Thursday, September 21, 2017

INTERVIEW with SARAH E. STEVENS (Waxing Moon-Calling the Moon Book Two)



Hey, hey, hey... another great day. We've got an interview with today's author to start things off. Let's give a big Supernatural Central hello to Sarah E. Stevens!

SC: Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.

SES: Julie Hall is a librarian and a single mom who thinks her life is pretty normal until her baby Carson turns into a Werewolf. In Dark Moon Wolf, the first book in this series, Julie walks into Carson’s bedroom in the middle of the night to find a wolf pup in his crib. That launches her into a paranormal world she never dreamed could be real. In Waxing Moon, Julie has to save herself and her six-month old baby from a group of rogue paranormal fire creatures who want to kill them. She’s kind of an everywoman who’s driven to extreme bravery to protect her son. Like many of us, Julie draws strength from her good friends and, well, she doesn’t always make wise choices with men. She’s strong and determined to hold her own as a mere human fighting against paranormal enemies.
SC: Those paranormal enemies can be a challenge, for sure. Speaking of the paranormal, do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?

SES: I’ve never had a paranormal experience. A huge part of me wishes that magic were real—secret doors to strange lands, magical powers, mythical creatures. I think that’s why I like urban fantasy and paranormal novels so much. I can identify with the characters, because they live in our world. And I can imagine what it would be like to round a corner and bump into a pixie, a Werewolf, or a magician.

SC: What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
SES: I’m working on Rising Wolf, working title for the third book in my Calling the Moon series. Hopefully it will release next spring or early summer. Who do you think Julie will end up with: Team Wolf or Team Salamander?

SC: More of a canine fan myself, so I'll go with Team Wolf. Thanks for stopping by to chat with us today. You're welcome back anytime! Let's take a look at Waxing Moon book two now...

Waxing Moon
Calling the Moon
Book Two
Sarah E. Stevens

Genre: Paranormal

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Date of Publication: 8/18/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5092-1586-7
ISBN: 978-1-5092-1587-4 Digital
ASIN: B073MPTK1Z

Number of pages: paperback 308,
Word Count:  ~76k

Cover Artist: Deborah Turner

Tagline:  Paranormal arson, rogue wolves, and torn loyalties. How can a mere human mother protect her Werewolf baby?

Book Description:

Julie Hall thinks she has the hang of mothering her Werewolf baby Carson, until the night she wakes to frantic barking and finds her house on fire. Arson. Paranormal fire creatures want to kill Carson—and an unknown Were may be helping them.

As if fire-spawning Salamanders and a mysterious Werewolf aren't dangerous enough, Julie soon faces even closer threats. Her trusted friend Eliza harbors a secret and Julie’s new understanding of Werewolves threatens to tear apart her team. Meanwhile, her relentless enemies will burn everything in their path, if they can’t get to Carson.

Will Julie’s efforts to protect Carson do more harm than good?

Amazon         The Wild Rose Press

Dark Moon Wolf
Book One of Calling the Moon
Available on Amazon

Excerpt 1: 

            I jolted awake because of the barking—deep barks that sounded right next to me even though I slept alone in my bedroom. I sat up before I opened my eyes and even then, my brain lagged behind. For the first few seconds, I stared at the flames before understanding my house was on fire.
            My house was on fire.
            Carson!
            The curtains at my window burned, flames shooting up toward the ceiling. I stared at them and almost forgot to move. Then panic poured through me and I jumped up. I felt disoriented: the blackness, the flames, the smoke beginning to fill the room, the roar. My heart raced in terror.
            My baby was in this fire.
            With a high-pitched crash, my bedroom windows exploded from the heat, and a shower of hot glass flew into the room. I reflexively turned away, arms raised to cover my face. Some of the glass hit me, hot stings against my arms and side, but I barely felt the pain. Below the thunder of the fire, I heard the smoke alarm sound a futile warning.
            I didn’t think to drop to my knees, to detour into the bathroom for a wet cloth, to crawl to Carson’s bedroom. Instead, I ran through the house, breathed in the choking smoke, felt my hands and feet start to numb from panic.
            Fire filled the hallway to Carson’s room, and I skidded to a frantic stop, unable to reach him.      
            Carson!
            My throat so raw from the smoke I couldn't even scream his name. Heat pounded down the hallway, along with thick black smoke, and flames blocked his door.
            The window! Maybe I could get to him from his window, from outside.
            I whirled, stumbled, and ran back down the hallway. The fire seemed to chase me until my numb feet tripped on the edge of the area rug and I fell hard, sending a stab of pain into my arm where some glass stuck.
            Landing, I remembered I should stay on the floor. The air was slightly clearer down there, and I crawled the last feet to the front door, lined by small paned windows shattered by heat. Glass pieces bit into my knees as I reached the door, the doorknob hot in my hand as I turned it.  
            I launched myself onto the front stoop, then forced myself off the ground to run around the side of the house. Flames snaked upward toward the roof; the siding below was a mass of char. How did the fire erupt so quickly?
I ran to Carson’s window, now a gaping wound in the siding framed by jagged pieces of glass. The eaves above sang with rising flame and sheets of smoke poured off the lower walls. My bare feet sank into mud, deep mud, and I paused for a second, confused because the water didn’t make sense.
I shook my head to clear it. Carson. I had to get to Carson.
            I tried to knock out the rest of the glass on the window frame, before I pulled myself up and over the window. My eyes searched for my baby against in the darkness—thank all the gods! Somehow, there was no fire in his room. I landed heavily on the carpet. The floor was wet and cold shocked my skin. I didn’t have sprinklers—what the hell? I sloshed through inches of water and finally reached Carson’s crib.
            He cried, which meant he was alive, and my heart leapt. Tears streamed down his face and his mouth opened in a howl. I grabbed him, held him fiercely and maybe a little too tight, but he grabbed me right back with arms and legs, burrowed into my body, rubbed his face into my shoulder. He was soaking wet from tears.
            Or—
            Something cracked overhead and I leapt back toward the window, swung my legs up and over the sill, and dropped down into the mud. I landed heavily on one side with Carson cradled against me and pain stabbed through my hip. Holding Carson to me with one arm, I crawled as far as I could—which wasn’t far—then collapsed onto the ground.
            I looked back at my house. Fire blazed on the roof. Carson still cried; I cried. We both gasped for air. We were black with soot, with ash, with mud. We were soaked. I was suddenly freezing. Nothing made sense.
            Then a growl came out of the darkness and chills raced up my spine. I sat up and turned to see what my body already knew. A huge, black wolf. A Werewolf—it had to be. Only Weres were that big. But who was he? Why was he here? The wolf stood mere feet from me with hackles raised and mouth half-open. Red light from the fire reflected off his teeth. He crouched, muscles taut, ready to spring.
            “No!” I shouted and clutched Carson to me, a surge of anger giving me strength.
Why would a Were attack us?


About the Author:

Sarah's love of reading, writing, and all things fantasy started with her childhood explorations of Narnia, Middle Earth, and Pern. She's a huge enthusiast of all fantasy, paranormal, and science fiction. She's a board game geek, an artist, and a dabbler in making chainmaille jewelry. She loves to write about strong women and their friendships--combined with magic and love, of course.

Sarah, her husband Gary, their three kids, and three cats live in Evansville, Indiana.

PS. None of her kids are actually Werewolves.




https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16276590.Sarah_E_Stevens

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Wednesday, September 20, 2017

SPOTLIGHT- DEATH: AWAKENING TO LIFE Book 1 by CHRISTINE CONTINI




Death: Awakening to Life
Book 1
Christine Contini

Genre: Nonfiction/Spirituality

Publisher: Winterwolfpress.com

Date of Publication: October 31, 2017

ISBN: 978-0-9885851-2-6 paperback

Number of pages: 196
Word Count: 80,849

Cover Artist:  Andreea Vraciu
and Laura C. Cantu

Tagline:  Peek through the veils to the other side.

Book Description:

What happens after we die' has been a question that has haunted humanity since the dawn of abstract thought. Many theories have been offered, but finding evidence has seemed impossible.

In Death: Awakening to Life, Christine Contini takes us on a journey through life, death, healing, and rebirth. At thirty-one years old, Christine was diagnosed with Relapsing Remitting Multiple Sclerosis.

A newfound spirituality gave her the power to overcome the habitual belief systems that had sanctioned her body to become so unwell. Through a daily practice of meditation, she began learning how to change her habits and thought patterns, but it wasn't until seven years later when she experienced a sudden cardiac death that the real changes began to occur.

The contact she had with the recently deceased led to her concept called 'energetics' - a system that could be used to bring balance and health to the living. Without her experiences in working alongside the deceased, her concept would not have been fully developed.

In Death: Awakening to Life, the journey Christine will lead you through is one you will never forget; hopefully, the accounts will inspire you to start asking questions about your own views of the world and your place in it. The proof we've all been seeking for what really exists after death is here in this book. Once it's realized, the possibilities for healing and living can also be fully grasped. Christine reminds us that we have a responsibility to live our lives to their fullest potentials, and she presents the wisdom that can help us do it.

This book is a gift that we've all been waiting for. Go on, don't wait any longer. Find yourself, find your health, and find your truth.




Excerpt:

“Sir, your wife is having a heart attack,” I heard the nurse say over the phone’s speaker. Even with the nurse stating this as a fact, it had not occurred to me this was the moment Joseph had been relentlessly studying for. I was experiencing sudden cardiac death; a fatal heart attack causing extensive heart damage! In fact, Joseph knew the symptoms pointed to the kind of heart attack that only about six percent of the population survives.
With this awareness, my confused, agitated, knowledgeable husband did not seem to be able to hold the rest of his thoughts together. “You can’t go to sleep,” he pointed out, aggressively. “The biggest reason people die from heart attacks is because they go to sleep instead of going to the doctor!”
Joseph picked up the motel’s phone again to call the hospital for an ambulance. Unable to focus on the address where we were staying, or even the motel’s name, he dropped the phone into its cradle, deciding it would be quicker to drive me down the street to the emergency room. He knew exactly where it was, after all, Joey and Johnny were both born there.
I was topless. I had taken off my clothes, thinking it would reduce my back pain. After he helped me into my pajamas, he told me to wait while he went to fill Mary [mother-in-law] in on the situation.
Suddenly, things seemed to be so normal to me. All the commotion of feeling sick left me, and so did the pain. I felt very childlike. I remembered seeing my world this way when I was very young, before I was capable of purposely moving a single muscle. What a strange thing to remember, I thought. To have this feeling and be able to walk instead of only attempt to move, as I did when I was a baby, fascinated me. I began to think, I must be dreaming. I watched myself put my shoes on to leave the room. At this point, I was not even real to myself anymore… 

… I walked outside, my senses super sharp. This was ironic, considering I was now going on hours of my body having experienced reduced oxygen, including thirty-five minutes during which my body was severely deprived. I saw my son Joey’s face. He had that blank expression that goes along with a fight or flight observation before the brain processes what is before it. Mary stood in the door, grasping her cane, full of responsibility as Joseph gave her directions.
As for me, I felt like dancing. I had lost all concentration on anything other than my feet. I could feel a physical distance between my sight and my body, as though I was in two places at the same time, all while logically knowing I was still observing my own feet. The separation of my senses from my body became more apparent as I watched my eyes travel to gain a microscopic view, leaving my body behind.
Suddenly, I could see the asphalts’ atomic make-up with clarity. Even the space between the atoms was obvious. I was further distracted by my contemplation, viewing the pavement as if I was present for its life journey—when it was first poured, all its repairs and resurfacing—when a loud noise brought me back into reality.
The loud noise was my husband yelling. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be walking around!”
My thought: He’s angry that I’m having a heart attack. I looked up to see if I could see the stars, only to realize from the glow of the overhead lights that my astigmatism was now blocking my microscopic view. Only a moment earlier, I had experienced this microscopic view with fascination. I was confused as to why it was now gone.
He ordered me to get in the van as he jumped into the driver’s seat. I wondered why he was so focused on himself all the time. After all, if I was the one having the heart attack, why had he taken the time to smoke and talk to his mom? And why had he not helped me get into the van instead of yelling at me? And why was he being so impatient when I wanted to dance? On and on thoughts rambled in my head until we reached the first light.
 I lost sight again. Without turning to him, I said, “The pain, it’s coming again.” I wished I had brought the trashcan with me. How did I not think to bring it? I was trained to be overly responsible, deeply ingrained with the need to always be prepared. This time, I had failed.

Instead of throwing up, I died. 

About the Author:

Diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis age 30. – GONE!

Heart attack, age 37. No oxygen flowing through the body for 45 minutes. – DIED!

Revived, but professionals declared she would live in a vegetative state. NO WAY!

Christine Contini is a living miracle. After a massive heart attack left her without hope of recovery, the doctors informed her family that she would live the remainder of her life in a vegetative state.

The medical professionals are still baffled as to how Christine not only defied death, but came back to full consciousness and was able to work her own way back to her divine health. Through her own pursuit of studies, she also completely freed herself from multiple sclerosis.

Christine was raised Catholic and had no previous knowledge of the esoteric world. However, during the heart attack, Christine had a Near-Death Experience (NDE) which gave her access to the understanding of how energy works. The knowledge she received was unparalleled in her daily existence. As a result, her ability to assist others in healing both the energetic patterns and physical ailments that had often challenged them for years was first born.

Christine is a healer, a speaker, a teacher, and the author of Death – Awakening to Life (the first of three books) in which she shares her amazing story and the knowledge she received after returning from beyond the veil. She leads “The STUDY”– groups for people who want to take their understanding of how to heal themselves far beyond the book; and she offers 5-day, 2-week, and 30-day programs for people who want to go deeper in their own personal process to create real and lasting change.





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INTERVIEW with S. PETERS-DAVIS (Unorthodox-A Kendra Spark Novel)

Stop the ever-loving presses, we've got an interview today with S. Peters-Davis. She dropped by to talk  about her book UNORTHODOX.



S P-D: Hi Janine, love this site…in fact love everything Supernatural; ) Thank you so much for hosting me today.

SC:  Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
S P-D: Kendra Spark, twenty-nine years old and an accomplished/published author, writes suspense, mystery romance novels and lives in Northern Michigan on Paradise Isle Lake. She also sees and communicates with the dead, which comes in pretty handy for an actual murdered victim. She has some mad skills when it comes to supernatural beings…but she lacks confidence of her ability – until it’s put to the test.

SC: Supernatural beings? We love them at this site.  Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
S P-D: I had a few sighting experiences as a child between the ages 5 – 7, always at night. I would awaken and knew someone stood beside my bed, when I looked an old woman stretched her arms out toward me. I ended up squeezing my eyes shut and screaming my head off until one of my parents came into my bedroom and flicked on the light. Each time, the same old woman reached her arms out to me. It made me wonder if it was a grandmother that passed away before I really knew her (my father’s mother).

The woman was real to me and I believe she stopped because of my fear…or perhaps my fear simply shut down my “sight” – I still sense when someone visits and once in a while I hear someone say my name, but I don’t “see” anything like when I was a child. 
SC: That's interesting. I saw my first apparition when I was about eleven. At a friend's house. I asked who was looking at us and my friend calmly said "Oh, that's my dead uncle." Like it was nothing, lol. But I digress.  What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?

S P-D: I’m presently writing, Secret: At HL Woods – written as DK Davis (YA author pseudonym) to complete for release on January 1st, 2018. Plus I’m working on Malevolent, book 2 of the Kendra Spark Novels, hoping to release in early summer of 2018. And I’ve been working on a new project with another author, Jake & Sam, Twisted Tales of Freakish Fun (a mid-grade book of short stories for boys) to complete by fall of 2018 (or before).Then I’ll get to work on Secret: Of Amber Eyes for mid-winter release in 2019.

Janine, thanks again for your support in hosting me today: )

SC: No, thank YOU! Stop by anytime. Now let's take a look at your novel.

Unorthodox
A Kendra Spark Novel
Book One
S. Peters-Davis

Genre: Paranormal Suspense-Thriller Romance
with a good dollop of Supernatural

Publisher: Books We Love Publishing

Date of Publication: September 15, 2017

ISBN 978-1-77362-303-0
ISBN 978-1-77362-304-7
EPUB 978-1-77362-300-9
Kindle 978-1-77362-301-6
WEB 978-1-77362-302-3

Number of pages: 153 pages
Word Count: 63,000

Cover Artist: CoverUp.Net

Book Tagline:  Kendra’s ability of communicating with the dead is requested by her FBI criminal analyst friend to stop a killer from murdering agents.

Series Tagline: Kendra sees ghosts, and then her BFF, Jenna, becomes one. The two friends and FBI agent Derek Knight fight for justice to the victims of heinous crimes.

Book Description:

Kendra Spark, suspense-mystery romance author and communicator with the dead, is requested to hop on the first flight to D.C.

Jenna Powers, FBI criminal analyst and estranged best friend of Kendra, gets ghosticized in a fatal accident before relaying all the details of the FBI killer case.

Derek Knight, a dedicated FBI Special Task Force agent, takes lead on the case.

The investigation into the FBI agent killings continues as Kendra, Jenna – yes, even after death – and Derek work together on the case before Director of the Special Task Force Jackson Powers’ number is up. He’s Jenna’s father and the end-game of the killer’s target list.

Somehow the elusive killer remains undetected, until Kendra’s unique ability produces results and a final possibility at stopping his killing spree before it’s too late.



Excerpt:

From the Author Review Copy: The scene – Derek has Kendra in a casual interrogation room inside the FBI building – D.C. location

The door opened and Jackson Powers entered before I could respond.
He glanced around the room stopping when he saw me; his red rimmed eyes spoke volumes. I clearly remembered his presence, a straightforward man, full of confidence and direction, but in this moment he appeared like a man broken. I rose and reached for a hand shake. Instead, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into a big bear hug.
“I’m so very sorry about Jenna. Sorry for your loss, for my loss…” Muscles tensed around my vocals and cut off the words.
Tears spilled from both of us. Derek stepped out of the room, clicking the door closed.
“Jenna told me she was meeting with you today, going to show you the city sights.” Jackson held me for a few more minutes, patting my back and telling me it wasn’t my fault.
The thought of the accident initially being my fault had never entered my mind. Why would that thought cross his? I stepped back. Obviously he hadn’t received the latest details of the accident, but even so why would he consider that I’d feel responsible. Even if I questioned that maybe I could have done something to stop her in some way, she did save that boy. “Not sure what you mean…in thinking it could be my fault?”
His eyes widened, maybe a little startled at my blatant question. “I assumed Jenna ran after a little culprit that grabbed your purse or something much worse. She must have gotten caught up in the chase to run in front of on-coming traffic.” His face softened. “Kendra, I know Jenna, there was nothing you could have done to stop her. She’s always been head-strong…was always
head-strong,” he corrected himself, then his voice cracked, and suddenly something occurred to me.
Jackson isn’t privy to Jenna and Derek’s manhunt for the FBI killer, nor the reason I’m here. Of course. Jenna had tagged along to certain crime scenes while she was still in college, but from all that I remembered, Jackson wanted her profiling cases strictly inside the building. She had access to all the crime scenes from pictures and files on her laptop. At least she always used to complain about his restrictions, and I couldn’t imagine he would allow her in the field on a serial killer task force, unless things had changed in the last couple years.
There’d been a few close calls on other cases, some of the agent’s family members being abducted or being used for negotiation, leverage. While in college, Jenna told me all the rules her father had enforced if she were to join in any of the FBI cases. He protected her, and now she had returned the favor…to her demise.
Jenna and Derek were hunting the serial killer behind Jackson’s back.
There was a tap on the door and Derek stepped in. His brows were drawn close, eyes narrowed, perhaps his expression of concern. “Sir, I thought Kendra might be hungry. She hasn’t eaten all day.” He smiled at me, and then looked back at Jackson. “I’m headed out for a late lunch and thought I’d take her with me.”
Jackson’s lips pressed together. He finally lifted his chin toward me. “Well, of course. We certainly wouldn’t want anyone going hungry now, would we,” more of a statement than a question. He patted my shoulder. “Go on, Kendra. We can continue our talk later. I’d like to hear exactly what happened to my daughter from someone who was there to witness it.”
Derek grasped my elbow and led me toward the door.
Instead of following, Jackson released a long breathy sigh and sat on the couch. “Shut the door behind you, Derek. And tell Darla I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

My heart swelled huge behind my ribcage, again the confining weight pressing in on my ability to breathe. I couldn’t imagine the emotional maelstrom Jackson was going through. I knew only my own turbulent ride. Now I needed to get some facts straight; it was my turn to interrogate Derek.

About the Author:

S. Peters-Davis writes multi-genre stories, but loves penning a good page-turning suspense-thriller, especially when it’s a ghost story and a romance. When she’s not writing, editing, or reading, she’s hiking, RV’ing, fishing, playing with grandchildren, or enjoying time with her favorite muse (her husband) in Southwest Michigan.

She also writes YA paranormal, supernatural novels as DK Davis.


Twitter – https://twitter.com/spdavis788   


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Monday, September 18, 2017

INTERVIEW with MARCUS JAMES (Rise of the Nephilim)


 


Hey, hey, hey... grab a cup of tea. We've got an interview with Marcus James today!
 
SC: Tell me a little bit about your main character in Rise of the Nephilim.

MJ: Her name is Kathryn Blackmoore, and she originated in my series The Blackmoore Legacy, (the first two books, Blackmoore and Symphony for the Devil are available now.) And in these novels she is mother to the main character, Trevor Blackmoore, and she is the unofficial matriarch of the Blackmoore dynasty of witches. Think equal parts Buffy, Dark Shadows, The Lives of the Mayfair Witches, with a dash of Harry Potter and you have the series.
 As an older woman, dealing with the loss of her husband, running the American offices of Blackmoore World Corp., and a dark, ancient, and bloodthirsty god seeking to regain power and human flesh to destroy her family, Kathryn is a sexy stone fox with a whiskey voice.

  In the Blackmoore series, Kathryn became a breakout favorite. My female readers really adore her, my gay readers think she is a fierce queen, and many of my straight male readers tell me how sexy she is. I’ve always known I wanted to tell her story as a young woman-before marriage and a child-but I was never quite certain how to do it. In the first novel, Blackmoore, Trevor is kept in the dark about the full truth of his family. He knows they are witches, that they see spirits, can read thoughts, effect the environment around them, etc. But the rich history of Voodoo and European witchcraft, the Dark God of the Wood, his role in everything; all of this is kept from him. The Blackmoores used to be very open about all of this within the family, but then it all just stopped and suddenly the family became very secretive. Well, I wanted to explain that, to reveal what happened to make Kathryn-and in turn, the rest of the clan-to decide to suddenly stop talking, and the Nephilim Books were born.

 In the first book, Rise of the Nephilim, Kathryn is 26 and living in Los Angeles. It’s 1987 and she’s right on the famed Sunset Strip, where what we think of as 80’s rock and metal were born and where it called home. She’s trying to escape her life in Bellingham Washington, and her neighborhood of South Hill. An old-monied and superstitious place in the Sacred Heart parish, and the gossip and rumors that have persisted about her family for more than a century.

In L.A. she’s recovering from a break up that has haunted her for years and she decides she’s just going to party, shop, have amazingly hot and thrilling sex and just experience the freedom in being young and away from home, but a series of gruesome deaths and haunting visions of a powerful and inhuman form begins to remind her that she can’t escape who she is and that she has been expected.
SC: Sounds like a fun series to read. I like a matriarch with issues. The supernatural is a theme in this series, but do you actually believe in the paranormal, and if so, do you have an experience you can share?

MJ: I very much do. I grew up with spirits. My family is actually from South Hill in Bellingham, in fact the home of Mabel Blackmoore (Kathryn's aunt) is the home of my great-aunt, and much of the ghost stories found in the Blackmoore books are real stories from Bellingham. Much like New Orleans, it’s a place with a ghost in almost every house and every street corner.
As for my own experiences, there are way too many. Currently I have the spirit of an elderly woman I have named Pearl, who is attached to an old dining table I have. For the most part she’s pretty quiet and doesn’t really do much, but she is very particular about things being picked up. If the table is too messy for too long, or dishes not done within a day, she will begin to steal things and not return them until things have been picked up, then they will usually appear out of nowhere on the table.

If she doesn’t like certain people she will throw things. Growing up with ghosts it doesn’t phase me. I usually just tell her to knock it off, but it is funny to see the reactions of other people.
SC: That's wild! I have had an apparition attached to my own dining room table and I'm pretty sure I know who it is. She wasn't quite thrilled with me painting it, but I hope she's okay with it now that it is done. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?

MJ: Well, I’m finishing the conclusion to the Nephilim books with Fall of the Nephilim, which will be out late autumn. Rise is the first novella in a two part series, and Fall will conclude it.
 Then I will begin the research process for The Beckoning One. It is the third book in the main series, and the research is going to be very extensive, but I love it. The research process is so much fun for me. I love hunting for all of my research books, filling up legal pad after legal pad with notes, highlighting page after page, absorbing so much information. That will probably be six months or so of work. But then, Symphony took me ten years to research and write, but that is also a very big book. The Beckoning One won’t be as big. I imagine sometime late 2018/early 2019 it should be out.

SC: You've got a full plate there. Thanks again for stopping by and having this chat with us. You're always welcomed back whenever you have something to share. Now let's take a look at this title.

Rise of the Nephilim
A Blackmoore Prequel
Marcus James

Genre: Erotic PNR/Gothic Horror

Publisher: Candiano Books

Date of Publication: 07/24/2017

ISBN:1545039895
ASIN: B073q4gb9w

Number of pages: 201

Word Count: 61,272

Cover Artist: Ransom Graphics

Tagline: Sex, witchcraft, and rock and roll on the Sunset Strip

Book Description:

LOS ANGELES, summer of 1987.

Kathryn Blackmoore, the 26 year old heir to Blackmoore World Corp. and the future matriarch of the Blackmoore dynasty of witches has fled the haunted old monied neighborhood of South Hill in Bellingham, Washington looking to trade in a century of rumors, superstition, and her own heartache  for the sun, sex, and music of the Sunset Strip.

Taking up residence in the famed and decaying Chateau Marmont hotel, Kathryn quickly finds herself in an erotic and thrilling journey into the world of Niiq, Arish, and Kuri; members of the band Nephilim, who seem to have the women of the Strip enthralled by their dark and sensuous sound. When bodies begin to turn up all over town and a mysterious and haunting figure fixates on Kathryn, she quickly learns that you can never escape your destiny.

RISE OF THE NEPHILIM is the first of a two part erotic paranormal romance/thriller revealing the beginnings of one of the most captivating characters in The Blackmoore Legacy series. It is a standalone prequel of eroticism, romance, and suspense.



Excerpt:

The library was quiet with the exception of the short and humming-to-herself library assistant stacking the books left out or returned through-out the day. The girl was a junior; she was sure of it. She had never talked to her; they had never orbited the same solar system in the day-to-day endless galaxy of Mariner High School, but that didn’t matter.
She could still reach inside the girl’s mind whenever she wanted to, and explore everything she kept hidden from the rest of the world. She could travel the fleshy terrain of the girl’s brain and see her hopes and dreams, her fears, her loves, and her longings.
She was able to pick out that her name was Tammy. She was a studious girl with dirty blonde curls that hung to her breasts, her skin milk-white and soft, her face delicate and scattered with a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her small nose. Her brown eyes were golden and looked over the spine of each book, scanning their titles and looking up to each aisle to see where they belonged.
Kathryn Blackmoore stood from the table where she had been discussing after graduation party plans with her best friend Lila Sifuentes and with her boyfriend Sheffield Burges, excited to finally walk and receive their diplomas and be done with this place forever.
She was tall – five feet and nine inches. Her lean body was dressed in a pink-and-white pin-striped collared shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the collar popped and buttoned only to her full breasts.
A three-tiered pearl necklace glistened in the bright white fluorescents overhead, and her thick shoulder-length feathered mane was a rich auburn that seemed to glow around her like a halo.
She gathered her books and began to make her way to the doors to begin the walk through campus back to her home. Her long legs were encased in a khaki, knee-length Ralph Lauren skirt with a slit up the left thigh and a tasseled and thin brown leather belt was fastened loosely around her waist and rested on her hipbones. Kathryn looked at her watch; it was 9:00 p.m. They had been put in charge of the after-party by the entire student body – at least by the Golden Gods, as the popular kids were called – and it was their job to deliver.
Somehow by some cruel joke perpetrated by the universe, Kathryn had somehow become one of them. That was a first for her family, and it was no surprise to her that this ascension in the school’s hierarchy was achieved by her relationship with Sheffield. He was one of the kindest and most popular guys at their elitist school, and was a rock star on the Soccer field. It was the school’s claim to greatness and claim to fame. Other schools had football, but Mariner was known throughout the country for their school’s soccer team. In the eighteen years of its existence – as long she had been alive – Mariner was a crowning achievement and had only ever lost three games. Families from the country over, who dreamed of soccer field futures for their children chose Mariner – a public high school – over the best sports-driven private schools.
Mariner was a dynasty of Bellingham Washington, and the rite of passage for the exclusive children of South Hill, with their centuries-old Victorian, Tudor, Colonial, and Craftsman mansions that stood on large plots of land between treacherous and almost guard-like evergreens on every street, and sidewalks lined with monstrous oaks and maples. Homes filled with inhabitants of both the living and the dead.
Then there werethe Edgemoore kids. Nouveau riche. Most of them were native Californians whose parents moved here in a great rush for cheap land when California’s real estate began to climb higher and higher, and for the chance to get their kid on the Mariner soccer team.
Here, on the cliffs on the other side of Bellingham Bay, and staring back at the old genteel mansions, were the castle-like and gaudy estates of Edgemoore.
These kids had no respect for the history that still stood in the city, and the almost haunted charm of Fairhaven, that filled the space along the water between these two wealthy neighborhoods. Fairhaven was the last town to merge with the county of Whatcom in 1903, finally forming the greater city of Bellingham. For the city, and everyone in it, there was a difference between the South Hill neighborhood and the rest of Bellingham itself, as if it were still its own town.
Connecting the south to the north of Bellingham was the campus of Fairhaven University, which in the 1890s had been the Washington State Normal School. Fairhaven University was carved through the trees and made up of tall, red-orange brick buildings and concrete bridges overpaved pathways in between the green. The city was not unlike Bram Stoker’s description of Transylvania: a place wild and filled with spirits, and fiercer things that lived in the mouth of the Carpathian Mountains that surrounded it.
The city was surrounded by cliffs and an endless army of evergreens.
Interstate 5 snaked through all of this above the city, so that every exit dipped down into it. Kathryn had grown up here, had been born here, into South Hill’s superstition and paranoia and never-ending fears.
South Hill was filled with the descendants of the founding families, and the majority had worshiped at The Cathedral of the Sacred Heart.
The white wood church with its gorgeous and detailed mammoth windows of stained glass was crowned with a single black-slated roof and spire.
The first time Kathryn had ever used her witchcraft against another was the priest who had tried to take advantage of her when she was twelve. It had felt invigorating to watch his body convulse and the blood begin to slip out of his mouth, eyes, and nose – even his ears.
When he had hit the floor, his brain fried, she had screamed and run out of the office as soon as one of the nuns and another priest – Father
Malady – opened the door, covering her tear-stained face.
It didn’t help anything when she told them what he had been attempting to do when the aneurism hit. She could hear the headmaster’s thoughts, as well as the two nuns and Father Malady, who had sat with his arms folded, his angular and almost rat-like face with his beady green eyes looking at her with a smug grin. They knew she had somehow caused it. She was a Blackmoore, after all; she was a witch and she had used her charms to seduce the priest. To bewitch him and befuddle him and make him lose all of his sense and self-control. She had made him weak on purpose so that she could kill him – to sacrifice him to Satan and make another hit in their diabolical war with the Church.
She had said nothing. She wanted to leave and go to Fairhaven Middle School. She was in her last year of junior high and she didn’t
want to be in this place any longer, with ruler hits and other obscene punishments. They were more than happy to get her out. Her father,
Trevor Mayland, had been the one to insist she go to Catholic School.
He feared the Blackmoore name as much as anyone else, regardless of the fact that he had married her mother, Annaline Blackmoore in 1961.
He had loved her so much that he had wanted to save Annaline from what he saw as the Blackmoore curse. He thought that she would be far from the devil’s reach if he could marry her and make an honest woman out of her. A God-fearing woman who would go to mass every
Sunday and keep far from her family’s other practice, aside from Blackmoore World Corp. – a multi-billion-dollar-a-year international company which handled almost all the shipments of goods, most legal and some more questionable, of the entire world – was running the Church of Light, the Spiritualist church that her great-grandmother Aria had started in 1898, where she would commune with the dead, read palm, tarot cards, and tea leaves.
It was a place where for a hefty sum, Aria could be hired to work her witchcraft for others, no matter the intention. The Church of Light was then run by Aria’s daughter Fiona, and now her daughter Mabel, her mother’s older sister. Annaline had been too adventurous for that anyways, and so Trevor’s plan meant nothing one way or the other, as Annaline was too much of a wild child, concerned with music festivals and poets and drinking while smoking pot and cigarettes.
This fact did not stop Trevor Mayland from worrying about “his girls,” as he called his wife and daughter, and sending Kathryn to boarding school, only a few blocks from her actual home, to only visit on the weekends, was extremely easy for him.
Yes, she had had enough at that point, and the death of the priest put a smile on her face – a smile she had to fight back when they almost hesitantly told her that she was finished and would be going back home.
They were witches; this was true, and Father Malady had known this. A man of forty-seven, straight from Ireland – in Kilcommon,County Mayo – where the Blackmoores had originated from, and where they still lived inside the great limestone citadel known as Blackmoore Hall on the shores of Broadhaven Bay.
Everyone in that part of Ireland knew of the Blackmoores. They believed them to be a family who grew into their wealth because of a pact with the devil, and those who knew them gained fortune or befell ruin simply for knowing them.
During the witch hunts her ancestors had fled the Black Moor and built a rustic cottage with a thatched roof along the cruel and wild sea, in hiding from both the evils of Christian men and the even greater and ancient evil that had tormented the clan of the Black Moor for centuries before finally escaping. He was a dark and bloodthirsty God who had tried to make slaves of the clan and had forced them to sacrifice the weak and the innocent to his altar.
They had finally escaped him, turning their back on him and refusing to write his name down or speak it from their lips. This went on for two hundred years, until all those who had known him had died, and he had grown weak from being forgotten. They left the moor in the year 1145 and journeyed northwest, as far from the wood and that deity as possible. They were secluded and far from wealthy, and then suddenly in 1845, they began to buy up nearly thirteen thousand acres of land and built a great, almost castle-like home. They were all certain that the family was finally reaping their rewards for the trade of their souls.
This had never been the case. The reason for the wealth was far more mundane; Katy Blackmoore of New Orleans – where the family
had moved to in the 1780s – denounced the family and the many evils that served the Dark God of the Wood who wished to wipe out the Blackmoores, and left for Spain. She returned almost a year later married to Spanish royalty, and bequeathed a fortune enough for a kingdom to her father Tristan, her brother Nicholas, and her grandparents Sarafeene and Malachey, in exchange for being left alone by them so that she could live a normal life.
She had lost her mother to her family and their Legacy – the name of their great curse – and she was certain that if she separated herself from her family and lived a good Christian life, never summoning her witchcraft, then she would not lose her husband, and her children would never suffer the loss of a parent, or the feeling of knowing who you were and what you were would end up killing the one you loved.
The Blackmoores had agreed and with that money, they made the family flourish. First in New Orleans and Ireland, and then later, the family moved west and north, and all points in between. Spreading out all across the United States, England, France, Italy, and Ireland, in vesting in industry and especially shipping; and acquiring and building fleets upon fleets of ships, until there was no one to rival them.
By the time the family had arrived in Fairhaven to begin building their empire in the “Gateway of Alaska,” as it had been known, the residents of the city were openly hostile – being fueled by the legends and superstitions of immigrant priests and servants who whispered about the dangerous and devilish Blackmoores of Kilcommon and their mission to take over the Christian world and hand it to the devil and his fallen angels, wrapped with a big bloodstained bow.
It was shit, but superstition is slow to die, and even in 1979, the people of South Hill still feared the Blackmoore name and what it meant if you talked to them. Kathryn had suffered that for so long, and for the longest time, Lila Sifuentes – the only Latina in the school –had been her only friend.
Her father had always loved Kathryn, but up until his death a week after the incident – due to the sudden brain tumor that claimed the lives of those who have unprotected sex with a Blackmoore – he had always been slightly wary of her, as if he could see the curse deep under her veins.
Unprotected sex with a Blackmoore always seemed to kill seven to twelve years later, and always of a severe seizure and hemorrhage caused by the tumor. Blood pooled from the nose, mouth, and other parts of the face, and the body would convulse. They would be biting their tongues so hard that often they bit the tip off completely. Every witch in her family always hoped and often believed that they would be the Blackmoore to survive the curse, that their lover would be strong enough to beat it back.
They always died, and her father had been no different.
Kathryn had been dangerously beautiful all her life, with a statuesque body and icy eyes – the palest of blues – and soft olive skin with an always-perfectly-feathered auburn mane lik ealion, and the latest fashions straight out of Vogueclothing her. She had a husky whiskey voice, much like the actress Kim Novak. She had loved Bell, Book, and Candle, so the comparison was flattering; besides, she thought Kim Novak was a magnificent and stunning creature.


About the Author:

Marcus James is the author of five novels and has contributed to several anthologies with Alyson Books and has been a contributing writer for Seattle Gay News. He lives in Seattle with his husband and Staffordshire terrier. He is 32 years old.





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