from creating. I’d glanced over and watched him. He was half hidden among the trees and if I hadn’t been coming off a painting, I would’ve been terrified. Instead, I noticed how handsome he was, chiseled and mysterious.
I dreamed about him that whole week, less as the years went by, but always when I needed comfort, or when I was coming out of the burn of my art.
He’d been there. He was now here. Could I have wanted him so badly that my dream turned into reality? A ridiculous thought and one I chided myself for.
Creation didn’t work that way.
I tried to draw in a shaky breath when this ridiculously beautiful, rough man moved a few steps in my direction, even though he was still focused on the painting.
The walls were closing in on me until he said, “Your work is beautiful,” and turned from me to the paintings.
What little space he’d given me let me breathe. Even though I swore his gaze heated me, the fact that he was pointing to various paintings soothed me.
“My first show is tomorrow,” was all I could think of to say, even though it was probably obvious.
“Your work is ready.”
Your work. Like he knew I wasn’t. “I don’t think I’ll ever be.”
He turned back to me then. “That’s not a bad thing. Protect whatever the hell makes these.”
What made those was a part of the nightmare of my blacked-out past. What if discovering what was behind it stole the art from me, left me limp, with nothing? What if I had to trade nightmares and the thing I loved for peace? That haunted me, so I’d chosen not to have peace.
I remained on the ground, drawn to him, wanting to rise but refusing to do so. Sheer stubbornness and self-preservation mixed together.
He reached a hand down to help me up but I couldn’t touch him. Not yet.
I pushed myself up. He was at least six foot four to my five feet four inches. The difference was dramatic.
He was so still, a predator, watching me with keen interest. I’d never been as intensely aware of a man in my life. I could smell his skin, wanted to taste it, put my mouth on his and forget everything else, including basic human decency.
I blamed the art. The heat. My lack of proper nutrition.
I stuck out my hand without saying anything, almost a dare. He took it in his and my pulse beat a tattoo. I felt the slow burn and then the aftershock quake through my whole body.
There was a definite sense of street in him, a primal, easily willing and able to fight for his life street sense.
His eyes were haunted, like maybe he already had.
There was no doubt he’d won.
About the Author
 

 

Stephanie Tyler is the New York Times bestselling author of romance novels spanning multiple genres, including Romantic Suspense, New Adult, Paranormal Romance and Contemporary Romance.
She’s a hybrid author who writes for multiple publishers, including Random House, NAL/Penguin, Harlequin, Carina Press, Mammoth Books, Belle Books and Samhain Publishing, as well as Riptide (as SE Jakes) and indie publishing. Her books have been translated into half a dozen languages, nominated for an RT Readers’ Choice Award and garnered top picks from RT Magazine as well as starred reviews from Publishers Weekly. She’s a frequent workshop presenter and has contributed stories for anthologies for charities, including SEAL of My Dreams, which has raised over 150K for the Veterans Medical Association.
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by | August 5, 2016 · 5:00 am

PROMO BLITZ- SHADOWS MAY FALL BY MELL CORCORAN

Thriller / Mystery / Crime
Publisher: Mill City Press
Date Published: June 2016
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Barely catching her breath after wrapping up a string of complex murders, homicide detective Lou Donovan finds herself on the hunt for a new killer with some seriously twisted methods. The ghastly slaughters turn even veteran cops several shades of green, and it’s up to Lou and her new partner to follow their instincts down their dark and deadly path.
As if tracking down a murderer wasn’t enough, Lou finds herself in the middle of a delicate balancing act. Her new and unfamiliar role among one of the world’s most powerful, clandestine organizations has her second-guessing her own instincts. It’s made all the more difficult due to Lou’s refusal to face her inexplicable longing for the new man that looms at the center of her universe.
The third installment in the Series of Shadows saga, Shadows May Fall, follows the series’s beloved detective as she faces new challenges, both professional and personal. Will Lou sort out her tangled life, or will her unresolved emotions result in tragedy?
 
Other Books in the Series of Shadows Series

 

Publisher: Mill City Press
Published: March 2013
Humans sit comfortably at the summit of the food chain; rarely does any other animal get the advantage. But other people? Now there’s something to fear.
In Mell Corcoran’s thrilling crime novel debut, Shadows of Doubt, women are being hunted, tortured, killed and their assailant leaves the same clue on each of them but it has no scientific explanation. Detective Lou Donovan must figure out this killer’s signature because he’s escalating and no one knows where he will strike next.
When the first victim appears in Shadow of Doubt Lou nor her partner wants the case but it’s shoved in their laps. As soon as they make some progress, however, the case is taken from them and the explanation is weak at best. Lou won’t let go and tries to work below the radar but she’s foiled at every turn. It’s as if someone is watching her and knows her every move.
Publisher: Mill City Press
Published: February 2014
An affluent community, a gruesome crime scene and zero forensic evidence. Three headless bodies and an empty house are all detectives have to go on and the clock is ticking. In this second installment in a Series of Shadows, Detective Lou Donovan is back on the case barely recovered from her brush with death in Shadows of Doubt. Despite her life being turned upside down after stumbling upon a world she never knew existed, Lou must adapt and face her new circumstances in a hurry before more bodies start piling up.
In this intense and complex case, Lou and her team must figure out who their headless victims are, who would go to such elaborate lengths and why. As they dig, they uncover more questions than answers. On top of that, Lou must deal with being assigned a new partner and the problems that adds to the mix.
Is a notorious drug cartel behind these brutal slayings or is something far more evil behind the scenes? Sometimes the truth is better left in the shadows.
About the Author

 

After nearly two decades working in the legal profession, Mell Corcoran made a major career shift to pursue her passion as a writer. The author of the critically acclaimed Series of Shadows, including Shadows of Doubt and Shadows of Deceit, Mell has found her bliss as a mystery-thriller writer.
A native Southern Californian, Mell was born into a large stereotypical Irish-American family, many in law enforcement, which fostered a unique perspective in her writing. She is an avid animal lover, hockey fan, would-be golfer and aspiring tech geek. Mell resides with her family just outside Los Angeles, California.
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by | August 4, 2016 · 5:00 am

PROMO BLITZ- NEVER A CHOICE BY DEE PALMER

Erotic Romantic Suspense
Romantic: Hot Alpha, Billionaire Romantic Suspense
Date Published: March 2016
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Bethany Thorne has secrets and she’s told a few lies but she’s hurt no-one. She just wants a better life, she works hard for a better life, a life with choices but a chance encounter at her new University with billionaire, hot alpha Daniel Stone makes her heart beat, her body tremble and rocks her very foundation. Reeling from the intensity of her unfathomable reactions to this man her world is sent further spiralling out of her control when on this first meeting he casually whispers that he knows she’s a liar. Bethany begins to feel her hard earned choices start to disintegrate before her.
Her innate and newly discovered submissive nature is highlighted further by her extreme reaction to each encounter with alpha Daniel Stone. Seriously hot, dark and dominant he evokes an instant heat and desire she has never felt before, but he is dangerous, he is powerful and he seems to see right through her. Choosing to try and stay under his radar proves to be the first choice to slip through her fingers.
Other Books in The Choices Trilogy 
Published: April 2015
Dark and erotically demanding Daniel is everything and more, Bethany embraces the challenge of being with a man like Daniel whilst trying to come to terms with what he needs and what she can give him of herself. Is it ever going to be enough? Daniel consumes and possess every part of her, its intoxicating and seductive. Bethany needs to choose between being true to herself and the promises she made and being the type woman Daniel demands.
Published: June 2015
Bethany’s devastation is complete. Secrets, lies and impossible choices have torn her world apart but it is not the first time she has had to rebuild her world. So she’ll do it again…she has to.
When Bethany meets Daniel, she is backed into a corner and with the threat of losing even more she comes out fighting. Daniel quickly learns there is nothing quite as intoxicating as a woman with nothing left to lose and nothing quite as irresistible as his Bethany. But there are more games being played than either of them are truly aware and the winning prize is a coveted Happy Ever After.
 
About the Author
Dee Palmer hates talking about herself in the third person so I won’t. My husband had my iPod engraved one Christmas with ‘sing like no-one’s listening’ and I know my family actually wish they weren’t listening because I am, in fact, tone deaf but it doesn’t stop me and this gentle support has enabled me to fullfil a dream. This has been a truly brilliant experience. It has undoubtedly been made possible by my incredibly supportive family. I know this is very much another acknowledgment bit but I know I wouldn’t be writing even this single paragraph if it wasn’t for them so this is about who I am, I am because they let me be.
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by | July 30, 2016 · 5:00 am

THE DRAGON IN THE GARDEN PROMO BLITZ

Fantasy
Date Published:  February 2016
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On Sale $.99 until the end of July 
No lie can fool her, no glamour or illusion can cloud her SighThere is magic beneath the mundane and in The Dragon in the Garden, Siobhan Orsini witnesses it all. t. She sees through them all and wishes she could close her eyes. Returning to face her past, Siobhan inherits her grandparents’ house in California’s wine country. She encounters a talking dragon, a hot fallen angel, a demon lord, a Valkyrie, and, oh yes, her ex-boyfriend. And that is just in the first twenty-four hours.
It’s time to find out why she has this power.
Siobhan seeks out the Oracle and learns that only her Sight can help mankind navigate the travails of an ancient war. Our world is the prize in a battle between the dragons, who would defend us, and Lucifer’s fallen angels, who seek to take the Earth for themselves. Using her gift, she will have to make a choice that will decide humanity’s future.
 
EXCERPT
Chapter One
The memory has haunted me for years.
In the middle of a bright California summer, dark days came. My mother and grandparents spoke in hushed, serious voice, arguing about my absent father. Was it my fault he left? A soft whimper escaped my throat and my eyes burned. I needed a hug, but no one paid any attention to me that day.  So I ran away to the refuge of my grandparents’ garden where I could hide among its statues and flowers.
My eyes lingered over the familiar garden ornaments. I passed the old birdbath, the statues of gnomes, and a cheerful squirrel. I ran one hand over the stone deer. Its brown paint had faded from years under the sun. Walking with quick steps down the gravel path, I made my way to the center of the garden, my special spot where my favorite statue waited.
       A gnarled apricot tree grew there.  Right now it was covered with tiny green apricots. Later in the summer the sweet fruit I loved would ripen. I would get to pick them with my parents, no, just with my mother. My lip trembled. My father wouldn’t be here.
The bright-green dragon lay curled at the foot of the apricot tree, partially covered by vines. My mother called the color jade green—the same shade as my eyes. As a child she talked to all the statues, but I only spoke to the dragon. I named her Daisy. Sitting down next to her now, the tears welled up at last, spilling over my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around my legs, making myself into a little ball of five year old misery.
“Child, why are you sad?” said a woman’s voice.
“Who said that?” I asked, wiping my cheek.
 “I did.”
“Where are you?” I stood and peered at the plants and statues around me.
“Right here.”
“Are not,” I retorted.
A soft laugh filled the air and the woman spoke again. “Perhaps you are right. Easy enough to fix, I suppose.”
The breeze picked up. The space beneath the apricot tree shimmered. Ripples warped the air like the heat over the barbecue when my father cooked. The sweet notes of wind chimes filled the yard. Grandma and Grandpa didn’t have any wind chimes. I whirled around to find the noise.
Under the branches appeared an enormous green dragon’s head. My mouth opened in a silent O and I held my breath.
 “Now child,” said the woman. “I won’t hurt you.” Her voice came from the dragon’s mouth.
I opened my lips to scream, but no noise came. Backing away, I bumped into the hammock and froze.
“I don’t eat little girls.” The dragon’s huge golden eyes twinkled.
“How did you know what I was thinking?” I whispered.
“I am a good guesser. Besides, I know I must be very big to you.” The voice sounded kind, like my teacher’s.
“As big as Daddy’s car,” I said.
“Oh, I am much bigger than that,” the dragon said, smiling. Her teeth shone white and enormous. “I’m only showing you a bit of me right now.”
“Where is the rest of you?”
“All around us.”
“Why aren’t you smooshing everything?” I gestured around the garden.
The dragon chuckled. “You are a smart little thing.” The jeweled head tilted to one side. “You would be Siobhan, yes?”
“You said it right. Sha-vauhn.” Everyone messed up my name. I wished on every first star, each night, for a different name— a normal name.
“In the old country Siobhan means ‘God is gracious.’”
“Yep, that’s what Mommy says, too,” I said glumly. “What’s your name?”
“Gwyrdd ferch Heulen ferch Caden ap Haydn.”
“Gwyer-eth?” My mouth struggled with the unfamiliar name.
“Not bad,” said the dragon. “I like the name you gave me—Daisy.”
“It’s easier to say,” I said.
“I am not smooshing the garden because I am not quite here. Only part of me is here. What year is it?”
“It’s 1993, Daisy.”
The dragon stirred. “It’s too early, child. The prophecy says I should not be here yet.”
“What’s a prophecy?” My tongue stumbled on the unfamiliar word.
“It’s a prediction of what might happen in the future.”
“You mean like the weather? My daddy says the guys on TV mess up all the time,” I said.
Daisy chuckled, a low rumble deep in her throat. “Your father is not wrong.”
“What does it say will happen?”
“I am supposed to meet someone, but our appointment is for later,” said Daisy.
“Can’t you stay here until the appointment? I won’t let you be late,” I said.
Daisy frowned. “It’s a secret appointment. There are some people I don’t want to know about the person I’m supposed to meet.”
“Bad people?” I asked. “Is that why you hide and pretend to be a statue?”
 “Have you ever had a friend,” asked Daisy, “a friend who misbehaved and needed a break?”
 I knew all about that. “Sure, Danny hit Carter. They’re friends, but they both wanted the bike, and wouldn’t take turns. Miss Sarah told them to go sit down and have a time out.”
“Miss Sarah must be very smart,” said the dragon. “As it happens, friends and I have been fighting over something and we needed a time out.”
“Are there more dragons?” I asked.
“Yes, many more.”
“Are there dragons hiding in any other statues?”
The jeweled head moved slowly back and forth. “No, just me. The others cannot pass between worlds.”
“Why just you?”
“I have a job to do,” said Daisy. Her voice sounded sad.
 “Are the dragons good guys?” I asked, scooting closer to Daisy and laying a hand on her warm nose. I didn’t want her to be sad.
Daisy snorted, tickling my hand so I giggled. “Yes, dear one, I think we are good.”
“But, if you come back now it would be bad?” My laughter faded.
“It would be very bad indeed, but later, when it is right, I can return.” Daisy sighed.
“I always knew you were real.” I straightened my shoulders. I had found a dragon in hiding.
“Really?” Daisy asked.
“You’re the only statue I named,” I answered. “Nobody fools me.”
The breeze picked up again. Daisy sniffed the wind. “Siobhan, I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave or the bad things will happen. Will you be all right?”
“My daddy’s not coming back, is he?” My worries returned.
Her scales sparkled in the bright sunshine. “No, he is not coming back to your mother although he will visit you and your brother.”
I sighed. “Daisy, will I ever see you again?”
The golden eyes twinkled. “Yes, I believe you will.”
The air warped again. I tried to watch, but a bird warbled close by, and I turned my head. When I glanced back at the apricot tree, the air shimmered and the small, dragon statue lay where Daisy’s head had been. “But, Daisy, who were you fighting with?”
A whisper floated on the breeze. I bent closer to the statue to listen. “That can’t be right,” I said to the empty garden.
On that day everything changed, especially me.
My name is Siobhan Isabella Orsini. It would be twenty years before I saw my dragon again.
About the Author
 
Erika is a sixth generation San Franciscan of Irish descent. She attended the University of California at Davis and completed degrees in Medieval History and Biological Sciences. A lifelong lover of books and a scribbler of many tales from a young age (her first story was completed at age five) she turned to writing full-time in 2011.
On a personal level she loves spicy food, twilight, dark chocolate (with sea salt-yum!) and nickel slots at Vegas. Erika lives for time with friends, a nice glass of red wine, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” & “Doctor Who” and good conversation. Her favorite things to do are running, cooking, reading, needlework, gardening… and of course, writing. Erika’s music of choice is heavy metal. To pick her out in a lineup you should know that she is very short, fairly loud, and has dark eyebrows. The rest, as her hero Anne McCaffrey once said in her bio, “is subject to change without notice”.
Erika resides in Northern California with her incredibly hot husband, their three amazing kids, and their chocolate Labrador named Selkie. To reach Erika regarding her books, wine recommendations, or to debate which Iron Maiden album is the best (clearly, it’s Brave New World), you can find her online at www.erikagardner.com.
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