Annabel Horton and the Black Witch of Pau Tour

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Fantasy
Release Date: Oct. 1, 2019
Publisher: Chattercreek
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Annabel’s husband, who has been missing for years, is finally discovered among the bowels of White Chapel England during the horror of Jack the Ripper. His discovery brings Annabel and her family to the turn of nineteenth-century England hoping to rescue Michele from the Black Witch’s cage. What they discover is that the Black Witch has been forced into an insidious pact with the devil and the devil, with malicious intent, is luring them all into a web of death. Can they escape his grasp?

Excerpt

Whitec Chapel, London

 1888

Geneviève Têetu, the Black Witch of Pau

     The moon floated past my window like a round, celestial ship; it seemed detached from the sky as it beckoned me, this segregated, white, globular light. Clouds that looked like smoke nearly covered it, but it was still bright and full. I stood in the shadow it threw across my floor and whispered the incantations of conquest as I stared at it. Only when the moon is full could I do this. It kept me potent, this incantation. I have been whispering it many years, mostly for others, but tonight, it was for me.    

  Urbain has beckoned me, the great and most obnoxious Urbain. I was surprised to be his chosen one, but then again, I am the most wanting. He has given me a command and I must obey if I know what’s good for me. But I must admit, this command he has given me fills me with excitement, this command from the devil’s disciple is most miraculous.  I was titillated and beyond containment though I must also admit to feelings of weariness and discontent. 

I reached for the windowsill and held fast to steady my nerves. For all the miracles I could manifest, there is still magic I cannot perform. The great Urbain was a far greater witch than me, but what would I owe him for doing his bidding?

I turned from the window to stare at the massive man clothed in a Catholic priest’s robe. What a joke that is! His cross was the color of blackberry jam and marred by scratches, and the starched white collar around his neck was so stiff I wondered if it irritated him. I closed my eyes and mumbled a prayer of gratitude. I had been turned away from him, facing the moon, but of course, Urbain has heard my mutterings.

     ““What are you mumbling about?”” he asked.,

      Tthe irritation in his voice surprised me. I am after all, a witch,. I do a lot of muttmbelring—: incantations, curses, and dark prayers. It is not unusual for me to mutter. I wanted to tell him that, but I held my tongue and .

     I met his eyes. I was impressed hHe hads been patient up until now , and I have been impressed, but I have had also become leery. But it is my nature to be leery.

 But it is my nature to be leery.

     ““I was calling upon my gGoddess,”” I said.

     ““You have no need of gGoddesses. You have only need of me. Will you honor my command, or do I have to strike you down?””

     ““No need for violence, Urbain.””

     ““YSo, you say that Annabel has come to your window. How do you know this? How do you know the face of Annabel?”

     ““I don’’t know the face of Annabel, but the old man called her thatby name, and she was beautiful, so I surmised it. You told me that the old man was her husband, Michele Guyon.””

     ““Yes, the old man is Michele Guyon, but all the time travel he does has made him a blithering idiot.”” 

     ““So, you said, and now he is in my dungeon, as you commanded.””

     ““Yes, good move. Well, I imagine Annabel might have come to your window, though she certainly knows not whose window she stood before. I’’m sure she thinks, from the bowels of her limited brain, that it is her love of music that beckoned her to you. It was I who beckoned her, though I did not really think she would obey me, but. She never has. I am pleased to see that I have power over her still.”

     ““I’’m sure your power is greater than hers. She must be putty in your hands.”” I kept my sarcasm buried behind my veiled smile; a smile only partially visible behind my veils.

     ““Of course,, she is,”” he said. ““I wanted you to see her, to rest your eyes upon her, to and fall in love with her great beauty, so to speak. But I had no idea she succumbed to my will. Yes, I must admit that I did not.”” 

     ““How did you trick her then?”” I asked him. ““How did you get the old man to my window?””

     I had heard that the great Urbain was no match for Annabel Horton, but of course I would never tell him that. Annabel also had the power of several of her wretched family members, quite competent witches, to ward off any threats from Urbain. Together, they could probably crush him, the way Annabel’s magic had crushed our daughter, Jeanne Elemont, was crushed beneath the cross, crushed by the magic of Annabel Horton.

     He looked away from me for a moment, but. I saw the twitch in his cheek. He needed me for revenge., Hhow cunning he was to think of it. Whose need for beauty was greater than mine for beauty? 

     ““As I have always tricked her,”” he said. ““But that is not important., I wanted you to see what possibilities there are. It surprises me, yYour doubt, your and hesitation surprise me.””

     ““But I do not doubt you. and I am not hesitating. I am merely thanking the Goddess Hecate for the magic you bring me. I am,  . . . how do you say it . . .? Joie., I am with delight, Urbain.””

     ““I bring you no magic. It is not magic. It is power, the power of evil intent. I wish to destroy Annabel Horton, the way she destroyed our daughter, Jeanne.””

     ““Why are you choosingchoose me?”” I asked, though I knew the answer. ““There are so many you might have called upon.”” 

     He shrugged his shoulders. ““And why shouldn’’t I choose you? You have the most to gain.”” He laughed in the most wickedly way, as if he were crushing a small dog under the weight of his hand.

      ““I am about to give you a great gift, Geneviève. You will be beautiful once again, the way you were when we first made love under the light of the moon,.”” hHe said, standingwas standing in the shadow by mya parlor window in my parlor. “The way you were when we first made love under the light of the moon. “Do you remember?””

     I nodded, though it was a memory I would have preferred to keep buried. forget for it was notHe called it making love in my experience;, I called itit was something else, violence against me, perhapsrape.

      “As he came outwalked out of the darkness, he walked to me and took my face in his hand,. I could see his blue eyes, shinning like two icicles that hunghanging from a rotting roof in the starlit night sky, illuminated by stars.

 ““What greater power is there than beauty?”” he said.

     ““I am to be a pawn in your revenge,”” I whispered.

     His great height overwhelmed me for a moment as he released my face. I could still feel his touch, like heat from the sun.

 ““I can take my exit,”” he said,. ““aAnd leave you to your misfortune for all eternity.””

     I knew instinctively I should have let him go, but his offer was too prodigious. ““No!””

     He smiled again, benevolently. The cross he wore hung low, nearly to his stomach. His priest robes dusted the floor like drapes, that falling in gracious folds. One could easily trust him, and how foolish that would be.

     ““I will do your bidding and take the risk,”” I said,. ““I will do what you ask. I will take the risk, for indeed there must be risk.””

     ““There is,  … but if I succeed, it will be worth it.””

      ““I will need a powerful, cogent potion to accomplish the task of bringingbring Annabel to me. But, of course, I will do it. Annabel Horton will come to me of her own free will, and I will have her eating out of my hand.”” I showed him my imperfect teeth, and he returned my a smile. His smirk was like a long road into hell. And if I defied him, that’’s exactly where he would banish me., this I knew.

     He handed me a music box. ““Your bait. Sometimes, potions are not enough.””

     I took the box in my hand and stared at it. ““What is this? A box?””

     ““I have sent her music boxes over the years. She thinks they’’re from her husband. Women can be such docile fools when in love. She’’ll know you have her precious Michele if you give her this, or at least, she will think you have him. She will make the connection immediately.””

     ““Fine, where is she?””

     ““She lives in Brooklyn.””

     ““Where’’s that?””

     ““It is in America.””

     I stared at him in disbelief. ““I cannot go there,”” I said. ““How in the devilDevil’’s name will I get to America?””

     ““In the devilDevil’’s name? Ha! You are funny.” He let out a small laugh, almost like a giggle.” She lives in the twenty-first century. She lives among despair and, souls damned with an odd intelligence. Imagine,”” he said, turninged to me. ““They have lost their spirits, these so- called modern, arrogant raboteurs.””

     ““But I cannot go to her. ” I began to panic. ” I cannot cross time.” I began to panic. “You say she lives in the twenty-first century? I cannot go to the twenty-first century. Perhaps I can get to Brooklyn but not in the twenty-first century. I’’ll need someone else to give her the potion and, not to mention your . . . … uh . . . …  box.””

     ““Well, then, send that fool of a priest,”” he said. ““He can go anywhere. She will come. She will follow him. Imprison her immediately or she will get away. Then summon me at the Church of the Holy Ghost at, Nightiengale Square. We will bring take her to Julian’’s church for the exorcism, and I will be forever in your debt, Geneviève.””

     ““And I in yours,”” I whispered. I sat beforefaced him on my settee,. staring I faced him stoically. ““What if she does not come?”” I asked, myMy fear of him was far more obvious than I wished it to be. ““Why should she go where Julian tells her to go?””

     He laughedlet out, a deep bellowing sound that hurt my sensitive ears. ““She will think he comes with God’’s intent. She trusts him.””

     ““I see.””

     ““Would you prefer to live as you are with the face of a donkey? Aan ass? A chimpanzee? Or would you prefer to have men falling at your feet as they used to?””

     I had no answer. It was clearly obvious. I ached to be beautiful, as any ugly woman would.

     ““I thought as much,”” he said. ““We can accomplish anything if we want it badly enough.”” 

     And with one brief, perturbing glance over his shoulder, he was gone, leaving me to the impossible task of ensnaring a witch that could crush my soul if she chose. Could the great Urbain really assure me that it would not be so? I stared at the dust he left behind as and a shiver ran through my very bones.

     I was afraid. I will admit to being afraid for I was to trick the notoriousgreat Annabel Horton. For that I would need more than the fingernails of a beggar for my brew.

About the Author

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Olivia Hardy Ray is the pen name for Vera Jane Cook. The Author has published Three fantasy novels as Olivia Hardy Ray and five women’s fiction titles as Vera Jane Cook. The Author is writing a sequel to Pharaoh’s Star called Fox Hollow Road. The author’s women fiction title, Kismet, is due out this winter.
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New York As We Know It Blitz

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Poetry
Date Published: July 28, 2017
Publisher: Mindstir Media
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Running through cities is a part of my exploration. As I run I see, interact, build images that I put together in my poetic interpretive responses, my poems. I write on the run with a pad I carry.
I recall my impressions as I finish. I recall moments as reminders pop up in my mind. As if to see in words my views of the world of people and structures around me. Hopefully others will relate to my words and receive something similar in vision and intensity as I experience.
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About the Author
Born and Bred in New York City. As a scientist, teacher and observer of the beauty of the earth and its inhabitants.
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The Soul Collector Tour

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Urban Fantasy / Paranormal
Date Published: 8/28/19
Publisher: Story Bound Publishing
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As I lay trapped inside this quiet realm, 
My soul adrift, my body earthbound,
A magical book guards my flight,
Will it keep me safe till morning’s light?
It begins with darkness. Are they dead, or trapped inside a horrible dream? No one can hear them, see them. Has the world forgotten them? Are they invisible? Not to the Soul Collector. They have stepped into her Kingdom, and she is waiting for them.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

The biggest boxing match of the season landed on a Friday the 13th. But a little thing like superstition had no effect on the newcomer, Jonathan Bayfield, and heavyweight champion, Lou Turlock. The fight fans agreed, stomping their feet while chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” inside the packed, brightly lit arena. Sportscasters got up close and personal, claiming ringside seats for an in-your-face camera view.  

Bayfield locked his gaze on his opponent, his right ear taking in Coach’s words. 

“Go to the body. Don’t overreach. Straight punches. Got it?” Coach gripped Bayfield’s shoulder. “Hey, eyes on me. Don’t let him get inside your head.”

Bayfield looked at Coach, giving him a slow nod, then reverted his focus back to Turlock, transmitting a defiant “this fight is mine” glare. 

Turlock reciprocated, taunting Bayfield with a “we’ll see” sneer. 

The vein in Bayfield’s forehead pulsed, spreading a surge of heat through his body. A fist to the gut. That would show the arrogant prick he had something to worry about, rattled through his mind. The ringside bell shattered Bayfield’s thoughts, bouncing him to his feet. Turlock came out swinging, and Bayfield pivoted while throwing a right hook, catching the corner of Turlock’s jaw. Turlock countered, landing a jab to Bayfield’s chest. The blow forced the air from Bayfield’s lungs, his body folding in half. But he quickly sprang upright, shaking off the sting, and fired off several consecutive punches straight into Turlock’s gut.

Turlock wobbled back and the crowd roared, shouting, “Way to go, Bayfield!” Bayfield bounced back and forth on his feet, tapping his gloves to the crowd’s cheers.

Turlock’s own pulse battered against his eardrums. Where was the respect? He was a champion, and these morons had the nerve to cheer for a nobody, some kid who’d happened to land himself a good manager. Adrenaline tipped the scales on the fighter’s rationality. Cognitive thought ceased. The whites of his eyes blazed as he hurtled his body like a weapon, slamming his skull against the kid’s. 

A crackling of bones ricocheted inside the ring, causing an eerie silence to fall over the area, before shouts from the crowd came from all sides. The ref barged in, spewing spit as he held Turlock back. Turlock’s gaze traveled over the ref’s shoulder, colliding with the kid’s vacant stare. He knew that look; like no one was home. He’d seen it in his grandpa’s eyes before he’d taken his last breath. An icy chill scurried down Turlock’s spine as the kid crumpled to the mat. Turlock stood still as medics, judges, and more refs flooded the ring, surrounding the kid’s lifeless body.

“I can’t find a pulse.”

“Start compressions.”

Coach pushed his way through the chaos to Bayfield. “Jonathan, can you hear me?” Coach’s voice shook. “Stay…” He blew out a breath. “Stay with me, buddy.”

Bayfield’s eyelids flew open, and with one push, he was on his feet. A weird and wonderful lightness affected his body, which made no sense, being as he weighed 200 pounds. Sounds rushed back, bouncing against his eardrums and forming words—Coach’s words. 

“Hold on, Jonathan. The ambulance is on its way.”

Bayfield focused his attention on Coach. “Ambulance?”  

“Just hold on.”

Bayfield laughed. “What are you talking about? Coach, I’m standing right behind you. Turn around.” 

Coach made no attempt, his focus centered on something in front of him. 

Bayfield’s tone rose an octave. “Coach, what gives?”

No answer came, not from Coach, nor from any of the other people hovering around him. 

Bayfield skimmed the faces of the crowd, searching for a clue or hint to enlighten him on what the hell was happening. Why was everyone ignoring him? 

“Step aside, people,” security broadcasted with authority, herding the crowd back. “Let the paramedics through.”

“Paramedics? Who got hurt?” Bayfield’s gaze darted to Turlock, where men in dark blue suits surrounded him, escorting him toward the locker room. Bayfield let his gaze grow distant. He had no memory of the fight ending, and his boxing gloves were missing. No one acknowledged him. None of it made sense. He gave his head a good shake. “Gotta be an explanation for all this.” As his vision cleared, it centered on the paramedics rolling a lifeless body away on a stretcher—his body! 

His brain skidded to a stop—no pause, no rewind, no press play. Just a complete stop. Was he being punk’d? Was this some kind of sick joke? His gaze followed the stretcher, catching the tail end of it slipping inside the ambulance. Coach followed, his hands running through his salt and pepper hair. The look of sheer terror etched across Coach’s pale face slammed against Bayfield’s brain. This was no joke. This was real, and that ambulance was about to take off with his body.

Bayfield launched across the ring, catapulting over the ropes and sailing inside the ambulance seconds before the doors closed and the siren sang out. He plopped down next to Coach, his gaze transfixed on his own body lying across from him. One massive, purplish bruise swallowed up his bloodied forehead. Bayfield couldn’t explain it—couldn’t understand it. “I’m sitting here, but also lying there. How is that possible?” In a momentary shift, his eyes found Coach’s, thirsty for an answer. None came. The silence sent a chill down Bayfield’s spine. 

A paramedic with tattoos blazing down his arms informed, “Got a pulse,”—his intense blue eyes narrowed—“but it’s thready.”

The paramedic behind the wheel, sprouting a six o’clock shadow, lobbed a reply over his shoulder. “Letting dispatch know we’re five minutes out.”

Coach gripped his hands, squeezing the blood from his knuckles. “Getting a pulse, even a weak one, is a good thing, right?” 

The tattooed paramedic waited a good minute before saying, “For now, yes.”

About the Author

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LAURA DALEO is the author of five books. She is best known for her storytelling of the vampiric persuasion. Her most recent work, The Vampire Within, is the third book in her Immortal Kiss series. The series is an interesting twist on the Egyptian pantheon being the original vampires. Her current project, The Doll, is her first horror tale, with a touch of mystery. She lives in sunny San Diego, California, with her three dogs, Stuart, Morgan, and Dexter.
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Because of You Blitz

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Romance
Drake Isle, Book 1
Release Date: October 15, 2019
Publisher: DFM Publishing
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Ten years ago, Piper Townsend fell to her death from the top of a fraternity house, and no one on Drake Isle has ever been the same. Blake Carter’s fraternity was scandalized. Misterion College closed down altogether. And Blake’s girlfriend, Emerson Doyle, fled the island after her best friend died and never looked behind her.
Now they’re back.
Blake’s the CEO of a multi-million dollar tech firm looking to relocate to the island. Emerson owns a yoga studio in the building he wants to buy. They haven’t spoken in ten years. They’re on opposite sides of the bargaining table.
But old flames die hard.
And the more Blake and Emerson fight both the past and each other, the more they realize that coming to terms with tragedy is their only chance of finding love again…
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About the Author

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Allie Boniface is the USA Today best-selling author of over a dozen novels, including the Cocktail Cruise, Hometown Heroes, and Pine Point series. Her books are most often set in small towns and feature emotional, thought-provoking, sensual romance with relatable characters you’ll know and love. A graduate of the University of Rochester and Case Western Reserve University, Allie currently lives in a small town in the beautiful Hudson Valley of New York with her husband and their two furry felines. When she isn’t teaching high school English, she likes to travel, lose herself in great music, or go for a long run and think about her next small town story.
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Only $.99 Until October 22nd!!!
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Taken by the Outlaw Blitz

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MC Suspense Romance
Date Published: 10/15/19
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She was on the run.
He might be her salvation.
Would you give yourself to a stranger? Gwendolyn Myers never thought about it until she runs into Marcus ‘Bowie’ Ford at the Pink Pussy. A run-down hotel at the edge of town. She’s on the run, but one taste of the sexy biker convinces Gwen that her running days might be over!
Excerpt
I watched his hand slowly descend but before it reached my cheek another hand shot out, out of nowhere, clamped around the drunk’s thick wrist, and stopped his arm in mid air. Heat radiated off a presence behind me and I slowly turned, catching my breath. My eyes locked onto the narrowed, fear-provoking gaze of my savior, the hunky biker. His warm, whiskey laced breath bathed my forehead, and my gaze fell to his mouth, which was way too close. For a crazy second I wondered what kissing those sensuous lips would taste like.
Realizing that I was staring I glanced up at him.
“Run little girl, things are about to get fucking ugly.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“Then you should have heeded to my warning.” His tone said he was annoyed that I hadn’t. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
I opened my mouth to speak but his expression darkened even more. I shivered from the intensity, realizing that his anger was directed at me as much as the drunk. I didn’t know this man, and it occurred to me that I didn’t want to. He might be hot as hell, but danger dripped from every pore.
He looked determined, and dangerous.
I don’t know why I listened to him, but suddenly my arm was released, and I was heading toward the door. On my way there I dodged other bikers who were quickly heading toward the bar. I heard a loud commotion start but didn’t turn around. Once I hit the door and was outside, I took a deep breath, not realizing until then that I’d been holding my breath.
Fuck! My heart was racing a mile a minute. That was…intense, and had happened so fast. I couldn’t recall ever striking anyone before. My reaction to the biker’s command pissed me off because Greg had always told me what to do. I didn’t need some stranger taking his place, even if it was my fault for jumping when he said jump. If I was going to make it on my own then I needed to exert myself.
I checked for traffic before crossing the road to the hotel. I made it all the way to my door before remembering that I’d forgotten my damn sandwich. Crap! Well, I wasn’t going back. The cheese and crackers I’d picked up at a convenience store earlier would have to do until morning. I unlocked my door, and headed straight to the bathroom, thinking about a nice long soak in the tub.
*Some of this book has been previously published. New cover. New title. New and updated content.
About the author:

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Tory Richards is an Amazon bestselling author who writes smut with a plot. Born in Maine, she’s lived most of her life in Florida where she went to school, married, and raised her daughter. She’s retired from Disney and spends her time with family and friends, traveling, and writing.
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