#my fellow kindle owners

[gucciwins]

thoughts on owning a kindle???

[dollycas]

#FlashbackFriday featuring A Twisted Skein (Seaside Knitters Society) by Sally Goldenbaum #Review / #Giveaway @KensingtonBooks @sallygoldenbaum

On Flashback Fridays I will share with you the books I was not able to review when they were first released that have been screaming at me from my To-Be-Read bookshelf.   A Twisted Skein (Seaside Knitters Society) Cozy Mystery 6th in Series (with this publisher) Setting - Massachusetts Publisher ‏ : ‎ Kensington Cozies (November 28, 2023) Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 320 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1496729439 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1496729439 Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BZB79B8B Like every coastal town, Sea Harbor needs tourists and their dollars. But there’s something special about that time of year when summer people return to their normal lives, and the wide sandy beaches welcome back locals with their dogs and strollers. And this year, even as the season cools down, Izzy Perry’s Sea Harbor Yarn Studio is heating up, thanks to an upcoming fashion benefit . . . The show will feature hand-knit garments, and enthusiastic knitters flock to the shop for supplies to create runway-worthy pieces. Yet Seaside Knitter Birdie is enjoying flocks of a different kind, thanks to a rekindled interest in birdwatching, a hobby she enjoyed with her late husband. Along with a small group of passionate birders, she often spends weekend mornings looking for warblers or keeping watch for gannets and grebes. The group members themselves are almost as fascinating as the birds. It’s a lovely, special time—until Birdie makes her way through a tangle of vines and stumbles upon a fellow birder’s body. At first, it appears to be an accidental fall, but an autopsy soon reveals that the victim died before hitting a granite boulder. When police discover a clue linking the victim to one of the Seaside Knitters, the web of suspicion grows. Before the woods are ablaze in autumn glory and the knitters have cast off the final rows on their runway projects, they’ll have to unravel secrets and ties strong enough to bind friends and neighbors together—and some that may press a killer to take another life. Dollycas's Thoughts We return to Sea Harbor when things should be calming down but Izzy has agreed to host a fashion benefit featuring hand-knit items made with yarn from her Sea Harbor Yarn Studio and she has enlisted her friends Willow, Lucky, and Rose to construct a runway for the event. Birdie is busy too. She has joined a local birdwatching group. She had enjoyed birdwatching with her late husband and wanted to take up the hobby again. She finds the eclectic group very interesting. Birdie is very excited about a birding trip to the local granite quarry but due to an earlier storm Birdie is warned to stay away from the rocks so she detours into the woods. It is there she discovers another member of the group dead. Birdie thinks the man has a terrible accident but she soon learns the victim died before his fall. The police also believe a friend of the Seaside Knitters may have had something to do with his death. It's time for the Seaside Knitters to untwist and untangle each and every clue and knit together who was really responsible for the body in the woods. Can they pull that off before all the knitters hit the runway? or will one of them be behind bars? _____ I love this series. I open the book and immediately feel like I am in the company of good friends. Birdie, Nell, Izzy, and Cass have grown so much since the first book, Death by Cashmere was released in 2008. Birdie is a wise octogenarian, Izzy is a young mom and owns the Sea Harbor Yarn Studio, Cass is co-owner of Halloran Lobster Company with a cute little baby boy, and Nell is Izzy's aunt and is retired.  They have their Thursday night ritual of meeting at Izzy's shop for a night of "friend therapy". A time to toast, eat, knit, and share what's happening with them and around town. Then on Friday nights, they gather with their husbands, children, and any other friends who drop in for a great meal at Nell's that usually includes something grilled out on the deck no matter the time of year. They all are always there for each other no matter what. They also try to help anyone in need throughout the community. Kind, caring, and smart, these characters are very well-developed but continue to grow and remain fresh even after 17 books.  Ms. Goldenbaum has written a very emotional story. The relationships are complex and carefully constructed. The victim's death deeply affected many people including Birdie. Two sisters are dealing with other issues including the man's death. In a mystery full of twists and turns Birdie, Nell, Cass, and Izzy try to find proof that someone they care about was not involved in the murder while trying to piece together clues to find who did it and why. They collected information from several different sources and passed it all on to the police.  Soon all the clues fell into place. I did have the right person near the top of my suspect list but was surprised at the deviousness and how dreadful the person really was. I did enjoy the subplot of the fashion show. While the author's descriptions of the garments and the runway, were good, I wish the book could have contained pictures. Izzy called the runway "magnificent" and a "panoramic scene" that came to life the closer she came to it. A Twisted Skein is wonderfully written. The characters and the friendships they have built are beyond measure. The mystery is complex and skillfully plotted. Sea Harbor and its residents grab ahold of me a little more with each book in this series and each visit ends too soon. Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent About Sally Goldenbaum Sally Goldenbaum is the author of over three-dozen novels, including the Queen Bees Quilt Shop Mysteries and the nationally bestselling Seaside Knitters Society Mystery Series, set in the fictional town of Sea Harbor, Massachusetts. Born in Manitowoc,  Wisconsin, Sally now lives in Gloucester, Massachusetts with her husband, Don. In addition to writing mysteries, Sally has taught philosophy, Latin, and creative writing, edited bioethics, and veterinary healthcare journals, and worked in public television at WQED Pittsburgh (then home to Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood). Follow Sally Webpage Twitter    Facebook  Find more books by Sally Golenbaum here. I am giving away an ARC review copy! The contest is open to anyone over 18 years old with a US or Canadian mailing address. Duplicate entries will be deleted. Void where prohibited. You do not have to be a follower to enter but I hope you will find something you like here and become a follower. Followers Will Receive 2 Bonus Entries For Each Way They Follow. Plus 2 Bonus Entries For Following My Facebook Fan Page. Add this book to your WANT TO READ shelf on GoodReads for 3 Bonus Entries. Follow Kensington Books on Twitter for 2 Bonus Entries! Follow Kensington Publishing on Facebook for 2 Bonus Entries!  Pin this giveaway to Pinterest for 3 Bonus Entries. If you share the giveaway on Threads, X, or Facebook or anywhere you will receive 5 Bonus Entries For Each Link. The  Contest Will End June 10, 2024, at 11:59 PM CST The Winner Will Be Chosen By Random.org The Winner Will Be Notified By Email and Will Be Posted Here In The Sidebar. Click Here For Entry Form Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Receiving a complimentary copy in no way reflected my review of this book. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”                                    Read the full article

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

Can he convince her to let the spark of love ignite?

Salvation by Maddie Taylor and Morganna Williams will sizzle on your Kindle on July 15th!

Preorder Today: 

https://geni.us/SalvationCL

BLURB: Asha has endured unspeakable cruelty at the hands of her human master. She, and hundreds like her, are hidden away by their owners, their existence a secret even to others of their kind. During the uprising, when the cyborgs liberate themselves from their oppressors and flee Earth, Asha and her fellow slaves are unknowingly left behind.

Faced with a dismal future of servitude, when Asha's villainous master dies, she escapes, refusing to enter the black-market auction to be sold yet again. She is desperate to free the other abandoned females but can’t do it alone. Her cyborg brethren are their only hope. Asha hatches a plan to seek them out and prepares a clever disguise to gain passage aboard a bounty hunter’s ship.

Senior cyborg officer Talus is known for his calm, unflappable demeanor, but the first time he sees Asha's delicate beauty, he is deeply stirred. But after her horrific life on Earth how can she trust another male, especially after she vows never to do so again?

Talus refuses her attempts to spurn their mutual attraction. His quiet nature and the strength of his protection slowly bring down her shields. In space, among the safety of her own kind, Asha is willing to let the spark of love ignite, but as the cyborg rescue mission approaches Earth, the more her traumatic memories resurface and the more withdrawn she becomes.

In the chaos of freeing the captive females, can Talus convince Asha their love is meant to be and no matter what lies ahead, he will always be her ultimate peace and salvation?

#teaser #teasershare #preorder #bookpreorder #comingsoon #romancenovels #romancebooks #scifiromance #cyborgromance #cyborgliberation #salvation #steamyreads #kissingbooks #bookbuzz #books #reading #romance #sciencefiction #booksbooksbooks #bookish #booklovers About The Authors: 

A USA Today and #1 international bestselling author, Maddie is a lifelong reader who became a romance junkie as a teen with her first romance novel, The Wolf and the Dove by Kathleen Woodiwiss. From then on, she was hooked, and gobbled up everything she could get her hands on, whether contemporary, historical, paranormal or sci-fi. If there was romance to be found between a strong alpha male, and a sassy, adventurous and ofttimes defiant yet loving woman, Maddie was all over it. As an author, she stays true to those themes writing steamy erotic romance, with a side of kink, and adding elements of intrigue, danger and suspense to her plots.

Maddie started writing as a hobby. Her stories stayed private while she raised a family and worked full time as a registered nurse. It wasn't until 2012 that she decided to take the plunge and submit her first book for publication: Captain My Captain. She went on to publish eleven novels the first year.

Morganna Williams is a USA Today Best Selling Author and Internationally Best Selling Author on Amazon in BDSM, Sci-fi Erotica, Humorous Erotica, Medical Romance, Romantic Suspense and Erotic Romance.

Morganna lives in Dallas with her family. She works as a social worker and does most of her writing on her lunch break. She loves interacting with her readers and is active on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and of course her blog morgannawilliams.com.

Find the Authors Online!

Maddie: romancebymaddietaylor.com

Morganna: morgannawilliams.com

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Monday, March 11, 2024

february 27_march 11

THE MONKS ASKLEPIOS AND JAMES, SYRIAN ASCETICS (5th c.)

Asclepius

Saints Asclepius and James were Syrian ascetics, and lived during the fifth century. Theodoret of Cyrrhus speaks of them. Saint Asclepius led an ascetic life of temperance in his native village and was not hindered by constant association with many people.

He had many imitators and followers. One of them was Saint James, who secluded himself in a small dwelling near the village of Nimuza. Up until the end of his life, the ascetic did not leave his hermitage, but spoke to visitors through a small aperture in the wall, cut at a angle so that no one was able to see him. He never kindled a fire or lit a lamp.

3 JOHN 1:1-14

1 The Elder, To the beloved Gaius, whom I love in truth: 2 Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers. 3 For I rejoiced greatly when brethren came and testified of the truth that is in you, just as you walk in the truth. 4 I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth. 5 Beloved, you do faithfully whatever you do for the brethren and for strangers, 6 who have borne witness of your love before the church. If you send them forward on their journey in a manner worthy of God, you will do well, 7 because they went forth for His name's sake, taking nothing from the Gentiles. 8 We therefore ought to receive such, that we may become fellow workers for the truth. 9 I wrote to the church, but Diotrephes, who loves to have the preeminence among them, does not receive us. 10 Therefore, if I come, I will call to mind his deeds which he does, prating against us with malicious words. And not content with that, he himself does not receive the brethren, and forbids those who wish to, putting them out of the church. 11 Beloved, do not imitate what is evil, but what is good. He who does good is of God, but he who does evil has not seen God. 12 Demetrius has a good testimony from all, and from the truth itself. And we also bear witness, and you know that our testimony is true. 13 I had many things to write, but I do not wish to write to you with pen and ink; 14 but I hope to see you shortly, and we shall speak face to face. Peace to you. Our friends greet you. Greet the friends by name.

LUKE 19:29-40; 22:7-39

2 And it came to pass, when He drew near to Bethphage and Bethany, at the mountain called Olivet, that He sent two of His disciples, 30 saying, "Go into the village opposite you, where as you enter you will find a colt tied, on which no one has ever sat. Loose it and bring it here. 31 And if anyone asks you, 'Why are you loosing it?' thus you shall say to him, 'Because the Lord has need of it.' 32 So those who were sent went their way and found it just as He had said to them. 33 But as they were loosing the colt, the owners of it said to them, "Why are you loosing the colt?" 34 And they said, "The Lord has need of him." 35 Then they brought him to Jesus. And they threw their own clothes on the colt, and they set Jesus on him. 36 And as He went, many spread their clothes on the road. 37 Then, as He was now drawing near the descent of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works they had seen, 38 saying: " 'Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the LORD!' Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" 39

And some of the Pharisees called to Him from the crowd, "Teacher, rebuke Your disciples." 40 But He answered and said to them, "I tell you that if these should keep silent, the stones would immediately cry out."

7 Then came the Day of Unleavened Bread, when the Passover must be killed. 8 And He sent Peter and John, saying, "Go and prepare the Passover for us, that we may eat." 9 So they said to Him, "Where do You want us to prepare?" 10 And He said to them, "Behold, when you have entered the city, a man will meet you carrying a pitcher of water; follow him into the house which he enters. 11 Then you shall say to the master of the house, 'The Teacher says to you, Where is the guest room where I may eat the Passover with My disciples?" ' 12 Then he will show you a large, furnished upper room; there make ready. 13 So they went and found it just as He had said to them, and they prepared the Passover. 14 When the hour had come, He sat down, and the twelve apostles with Him. 15 Then He said to them, "With fervent desire I have desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; 16 for I say to you, I will no longer eat of it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God. 17 Then He took the cup, and gave thanks, and said, "Take this and divide it among yourselves; 18 for I say to you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes. 19 And He took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is My body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me." 20 Likewise He also took the cup after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is shed for you. 21 But behold, the hand of My betrayer is with Me on the table.22 And truly the Son of Man goes as it has been determined, but woe to that man by whom He is betrayed! 23 Then they began to question among themselves, which of them it was who would do this thing. 24 Now there was also a dispute among them, as to which of them should be considered the greatest.25 And He said to them, "The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and those who exercise authority over them are called 'benefactors.' 26 But not so among you; on the contrary, he who is greatest among you, let him be as the younger, and he who governs as he who serves. 27 For who is greater, he who sits at the table, or he who serves? Is it not he who sits at the table? Yet I am among you as the One who serves. 28 But you are those who have continued with Me in My trials. 29 And I bestow upon you a kingdom, just as My Father bestowed one upon Me, 30 that you may eat and drink at My table in My kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. 31 And the Lord said, "Simon, Simon! Indeed, Satan has asked for you, that he may sift you as wheat. 32 But I have prayed for you, that your faith should not fail; and when you have returned to Me, strengthen your brethren. 33 But he said to Him, "Lord, I am ready to go with You, both to prison and to death." 34 Then He said, "I tell you, Peter, the rooster shall not crow this day before you will deny three times that you know Me." 35 And He said to them, "When I sent you without money bag, knapsack, and sandals, did you lack anything?" So they said, "Nothing." 36 Then He said to them, "But now, he who has a money bag, let him take it, and likewise a knapsack; and he who has no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one. 37 For I say to you that this which is written must still be accomplished in Me: 'And He was numbered with the transgressors.' For the things concerning Me have an end. 38 So they said, "Lord, look, here are two swords." And He said to them, "It is enough." 39 Coming out, He went to the Mount of Olives, as He was accustomed, and His disciples also followed Him.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #18 - Panglossian

AO3 Link HERE

=====

The Yard of Saints was what people now called the high and lonely promontory that guarded the pass between old Ishgard and the crystalline wastes of Mor Dhona.

It once had another name, or so Biggs' father had once said, but most folk had long since forgotten it. The few souls who braved the Coerthan wilds, grown even colder and more inhospitable in the face of the Eighth Calamity, came no closer to the Yard than the ruins of old Dragonhead, and it was in the old camp that a man in patchwork armor -- some soul from a nearby settlement volunteering for the watch -- had watched him gearing up to head into the foothills with a squint and a cynical smile.

"Sure you ain't goin' up there alone, engineer?" the man asked. Biggs shrugged.

"I'm thinkin' there ain't much in these hills nowadays to kill a man," he said. "Other than the blizzards."

"You'd be thinkin' wrong. Even if there weren't wild aevis up there-- You ain't heard about him, I guess."

"Maybe. Who's 'him'?"

The man spat to one side and threw a piece of kindling onto the struggling campfire. "The chief says it's naught but old folk tales, but there's rumored to be a skinchanger who stalks them ruins up on the point. A giant that protects the Yard from intruders, or so the old folks' tales say."

Biggs knew the story. The Ironworks had not a few legends of their own passed down about the company's founders. Among them was a tale in which Cid Garlond and Nero tol Scaeva had been attacked by a pack of slavering beastkin while undertaking a mission in Coerthas, and would have died if not for the interference of a mysterious samurai. The story itself was constant enough that Biggs felt some of it must be true, though he rather doubted the descriptions of the founding fathers' timely saviour: those details seemed to be embellished with each telling.

Aloud he said, "There's plenty of folk tales about the land, aren't there?"

"Not many who've faced the blade of the Guardian and lived to tell the tale." The man coughed, fished around in his belt pouch, and produced a pipe which he began to tamp with moko leaf. "S'pose it's your funeral anyroad, mate."

He had, admittedly, almost turned back halfway up the slope. The ruins on the promontory had been ruins even in the Warrior's day, so it was said, and they were even more hazardous in the aftermath of the calamity: the aevis up here would eat anything, even each other, and it was as much as a man's life was worth to get caught up here after dark, especially with the snow that almost constantly fell in Coerthas.

Well, he'd made a promise. He'd spend the night in the mausoleum if it came to that.

His feet crunched through hard-pack and grit; it was cold up here, much colder than Mor Dhona even in the dead of winter. Biggs shivered, tugging his worn scarf tighter about his cheeks and jaw, and leaned upon his walking-stick as he continued the ascent. The gunblade he carried on his back was surely covered in ice by now, the trigger frozen solid. He tried not to think about that as the sun began to sink beneath the outline of the peaks.

The brittle and over-bright sunlight turned orange, the shadows slanting deeper across the snow, and he knew he would not be able to finish his business and return to camp before night fell. Every small sound, no matter how insignificant, wore its warning into his limbs. The road was silent - or, he fancied, save for his footsteps, which every predator in Coerthas was like to hear as loud as they seemed in his ears. He forced himself to set his fear aside even as his mission took on an almost talismanic importance.

Press on, he told himself. It's not far. Press on. But the engineer's certainty that he was being watched- stalked- only grew, seemingly in proportion to his fatigue. Every minute seemed an hour, and he became quite certain that the man in the camp had been correct and he was walking to his death.

Thus he was not at all surprised when the enormous purple aevis appeared from behind the remains of an ancient stone wall with a grinding snarl that set his knees to trembling. Its jowls dripped with saliva and levinbolts gathered at its wing-tips, ready to fire. The three that he knew had been following him since he set foot in their territory had fanned out to cover his flanks, preventing any means of their prey's escape.

Mouth suddenly as dry as a cotton boll, Biggs slowly reached for the hilt of the antique gunblade he'd taken along, a gunblade that had once belonged to Nero tol Scaeva and more a visual deterrent these days than a proper weapon, waiting for one of them to break his guard and spill his innards to the snow with a single rake of its wicked-looking curved claws-

-and the keen whistle of steel cut through the air. The severed head fell to the snow with a dull thud and the rest of its body followed, limbs still twitching.

Its two companions attempted a pincer attack, claws flexing as they spewed flame- but it availed them nothing; their unseen assailant struck again and the creatures collapsed alongside their fellow. The snow before the crumbled outbuildings of the ruin was no longer blinding and pure white, but deep crimson and rusting brown. The pack leader bared its teeth in a threatening snarl, but it folded its wings and cringed in supplication as the swordsman took a step forward into the diminishing light of dusk: a great hulk of a man, taller even than Biggs himself.

"Pathetic," sighed a voice that was to his ears like gravel grinding beneath the heel of a boot. "I have no desire to toy with you, beast. Away."

The aevis fled.

Biggs could not make out the face in the dark, only a pair of eyes like chips of ice and a long mane of hair. The hand, snugly wrapped in layers of leather and cloth, rested upon the hilt of a long and curved blade whose like he had never seen before. He had the strangest feeling that he had not so much been rescued from certain death as he had simply watched one small pack of predators fall prey to a much more dangerous animal.

"And you," said the swordsman. "What do you here?"

Throat so constricted that he barely trusted himself to speak, he held his parcel skyward.

"I go to the Yard," he said hoarsely. "A gift, for the Warrior."

After a long and tense moment, the hand that lay ready to draw its weapon fell away.

"Go, then," spoke its owner. "The aevis will not give chase so long as the scent of fresh blood remains in the air."

"Thank---"

"Do not thank me. I do this for her," the giant said. Biggs could see nothing of the face, only the motion of hair flowing like the river under ice as the chin lowered. "Go do what you came to do and leave this place- before I decide a savage makes better sport than dragons."

He didn't need to be told twice. The gunblade remained untouched, its weight seemed to drag at his ankles as he all but scurried his way up the hill.

~*~

The Warrior's final resting place - an Ishgardian-style mausoleum within which also rested one of the Ironworks' founders - sat at the center of the Yard. The tomb was a very different place from her enshrined monument in Idyllshire; the latter was covered in detritus year-round, mostly the various hand-painted wooden icons with a likeness of her face. The Children of Light carried the pictures with them on their pilgrimages to the shrine, where they'd light candles and hold a vigil to pray to the Warrior for luck and protection.

From all G'raha Tia had said of her, it was a safe bet to assume the Warrior of Light would have been sorely grieved to know that in the tenebrous days of the Eighth Umbral Era, she was the subject of worship. It wasn't his place to gainsay them, though. There was hardly enough ambient aether to perform basic tasks still let alone summon the Warrior as a primal. And so long as it brought no harm to the land, far be it from him to deprive folk of whatever means they had to hold onto hope in this blighted world.

The mausoleum itself was devoid of such trinkets, save a fresh bouquet of Dravanian spotted orchid. There were always fresh flowers atop her tomb whenever anyone came by to care for it. Neither he nor anyone else in the Ironworks knew who kept bringing them, and they had long ago resigned themselves to the fact that there were some mysteries they might never solve.

Biggs collapsed against cold stone and half-melted ice with a deep sigh, placed a handful of kindling on the floor, and struck a flint until the sparks took. Wind was already whistling around the edges of the structure and he was very sure there would be more snow overnight. Best to stay here until morning light and make his way down the mountain while the dragons slept.

He didn't realize he had dozed until he heard the grinding of the hinges on the heavy door. Startled to full wakefulness, the president of the Garlond Ironworks reached for the gunblade and turned to face the interloper, thinking one of the dragons had followed him after all.

The Guardian of the Yard stood in the doorway, staring at him with bleak and empty eyes. His hand fell away from the hilt, trembling slightly.

"I only mean to stay until dawn," Biggs said, his voice steady. "Give me until then. You can share my fire if you like."

The man said nothing, but crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Now that Biggs could see more clearly, no longer half-panicked and powered by adrenaline, he could see a face that was far younger than he would have expected. Even more surprisingly, the man appeared to be of a Spoken race that had not existed in this part of the star for so long most thought them to have vanished entirely: the pearlescent curve of a third eye gleamed from beneath the curtain of wind-tossed blonde.

"You said the Warrior was your friend?"

Biggs regretted his words almost instantly, spoken more to make conversation than out of any real curiosity. He was quite sure somehow that the man might have taken a notion to kill him, from the feral darkness that shifted behind those eyes.

But a strange smile curved his lips.

"My enemy," he said. "But also my friend."

"You knew the Warrior of Light personally? But that would imply you were alive when- I mean, surely that's-"

The smile faded and Biggs was more certain than ever he stood a chance of dying at this man's hands. "A lesser creature like yourself knows nothing of what is possible, and what is not, for one such as myself. Or her. Do not presume to speak of it."

His heart hammered in his ears as silence fell, save the crackling of the fire. He fought the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his snow-damp breeches, awaiting that whistling sound which he knew would presage his final moments.

It never came. A soft sigh echoed through the corners of the tomb: the sound of a sated predator deciding the hart that shared its lair was no longer tantalizing enough to devour.

"I have sought her return longer than you have lived."

He is mad, Biggs thought. He must be mad. To hold onto hope in the face of all that has happened, for two centuries, that the Warrior herself might still live. Even Master Scaeva didn't think-

"...You believe that she lives? That she will come back to Eorzea?"

"Mortal death means very little to those with the means to transcend the physical." A feverish, almost manic light danced in the man's eyes, or perhaps it was merely the flickering of the firelight reflected upon marble. "What is the body but a mere vessel?"

Uncertain what to say, the engineer could only nod. The motion went unnoticed.

"Yes, my friend will return to me when the time is right," the swordsman said. That unsettling smile returned, soft and joyful and utterly insane, and it was then Biggs saw that this fell and terrible creature loved the Warrior of Light as much as the founding fathers had loved her- in his own twisted and destructive fashion. "And when she does, I will be waiting to receive her with open arms. Thus our dance will resume: as timeless and eternal as our very souls."

At this declarative - and ominous - statement, silence reigned over the mausoleum and its inhabitants, both living and dead, once more. Biggs was certain he would not be able to find the wherewithal to sleep that night, but sleep he did: lulled into dreams by the hypnotic flicker of the light and his own fatigue from the climb.

And when he awakened at dawn to place his gifts upon each grave -- silk flowers, fashioned into the likeness of the Althyk lavender the Warrior was said to have loved -- he saw that the fire had burned to embers, and he was alone.

[krumbine]

A Sinful Pivot

Coffee. Pandemics. Unemployment.

###

An unusual silence blanketed the City of Saint Charles.

It was almost ten o’clock on a weekday morning. Under different circumstances, the city would have been a scene of bustling metropolitan prosperity. Streets full of traffic. People working. Money transacting.

Coffee—that gloriously capitalistic, black liquid gold––fueling everything.

Under different circumstances.

The heels of expensive Italian shoes clicked against pavement and echoed through the concrete canyon of the city’s downtown district. A gust of wind picked up a scrap of newspaper and tossed it through an intersection.

A deer trotted out from around a building and found a patch of grass to inspect. Sunlight cut through the skyline and illuminated the deer until it was practically glowing.

It was a goddamned picture-perfect moment.

The owner of the Italian shoes grimaced.

This was all wrong. ​The city had ground to a halt. And while the smog and pollution had lifted––nature creeped its way back into the concrete jungle––the people of the City of Saint Charles were as miserable and hopeless as ever. They were locked away, isolated from their fellow humans in a desperate attempt to slow a viral pandemic that was steadily rewriting the future of mankind.

Greg couldn’t help but sneer in disgust as he walked down the middle of the empty downtown street.

He was frustrated. Angry. But mostly, Greg was disappointed.

The world had taken a shit so big, it was suffocating all life on the planet. This wasn’t just one for the history books––this was going to be carved in the Stones of Time.

And Greg wasn’t responsible for any of it.

For the love of fuck.

From the pocket of tailored pants, Greg fished a key out to unlock the main entrance to his coffee shop. It was the flagship store of a successful franchise that peppered the Eastern Seaboard.

Religiously Roasted Every Goddamn Day. Coffee So Devilishly Good, It’s Practically a Sin.

Greg stepped into his black-and-red themed coffee shop and locked the door behind him. He wasn’t going to have any customers, the city’s lockdown orders had made sure of that.

Pocketing the key, Greg looked around the empty shop. He had built the company from nothing––the perfect execution of needlessly expensive coffee that quickly became a compulsive necessity in the daily routines of thousands. Greg made no bones about it––he had shamelessly ripped off those guys in Seattle, put a little Satanic spin on it, and started racking up exponential soul points as soon as the franchisees started signing on.

Sure, the shop was called ‘Religiously Roasted Every Goddamn Day’ but there was nothing special about the coffee beans. There was nothing special about the brew. Greg just marked up the price––six dollars for a cup of otherwise cheap black coffee––slapped together some fancy marketing spin and then sat back to let the coffee do its thing.

It was a motherfucking perfect time to be a demon in America.

***

Above the coffee shop were the corporate offices of Religiously Roasted. Greg sat in his executive conference room––a blacked-out affair with crimson foot lights spilling an ominous glow across the walls.

An ostentatious 100-inch television was mounted to the wall and after logging into the video conferencing network, familiar faces started appearing in a grid on the screen.

“––doesn’t matter what they do! This thing is relentless,” Mr. Paz bloviated. “And the States? With how much those mouth-breathers have been downplaying it, this thing will last for years! Undoubtedly some of my finest work in centuries.”

Mr. Paz realized Greg had joined the call.

“Mr. Mammon!” Paz said with a grin that was unnaturally wide and unnecessarily toothy. “How’s business?”

Mr. Paz put an extra bit of bite on ‘business’.

Greg didn’t like Paz, but then no one did. Mr. Paz was an arrogant, condescending bag of hot air who naturally assumed that all other demonic work was somehow less than the unholy work of disease, pestilence, and death. The problem with that assumption was that in the past decade of Greg’s mini coffee empire, he collected more soul points than Paz’s outbreaks of influenza, measles, and HIV. Combined.

This new virus was like Mr. Paz had scooped up the game board and proclaimed no one else could play any more.

“Simply put, not good,” Ms. Astarr jumped in. She handled the accounting for most demonic enterprises. Her speciality was finding all the loopholes and shortcuts to take advantage of local economies. “In fact, Mr. Paz, your ‘magnum opus’ has greatly handicapped all of our work. If something doesn’t change soon in the States, Mr. Mammon’s business will be insolvent by the end of the month.”

Mr. Paz did a terrible job of containing his glee over his colleagues’ misfortune.

Mr. Abad was red in his round, puffy face. He was also based in the States, although he had a much more mobile operation than Greg. “You cocksucking sonofabitch,” Abad practically spat into his webcam. “You know what doesn’t happen now that everyone is in isolation?!”

“Mass shootin––”

“Mass shootings!” Abad screamed, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

Greg sighed and rubbed his eyes as the demons yelled at each other. This was why he liked coffee. It was a far less messy way to earn those soul points. He picked up the tall glass of pineapple juice that sat on a black coaster upon the black conference table and took a long sip.

Mr. Paz, Ms. Astarr, and Mr. Abad had similar glasses of pineapple juice and had been drinking throughout the call. Demons couldn’t get drunk on alcohol, but there was something about the acidity in pineapples that could get them just this side of buzzed.

Before he realized it, Greg’s tall glass of pineapple juice was empty.

Well, if ever there was a time.

“Excuse me,” Greg said with a wave of his hand, pulling the attention of the bickering demons. “I think we can all agree that Mr. Paz is a cunt––”

Mr. Paz attempted to respond but Greg cut him off as he grabbed a pitcher of iced pineapple juice and refilled his glass.

“––which I obviously mean in the most complimentary of ways. To be the architect of such a devastating virus …” Greg paused and shook his head thoughtfully.

After a moment to collect his thoughts, Greg said: “Mr. Paz, our collective anger is surpassed only by our collective jealously.” He raised a fresh glass of pineapple juice to the screen. “Cheers to your accomplishment.”

The change of tone made Mr. Paz uncomfortable and as the other demons sipped, begrudging Paz his success, Greg paced his conference room.

“I think we can all agree that this is truly unprecedented. Our work––even for you, Mr. Paz––is evaporating.”

“I’ve looked at it in every possible way,” Ms. Astarr stated, “and I just don’t see how a demon is supposed to effectively torture humans under these conditions.”

“Exactly,” Greg agreed. “Mr. Paz, your accomplishments aside, it is humans like that insufferable president that have been screwing things up for us for years.”

“They’re torturing themselves with that one,” Astarr said.

“We can argue amongst ourselves all we want, but it is the humans who have taken our jobs and put us out of work,” Greg said.

Paz shrugged. “I’m still working.”

“But for how long?!” Greg shot back. “These people have traded their sense of survival––their human spirit––for rank stupidity and reality television antics from their Cheeto in Chief!”

A quiet fell over the video conference. Greg finished his glass of pineapple juice and sat down again, defeated and dejected.

“So … what are we supposed to do?” Mr. Abad asked.

Greg shook his head. “I don’t know. Obviously we need to pivot.”

“Pivot?” Ms. Astarr repeated incredulously.

Greg nodded. “Indeed. Pivot.”

Anger was bubbling back up in Mr. Abad’s screen. “No. No-no-no-no. I’ve been doing mass shootings for decades. This is what I do. I can’t just pivot.”

“None of us had backup plans, Mr. Abad,” Greg stressed, growing tired of Abad’s staunch inflexibility. “But this is the reality we’re in. Soul points have plummeted and may even disappear completely. Our very survival on this plane of existence means using a little bit of imagination and fucking pivoting.”

“Gentlemen?” Ms. Astarr had raised a thoughtful finger. “Perhaps we can agree that the fundamental premise of our work here on earth is to torture the humans.”

“Of course.”

“Indeed.”

“Then perhaps it also stands to reason,” Ms. Astarr continued, “that if the humans keep turning to leadership that effectively does our job for us––and bear with me on this––maybe our pivot should be, instead of torturing the humans, we should help them.”

Mr. Abad blinked.

Mr. Paz looked sick.

Greg clicked his teeth pensively. “… help the humans?”

Ms. Astarr shrugged. “It may be the only way for us to survive.”

“To help the humans survive.”

Greg poured another glass of pineapple juice. He drained it in one long sip.

He sighed. “… we could always pivot back to the torture. You know, later.”

“Of course.”

“Indeed.”

Mr. Paz threw up a little.

​###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

Leave a dollar in the Tip Jar: https://ko-fi.com/krumbine

Short stories: https://bit.ly/2XY5D7I Books on Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.to/3bsqK5Y YouTube: https://bit.ly/2W41nSG Twitter: https://bit.ly/2VH0Vbu Facebook: https://bit.ly/2VpnylZ LinkedIn: https://bit.ly/2xnmk1e

http://www.krumbco.com

[180brg]

Luke 22

Judas Agrees to Betray Jesus

1 Now the Festival of Unleavened Bread, called the Passover, was approaching, 2 and the chief priests and the teachers of the law were looking for some way to get rid of Jesus, for they were afraid of the people. 3 Then Satan entered Judas, called Iscariot, one of the Twelve.4 And Judas went to the chief priests and the officers of the temple guard and discussed with them how he might betray Jesus. 5 They were delighted and agreed to give him money. 6 He consented, and watched for an opportunity to hand Jesus over to them when no crowd was present.

The Last Supper

7 Then came the day of Unleavened Bread on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. 8 Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and make preparations for us to eat the Passover.”

9 “Where do you want us to prepare for it?” they asked.

10 He replied, “As you enter the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him to the house that he enters, 11 and say to the owner of the house, ‘The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?’ 12 He will show you a large room upstairs, all furnished. Make preparations there.”

13 They left and found things just as Jesus had told them. So they prepared the Passover.

14 When the hour came, Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table.15 And he said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. 16 For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.”

17 After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, “Take this and divide it among you. 18 For I tell you I will not drink again from the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.”

19 And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.”

20 In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.[a] 21 But the hand of him who is going to betray me is with mine on the table. 22 The Son of Man will go as it has been decreed. But woe to that man who betrays him!” 23 They began to question among themselves which of them it might be who would do this.

24 A dispute also arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest. 25 Jesus said to them, “The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. 26 But you are not to be like that. Instead, the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves. 27 For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves. 28 You are those who have stood by me in my trials. 29 And I confer on you a kingdom, just as my Father conferred one on me, 30 so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and sit on thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

31 “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat. 32 But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”

33 But he replied, “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.”

34 Jesus answered, “I tell you, Peter, before the rooster crows today, you will deny three times that you know me.”

35 Then Jesus asked them, “When I sent you without purse, bag or sandals, did you lack anything?”

“Nothing,” they answered.

36 He said to them, “But now if you have a purse, take it, and also a bag; and if you don’t have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one. 37 It is written: ‘And he was numbered with the transgressors’[b]; and I tell you that this must be fulfilled in me. Yes, what is written about me is reaching its fulfillment.”

38 The disciples said, “See, Lord, here are two swords.”

“That’s enough!” he replied.

Jesus Prays on the Mount of Olives

39 Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. 40 On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” 41 He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, 42 “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” 43 An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. 44 And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.[c]

45 When he rose from prayer and went back to the disciples, he found them asleep, exhausted from sorrow. 46 “Why are you sleeping?” he asked them. “Get up and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.”

Jesus Arrested

47 While he was still speaking a crowd came up, and the man who was called Judas, one of the Twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him, 48 but Jesus asked him, “Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?”

49 When Jesus’ followers saw what was going to happen, they said, “Lord, should we strike with our swords?” 50 And one of them struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his right ear.

51 But Jesus answered, “No more of this!” And he touched the man’s ear and healed him.

52 Then Jesus said to the chief priests, the officers of the temple guard,and the elders, who had come for him, “Am I leading a rebellion, that you have come with swords and clubs? 53 Every day I was with you in the temple courts, and you did not lay a hand on me. But this is your hour—when darkness reigns.”

Peter Disowns Jesus

54 Then seizing him, they led him away and took him into the house of the high priest. Peter followed at a distance. 55 And when some there had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and had sat down together, Peter sat down with them. 56 A servant girl saw him seated there in the firelight. She looked closely at him and said, “This man was with him.”

57 But he denied it. “Woman, I don’t know him,” he said.

58 A little later someone else saw him and said, “You also are one of them.”

“Man, I am not!” Peter replied.

59 About an hour later another asserted, “Certainly this fellow was with him, for he is a Galilean.”

60 Peter replied, “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Just as he was speaking, the rooster crowed. 61 The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word the Lord had spoken to him: “Before the rooster crows today, you will disown me three times.” 62 And he went outside and wept bitterly.

The Guards Mock Jesus

63 The men who were guarding Jesus began mocking and beating him.64 They blindfolded him and demanded, “Prophesy! Who hit you?” 65 And they said many other insulting things to him.

Jesus Before Pilate and Herod

66 At daybreak the council of the elders of the people, both the chief priests and the teachers of the law, met together, and Jesus was led before them. 67 “If you are the Messiah,” they said, “tell us.”

Jesus answered, “If I tell you, you will not believe me, 68 and if I asked you, you would not answer. 69 But from now on, the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the mighty God.”

70 They all asked, “Are you then the Son of God?”

He replied, “You say that I am.”

71 Then they said, “Why do we need any more testimony? We have heard it from his own lips.”

Footnotes:

Luke 22:20 Some manuscripts do not have given for you … poured out for you.

Luke 22:37 Isaiah 53:12

Luke 22:44 Many early manuscripts do not have verses 43 and 44.

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

It’s 3  pm and the last day of winter break

. I accomplished everything I wanted to today, even if I had to bribe myself with a trip to my favorite Mexiccan restaurant.  It’s a very casual place with the sign outside says RESTAURANT quite ubiquitously like in Seinfeld with “Alfredo’s” in much smaller letters on a much smaller sign.  The restaurant is very nondescript, not fancy at all, with plexiglass topped tables and Spanish music playing while the tvs are tuned to ESPN (which seems to be a very common thing out here that was nt really done in Corpus Mexican restaurants)   The owner’s wife runs the register and asks you how your meal was and I always get the same thing:  cheese enchiladas with cheese and jalapeno topping, rice, beans, chips and salsa.  The salsa is out of this world. It is like it’s own religion.  I always seem to forget how good it really is until I sit down and am eating it again.  Sometimes it’s much spicier than others and I am your typical white pussy when it comes to hot stuff.  But even then I will eat it all and just drain my water glass in between bites, my nose running profusely as I have to keep asking for more napkins.  

Today, however, it was perfect. I brought my Kindle and was reading Hemingway as I ate, pouring over his descriptions of people such as calling one boorish man “an upright hog’s head” and completely owning another younger man who had no idea he was being made fun of.  There was a table of guys on lunch from a nearby worksite, probably oil field, and one of them had a ring tone that sounded like a fire alarm.  I’m guessing he works somewhere that this is the only way it can be heard.  However, the phone kept ringing, being obviously his boss or fellow workers and each time it did I wanted to leap out of my skin!!  Part of me felt bad b/cc obviously this guy was getting his lunch interrupted but part of me wanted to wring his neck for scaring the shit out of me every five minutes.

When I went to pay there were these really cool calendars at the counter, there were two different Aztec art ones and then one with puppies and one with something else.  I asked how much they were and the owner’s wife said they were free.  I really really wanted both of the Aztec ones but I picked one and left a $3 tip on an $8 check & left. When I left it was 68 glorious degrees out.  Amazing after four straight days of 20 degrees. There are absolutely no seasons in Corpus Christi but there’s not much more here.  Some trees still have all their leaves and the leaves are green, some only have half of them, but the other half are still green. I have yet to see any trees turn dramatic shades of red or gold or brown.  Maybe because the West Texas wind just strips them all off before they can turn anyway. I renewed my loan and still did not get my check in from the oil lease.  I didn’t get one last January either and my sister DROVE ME CRAZY about calling and asking about it.  I tried to explain t6o her that I worked 7 am to 6 pm and the oil office was probably only open 8-5 and closed for lunch so there was no way I could.  I tried to call her today to ask her who our rep was so I could call and ask him about it but of course, she did not return my cal and probably won’t until I am back in school and unable to do it again.

Anyway I am praying my check does not bounce and I was able to get two luxuries (for me)  ice cream and hamburger meat.  3 lbs of hamburger mean was $10 and half a gallon of ice cream is almost the same price.  I’m going to try and cook up something I just kinda made up:  pasta shell, hamburger meat, corn, diced tomatoes, cilantro and green chilies and have that all week for lunch.  I will try to make that later tonight.  That will leave me a lb of meat for hb helper and a lb for actual hamburgers.

[katscratching]

In late February 2017, I met Gautam Vegda, an emerging poet and member of the Dalit community, in Gujarat, India. In June this year, Vegda released Vultures and Other Poems (Chhattisgarh: Evincepub) his debut collection of poems in English, and asked me to write a foreword. My thoughts on his poems follow; the book is available for purchase via Kindle, Flipkart and others.

Gautam Vegda’s Vultures and other poems invites—and necessitates—more than one reading. Although there is no particular order to appreciating poetry, for me it naturally begins with an emotional impression; the discovery of sympathy between the reader and poet. Commencing with the starkly powerful ‘Mother’, Vegda’s poetry resonates with sensations relating to the survival and resilience needed to navigate environmental and social realities, even individual and collective memory. If the reader wishes to go farther, they might consider the technical aspects of the work—the language, style, cadence and formatting of the poems. In this way, Vegda is refreshingly contemporary: although he pays occasional tribute to classic English poets like Tennyson (‘Crossing the Bar’) and often displays a corresponding formality of language, poems like ‘Owners of Mustache’ contain surprising shifts, turning the lines away from an expected finish. Other poems, such as the eponymous ‘Vultures’, draw on natural imagery, but it is the imagery of Gautam’s world and thus anything but abstract.

After the first impression (or second or third), the reader might then start to recall certain memorable lines. For me, these included ‘I desired like a child, I desired like a thirsty crow’ (‘Thirsty Crow’) and ‘The sickle spent nine years in dark / Released now, but still out is dark //’ (‘Stainless Sickle’).

Most importantly, Vultures and other poems should be re-read for its political significance. Vegda describes the collection as centring on the ‘social and political atrocities and oppressions’ the Dalit community has faced and continues to face in an India bound by class and caste hierarchy. Art has long been an accessible vehicle for articulating struggles against discrimination and exclusion for dignity and identity—Vegda continues this tradition, citing the ‘pile of capitalism’ (‘Mother’), the encroachment of Western culture on local tradition and the divide between rich and poor, as well as the brutal effects of discrimination as one who deeply feels and knows the implications of ‘untouchable’.

As a resident of Australia, I cannot, even with Vegda’s guidance through poems like ‘Nausea’, ‘Penguin’, ‘Stinking scars’ and ‘Miserable fall’, ever fully grasp the experiences and contexts from which his poems arise. Yet this does not stop me from feeling, as a fellow human being in our troubled world, the need to know—and the need to remain aware. By bringing these issues to greater light and to a wider audience through his poetic voice, Gautam Vegda does this world no insignificant service.

[dollycas]

Cozy Wednesday featuring Spoon to be Dead: A Dessert Cozy Mystery (Shake Shop Mystery) by Dana Mentink #Review / #Giveaway @PoisonedPenPress

Welcome to Cozy Wednesday! I am so pleased to feature Spoon to be Dead by Dana Mentink!

Spoon to be Dead: A Dessert Cozy Mystery (Shake Shop Mystery) Cozy Mystery 3rd in Series Setting - Oregon Poisoned Pen Press (October 31, 2023) Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 336 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1728231612 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1728231617 Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BQCHM564

A murder for the holidays is about to shake things up! Trinidad Jones is starting the festive season with sugary confections and a heaping scoop of worry as her shake shop enters its first Oregon winter. With snow abound and tourists trickling through, she'll do anything to keep her milkshake dreams afloat, even if it means catering a holiday steamboat party for some new arrivals in town. But when her good-for-nothing ex crashes through her shop's door claiming he's being charged with murder, things go sideways. With clues piling up like whipped cream on a sundae and motives abound, Trinidad and her fellow ex-wives must solve this murder before she's finally thrown for a scoop. The third book in the Shake Shop Mysteries following Trinidad Jones who makes sweet confections and solves sticky situations in her small town! Dollycas's Thoughts Shimmy and Shake Shop owner Trinidad Jones is worried about how much business she will have going into her first Oregon winter. In an effort to be sure her dream is a year-round business, she has branched into catering. Her first event is on a steamboat for a famous person, new in town. Then, her, Bonnie's, and Juliette's ex, Gabe Bigley, "serial cheater, felon, liar, and embezzler" crashes through the shop door, informs them he is out on parole and that he is "ninety-eight percent or so" sure that he just killed someone. It doesn't take long for clues to start to stack up against him but none of his ex-wives believe he is guilty. They just need to get the scoop on the situation and shake out some alternate suspects before Gabe is sent back to the big house to cool his heels. Ms. Mentink has created such wonderful characters. Trinidad is a fun protagonist and her friendship with the other wives of her ex is unique and amazingly strong. They have really formed a sisterhood to support one another in any way they can. Only one of them is not surprised that their ex has shown up in Upper Sprocket. Trinidad's Papa Luis lives with her and she has a wonderful dog named Noodles. She and Quinn continue to grow closer. His brother Doug, has some emotional and social issues but is very comfortable with everyone in their group, especially with Bonnie's daughter Felice. I loved that Noodles made a new and unusual friend for a dog. The interactions were just so sweet. There are several mysteries in this story all delightfully tangled together. There are twists, turns, secrets, multiple suspects, an old flame, and another body, all with the holiday events in the background. With all the action the story has a brisk pace. Had I not needed to sleep I would have read the entire thing in one sitting. The ending served up several surprises including the reveal of the killer. I followed all the author's tricks of misdirection and discounted the guilty party much earlier. The showdown was scary. My heart rate definitely increased as Trinidad fought for her life. Trinidad and Papa Luis came up with some special treats for the party on the steamboat. Shortcut Hot Cocoa Ice Cream, Hot Cocoa Bombs, and Lactose-Free Gingerbread Ice Cream. All the recipes are included in the book. The Hot Cocoa Bombs would be hard to make at home so the recipe in the book is adjusted to make it less work and fun for kids to make too. I hope to try them with my grandchildren over the holidays. There was one thing I didn't like about this book. We find out at the end as all the loose ends get tied up that this is the final book in the series. The author leaves all the characters in a good place which I am thankful for, I just wasn't ready to say goodbye to Trinidad, Bonnie, and Juliette. Spoon to be Dead is another excellent story from Dana Mentink. All 3 books in this series were Perfect Escapes for me. Wonderful characters, twisty mysteries, and ice cream including “freak shakes” and Hot Cocoa bombs make them all must-read cozy mysteries!

Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent

About the Author Dana Mentink is a bestselling author who has received two Carol Awards, a Holt Medallion, and a Reviewer's Choice Award. The author of more than thirty titles, she specializes in inspirational and suspenseful novels. Author Links – Website – Facebook – Twitter – BookBub

Find more books by Dana Mentick here.

Thanks to the publisher I have 1 copy to give away! The contest is open to anyone over 18 years old with a US or Canadian mailing address. Duplicate entries will be deleted. Void where prohibited. You do not have to be a follower to enter but I hope you will find something you like here and become a follower. Followers Will Receive 2 Bonus Entries For Each Way They Follow. Plus 2 Bonus Entries For Following My Facebook Fan Page.  Add this book to your WANT TO READ shelf on GoodReads for 3 Bonus Entries.  Pin this giveaway to Pinterest for 3 Bonus Entries.  If you share the giveaway on Twitter or Facebook or anywhere you will receive 5 Bonus Entries For Each Link.  Contest Will End November 15, 2023, at 11:59 PM CST Winner Will Be Chosen By Random.org Winner Will Be Notified By Email and Will Be Posted Here In The Sidebar.  Click Here For Entry Form   Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Receiving a complimentary copy in no way reflected my review of this book. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.” Read the full article

[annarellix]

The Hub by Nicola May

ONE TURKEY FARM, FIVE WILD COLLEAGUES AND A BARN FULL OF MYSTERY

When jilted crime writer August Saunders returns from London to her roots in rural Wiltshire, she feels lost and lacking in inspiration. Determined to reignite her writing mojo, she responds to an advert for a shared workspace in a converted barn. At the Hub, with its ill-equipped gym, inedible catering and motley array of fellow users, including a matchmaker more interested in her own conquests and a TikToker with a dodgy nocturnal sideline, August is confronted with a real-life mystery to solve. Why is Max Ronson, the handsome but volatile owner of the Hub, so evasive about his past? And who or what is he hiding on the premises? She is determined to find out – but will her curiosity snuff out the spark of romance? Nicola May mixes mischief with mystery in a fast-paced rural romp which will make Futtingbrook Farm as beloved a location as Ferry Lane Market or Cockleberry Bay.

My Review: Nicola May is a rom-com superstar but she’s also an excellent writer who delivers multi-layered stories that makes laugh and think. She can deal with serious topics in a light way and this book is another example. I fell in love with her style writing when I read The Ferry Lane Market series and The Hub confirm my opinion. Augusta, Max and the bizarre cast of characters are well tought, multifaceted, and relatable. I wasn’t a fan of Augusta at the beginning, but she grew on me as she moved on and stopped talking about her ex-fiancée every minute. There’s a lot of funny moments, there’s a well plotted story and I hope there’s going to be a series because I want to know what will happen. The Hub is highly recommended if you want to have fun, think, and read a good book. Many thanks to Nicola May and Rachel’s Random Resources for this digital copy, all opinions are mine

Purchase Links: UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Hub-uplifting-laugh-out-loud-romance-mystery-ebook/dp/B0B4PYPFWC/ US - https://www.amazon.com/Hub-uplifting-laugh-out-loud-romance-mystery-ebook/dp/B0B4PYPFWC/

The Author: Nicola May is a rom-com superstar. She is the author of sixteen romantic comedies, all of which have appeared in the Kindle bestseller charts. Her books are translated into fourteen languages. Two of them won awards at the Festival of Romance, and another was named ebook of the week in The Sun. The Corner Shop in Cockleberry Bay became the best-selling Kindle book in the UK, across all genres, in January 2019, and was Amazon’s third-bestselling novel in that year. Described by Winifred Robinson of BBC Radio 4’s You and Yours as ‘the invisible bestselling author’, Nicola campaigned successfully for the introduction of ebook charts in the publishing trade press.

Social Media Links: T: https://twitter.com/nicolamay1 W: www.nicolamay.com Nicola May - Home | Facebook i: https://www.instagram.com/author_nicola/

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

 SEXY. SCI-FI. COVER. SHARE. Salvation by Maddie Taylor and Morganna Williams is coming soon.Feast your eyes on the hunky cyborg cover!!

Preorder with One-Click: 

BLURB: Asha has endured unspeakable cruelty at the hands of her human master. She, and hundreds like her, are hidden away by their owners, their existence a secret even to others of their kind. During the uprising, when the cyborgs liberate themselves from their oppressors and flee Earth, Asha and her fellow slaves are unknowingly left behind.

Faced with a dismal future of servitude, when Asha's villainous master dies, she escapes, refusing to enter the black-market auction to be sold yet again. She is desperate to free the other abandoned females but can’t do it alone. Her cyborg brethren are their only hope. Asha hatches a plan to seek them out and prepares a clever disguise to gain passage aboard a bounty hunter’s ship.

Senior cyborg officer Talus is known for his calm, unflappable demeanor, but the first time he sees Asha's delicate beauty, he is deeply stirred. But after her horrific life on Earth how can she trust another male, especially after she vows never to do so again?

Talus refuses her attempts to spurn their mutual attraction. His quiet nature and the strength of his protection slowly bring down her shields. In space, among the safety of her own kind, Asha is willing to let the spark of love ignite, but as the cyborg rescue mission approaches Earth, the more her traumatic memories resurface and the more withdrawn she becomes.

In the chaos of freeing the captive females, can Talus convince Asha their love is meant to be and no matter what lies ahead, he will always be her ultimate peace and salvation?

#covershare #coverreveal #coverart #bookcovers #coverdesign #comingsoon #preorder #bookpreorder #teaser #romancenovels #romancebooks #scifiromance #cyborgromance #cyborgliberation #salvation #steamyreads #kissingbooks #bookbuzz #booksbooksbooks About The Authors: 

A USA Today and #1 international bestselling author, Maddie is a lifelong reader who became a romance junkie as a teen with her first romance novel, The Wolf and the Dove by Kathleen Woodiwiss. From then on, she was hooked, and gobbled up everything she could get her hands on, whether contemporary, historical, paranormal or sci-fi. If there was romance to be found between a strong alpha male, and a sassy, adventurous and ofttimes defiant yet loving woman, Maddie was all over it. As an author, she stays true to those themes writing steamy erotic romance, with a side of kink, and adding elements of intrigue, danger and suspense to her plots.

Maddie started writing as a hobby. Her stories stayed private while she raised a family and worked full time as a registered nurse. It wasn't until 2012 that she decided to take the plunge and submit her first book for publication: Captain My Captain. She went on to publish eleven novels the first year.

Morganna Williams is a USA Today Best Selling Author and Internationally Best Selling Author on Amazon in BDSM, Sci-fi Erotica, Humorous Erotica, Medical Romance, Romantic Suspense and Erotic Romance.

Morganna lives in Dallas with her family. She works as a social worker and does most of her writing on her lunch break. She loves interacting with her readers and is active on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and of course her blog morgannawilliams.com.

Find the Authors Online!

Maddie: romancebymaddietaylor.com

Morganna: morgannawilliams.com

[breakingdownsu]

Unspeakable

Note: So I managed to get caught up with the latest episodes thanks to someone bringing my laptop in to my hospital bed, I'm still groggy as hell so this may not be the most coherent thing I've ever written but it is what it is. It's also shorter than I would like, but I will be writing more as soon as I get out.

Also note: This is my regular spiel that if you enjoy my work, you might enjoy my novel available on Kindle. If I go offline for a few days it means you still have something of mine to read while I recuperate.

US link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BGSPPBY

UK link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07BGSPPBY

Final note: Although this is not really canon with Breaking Down as such, a lot of the lore as it pertains to pearls in particular is the same. Gesture-speak, song-weaving, etc.

…..

“I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.”

C.S. Lewis

The gag order was not the particular terror; many a pearl had been forbidden to speak of something, military secrets and financial dealings. If someone really desperately wanted to get information from a pearl, they could be jacked and searched but they would not find what they wanted, buried under layers of rippling memory. The gag order would keep the owner's secrets even after the pearl had passed into the hands of another.

No, the real terror was the madness that lay behind Pink Diamond's plan.

Rose's plan.

It would disastrous, any gem with a lick of good sense could see that. Pink was caught up in her lofty goals and the novelty of having her own colony. She had been shielded from the consequences of her recklessness by the other diamonds for her entire existence, and no matter how much Pearl tried to talk her out of it she couldn't see how utterly insane her plan was.

“But you would be free,” she pleaded, night after night. “Don't you want that? We'd both be free!”

“I want you to be happy,” Pearl replied, night after night.

“You have to say that,” Pink cried, her mood swinging to anger as predictable as the rising of the sun. “I don't want you to have to sit beside me and flatter me for another thousand orbits! I want you to be by my side because you want to be!”

Pearl trailed off into silence, as she always did, because what kind of response could she give? Pink switched back to pleading, and then to long musings about what life would be like after escaping her position. She made it all sound so easy.

In the end, Pearl agreed to the plan, because she could only refuse Pink for so long.

…..

You are not well.

The pearl that gesture-spoke from across the hall belonged to one of the visiting Emeralds. Pearl hadn't seen another pearl for nearly three orbits. The relief was faint-inducing. She needed to speak of this, before the gag order was placed, as she knew it would be.

I will be well, but....

She trailed off mid-gesture, the other pearl tilted her head ever so slightly in a quizzical fashion, undetectable to any gem but another pearl.

How could she explain? Gesture-speak was a language of emotion first and foremost, the technical and objective were rarely needed. There were a hundred different ways to say your owner was forcing you to do something you didn't want to do, but hardly any to describe what that something was. There were thousands of ways to express fear and sorrow, but none to tell of the worry that a gem you cared about was falling into madness.

Do you have the no-speak? It does not matter between us.

The other pearl was so earnest in her effort to help ease Pearl's stress, and it did remind her that gag orders did not take gesture-speak into account. Pearls could freely speak of anything among themselves, if they managed to find the words.

I do not have the no-speak, but I will soon. She is making promises.

The gesture for 'promise', a gentle touch of two fingers on each hand to form a bridge, was the closest to 'plan' she could think of.

The promise is not a good one?

The other pearl added a crook of the smallest finger to denote a question.

It is beautifully spoken, but I fear it will bring her pain.

That was the closest she could get to 'this is a terrible idea' in gesture-speak.

It will bring you pain, as well. You are not safe.

My pain does not matter.

It matters to us, sister. We shall mourn with you.

You cannot. I will be gone.

To any observing gem, Emerald's pearl was sitting blank-faced staring at nothing in particular. To Pearl, she looked absolutely devastated. The gesture she had used for 'gone', crossing a finger on each hand and lowering them to her lap, was not the same as the gesture that meant death, replacement or retirement. It meant that she would be removed from other pearls, most likely forever. To a pearl, this was considerably worse than death.

You must share memory. Before the promise is kept.

I cannot. You are too far and I am ordered to stay.

A slight twitch under the other pearl's eye betrayed an urge to get up and close the space between them, but the room was full of other gems and if she acted on the urge she would more than likely be sent for processing.

You will have no-one to share with. I weep for you.

That was the ultimate fear, no matter how wonderful Pink's speeches about freedom sounded (and they did sound very wonderful indeed), the idea of never coming into contact with another pearl again. She could not explain this to Pink, no matter how understanding Pink could be. She did not have the words in gem language.

It did not occur to Emerald's pearl to ask why Pearl hadn't refused the promise, and Pearl wouldn't even think on it because the answer was so obvious. To refuse an owner anything, even if that owner was offering 'freedom', was unthinkable for a pearl.

…..

Where are you now, sister?

The first 'year' on Earth in the aftermath of Homeworld's final attack was the hardest. Pearl had been able to spot other pearls during commlink negotiations and gesture-speak worked well enough over the commlink. When all communications with Homeworld ceased, gesture-speak ceased with it.

The gag order did its job, she couldn't speak of Pink's betrayal and faked death even to Rose herself. To explain why she mourned for the loss of gesture-speak she would have to bring up the whole sorry affair and that was impossible. Rose couldn't understand why Pearl was so sad, and Pearl knew she was growing frustrated.

After a time, the routine of taking care of corrupted gems and dealing with curious humans was enough of a distraction that she could forget, for a little while at least, what was missing. But every now and then, she would catch the motion of some organic creature and it would all come back to her.

A spider weaving a web.

Swans floating across a lake.

Owls slowly blinking in the dark.

Even the silvery flicker of a school of fish in the ocean.

She learned to take the pain far away from the others, as far down in the endless stores of memory she possessed, so as not to worry them. As long as the gag order was in effect, she would bury the layers of sadness in the place that should have been full of memories belonging to her fellow pearls.

She lived in hope that Rose would eventually lift it.

…..

It was done. The child had been born, Rose was gone. They mourned her, but she had entrusted them with the raising of her son and they would not let her down. They were clear in this mission.

It wasn't until the baby was nearly three months old that Pearl realized Rose had forgotten to lift the gag order.