With less than a handful of tickets left for this event, we're happy to announce CORNERSTONE SUPERNATURAL has raised over $3000.00 for this historical museum.
Friday, October 3, 2025
INTERVIEW with FLOY OWENS (Shades of Night)
Hello and welcome to our quick chat with Floy Owens. Welcome, Floy!
Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
Violet Cartwright is exactly the kind of woman who makes people uncomfortable and curious at once. She is brilliant at reading a room, patient in ways that look like boredom, and precise to the point of cruelty when the situation demands it. On the surface, she keeps a composed life; underneath, she is a strategist who catalogues harm and converts it into action. She is not simply a victim or a villain. She is someone who learned the language of survival and uses it as a tool, a mirror, and sometimes a weapon. The most dangerous thing about Violet is how ordinary she appears while everything inside her is quietly working.
2. Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
I do believe in the paranormal. I am a practicing witch, and that perspective naturally shapes my worldview and my writing. For me, the unseen is real and meaningful, but I keep the details private and let that sense of mystery speak through my stories.
3. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
I am drafting a fast-paced thriller series about a former teenage killer turned FBI profiler, and I am finishing up a dark romance series under another pen name. I have a third novel in the drafting phase that is a psychological romance.
Floy Owens
Genre: Thriller
Date of Publication: 8/24/25
ISBN: 979-8262133963
ASIN: B0FNN9D558
Number of pages: 222
Word Count: 48,726 words
Cover Artist: Bryan Lauer
Tagline: A Dark Psychological Serial Killer Thriller with Shocking Twists, Dark Secrets, and a Fearless Female Lead
Book Description:
When a successful bookstore owner is abducted by a meticulous serial killer, she finds herself in a sterile cage designed for torture.
But as the captor attempts to break his victim, the roles of predator and prey begin to blur.
In a deadly psychological game where survival means becoming the greater monster, she must confront her own dark history to not only escape, but to take everything from the man who trapped her.
Excerpt:
The room is dim, shadows casting sinister shapes as Violet hangs suspended from the ceiling beam. The air is sharp, metallic. Her upper back is pierced by two thick, curved steel hooks, twisting cruelly into her flesh, skin stretched unnaturally taut. The thick rope threaded through the hooks connects her to the beam. Blood seeps in thin rivulets down her sides, creating jagged streaks that pool at her underwear’s waistband, before dropping to the cold concrete below.
Her legs are submerged in a steel basin, the stool beneath it unsteady. The water, tainted with rust and streaks of her blood, ripples faintly. Her arms dangle, hands still bound together. Her head tilts slightly forward, chin resting against her chest. She forces each breath to remain slow, even.
Erik crouches beside a car battery, his clean, collared flannel shirt tucked into dark jeans, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He tightens the clamps on the terminals, sparks leaping at the contact.
“You know, I’ve read every page of your life.” He lifts the jumper cables, taps them together, causing a spark to ignite. “Medical files, police reports, case manager notes. Every sad word.” He shakes his head, disgust feigned, setting the cables aside momentarily. “When you have money, nothing’s off limits, it’s sick really.” He moves to the basin, adjusting it beneath her feet. “I know exactly where you’ve been, what was done to you, who did it.” Leaning in, his voice drops, almost intimate. “Nothing about you is hidden from me.”
Violet’s lips curl in a half-smile, eyes sharp despite the pain. “Then you must know how all this will end.”
Erik holds her gaze for a beat, then lowers both jumper cables into the basin. Violet’s body seizes violently, legs kicking, sending ripples through the bloody water. The jolt rips through her, every nerve set on fire. Her jaw snaps shut, teeth grinding. There’s a rush of static in her ears, then nothing but blinding white. She bites her tongue to keep from crying out. In the haze, she thinks she hears Erik counting under his breath. Her back arches against the hooks, fresh blood weeping from the wounds. The water bubbles and hisses as the current surges.
As smoke fills the Cage and the pain recedes, Violet’s awareness drifts. For Erik, each session in the Cage is a key, unlocking a different memory he has constructed from her files. He pictures another house, another set of wounds, another day when everything was already broken.
He sees it as clearly as the files he read. She would have been younger then, thinner, eyes already trained on disaster. He pictures her entering a silent house, feeling the weight of what waits inside. It is not guesswork anymore. The details are always the same.
***
Twenty-One Years Ago
The house door creaks open. Violet steps inside, fifteen and all sharp angles, her backpack slipping from one shoulder. She doesn’t bother fixing it. The air inside is heavy with stillness, as if the house knew what it held and decided to stop breathing.
She does not call out. The house would not answer.
Dust drapes the furniture like snow. The living room is quiet, dark in places it never used to be. A coffee mug lies on its side beside the couch, cracked and forgotten. The blinds are crooked. No breeze. No motion.
Nothing waits to greet her.
Fifteen years old. She walks into a nightmare.
She steps further in, sneakers whispering across the worn floorboards. Her eyes scan the room like she’s been here before and expects what’s coming. Maybe she does. Girls like Violet don’t walk through life with surprises. They walk through patterns.
In the center of the room, her mother hangs.
The ceiling fan turns slowly, each rotation jerking her body just enough to keep the sound going.
Creak.
Creak.
Her legs are stiff, toes pointed downward. A bruise rings her throat, buried beneath the cord. Her dress has slipped from one shoulder. Her mouth is open.
The smell is subtle: sweet rot, sour perfume.
Her mother, tangled in her own mess.
Violet doesn’t cry. She doesn’t cover her mouth or run. She just watches the sway of the body. The way the fan keeps spinning, mechanical and obedient. Then, without a word, she walks past it. No glance back.
The kitchen has its own secrets.
Her father slouches in a chair by the table, neck limp, jaw slack. A bullet hole marks the center of his forehead like a forgotten dot on a test paper. The blood beneath him has dried into maroon shadows, seeping into the wood grain.
The table is chaos. A burned spoon. A twisted tourniquet. A cheap yellow lighter.
He never cleaned up. Never thought she’d come home early.
Her mother finally snapped. Maybe she couldn’t take the guilt anymore.
Violet crouches beside the body. She looks at his hands, still dirty beneath the nails. At the way one boot stayed on while the other sits overturned by the fridge. At the stubble that never grew evenly.
She doesn’t touch him.
Maybe Daddy spent too much money on junk.
She rises again.
Moves down the hall, light as breath, like she doesn’t want to wake whatever still lives in the walls. At the end of the hallway, she lowers herself to the floor. Her back presses against the floral wallpaper, now peeling. Knees drawn tight. Arms locked around them.
She doesn’t shake.
She doesn’t blink.
Or maybe she realized her main source of income was drying up.
The older the girl got, the less she was worth. Mommy shot Daddy dead, then strung herself up.
The house is still now, except for the soft tick of a clock and the distant, endless turn of the fan.
Violet breathes evenly. Her face is blank. Not numb. Blank. Numbness implies a feeling that once existed.
This is not grief. It is recognition.
A girl walks into a house and finds herself orphaned. And somewhere inside her, she knew it was coming.
Some part of her always knew.
About the Author:
Floy Owens writes stories about survival, obsession, and the ways people change when pushed past their limits. The debut novel, Shades of Night, is a dark psychological thriller that dives into the mind of both captor and captive. When not writing, Owens is usually plotting the next story, fueled by strong tea and a curiosity about what makes people tick.
INTERVIEW WITH KIMBER GREY (The Chosen One's Assistant)
First, apologies Kimber for the late posting. October is an insanely busy month for moi. For the rest of you, let's take a look at our chat with Kimber!
1. Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
Poor Tiberius is immensely out of his league for the entire book, but he tries so hard to be a good assistant and to be a good man. I really read a lot of myself in this character, because he has a lot of the same fears and insecurities as I would have in his situation, only I think he ended up being much braver that I am. I think having a deeply flawed person trying their absolute best to rise up and meet a situation, particularly when their problems are in many ways self-created, can really speak to everyone who has ever had to meet the mirror's eyes and accept responsibility for their poor choices and struggle through difficult times. Tiberius is the hero I want to be: through weakness, fear, insecurity, and lack of preparation or training, he keeps pushing forward and trying to become what is needed for himself and for the world. It's not glamorous, but it's noble in ways we rarely get to be.
2. Agreed. I think we all know about "poor choices" Do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
I certainly believe in the paranormal, from manifesting destiny through energy work to the existence of a spiritual body that exists beyond death. I believe there are many different kinds of "ghost." I think strong energy can leave an impression or an 'echo' of someone or an event on a place or an object. I also believe spiritual beings have the ability to linger and to interact with the physical world. I believe my current house is (or rather was) occupied by several spiritual beings, whether human or otherwise. One of them loved to make noises and get me to respond to it.
Once, when I was alone taking a nap, I could hear very exaggerated breathing from on or just above the bed. I held my breath to make sure I wasn't hearing myself, but it didn't stop. This was "Luke, I am your father" like deep breathing: intentional and obvious. Finally, I said, "Okay. I acknowledge you. I can hear you. I acknowledge that you're there. Can I please go to sleep now?" Just like that, it stopped.
Another time I was in my living room with three guests. Our back door makes a very distinct noise. It's a loud creak and a bang. At the time, my husband and I always entered and left the house through the back door, so everyone who visited knew the sound. This evening, I was hanging with my girlfriends, and we heard the back door creak open and then creak closed and bang shut. We all stopped talking and they asked me if my husband was home. I said he wasn't supposed to be home for a few hours. I got up and headed to the back door saying, "Hey, honey. I thought you weren't going to be home for while, yet." There was no one there. The door was closed and locked. All four of us had heard it at the same time; we all thought my husband had come home. I imagine the trickster ghost got a good chuckle out of that one.
3. Sounds like you fit right into we experiencers. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
In every review of The Chosen One’s Assistant on Amazon, people are asking for the sequel. Naturally, I’m working on that. My next project, however, is something I’m really excited about. I’m preparing to publish my first Paranormal Romance novel under the pen name Harlee Jordan: Demon of the Emerald Isle. The main character is a fiercely independent code-monkey named Celeste who falls desperately in lust with a dangerous and mysterious Irish businessman named Donovan, who turns out to be possessed by a demon from the Amduat (the Egyptian Underworld). The story is exciting, passionate, dark, and deeply emotional. Plus, I get to dive into one of the coolest settings you possibly can: ancient Egyptian gods and magic. This is the first book in the Amduat Demon Trilogy, and the first three chapters are available for free download here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/nkjm779pvt
Kimber Grey
Genre: Epic/High Fantasy, Sword and Sorcery
Publisher: GrayWhisper Graphics Productions (
Date of Publication: 7/12/2023
ISBN: 979-8851108464
ASIN: B0C9SNG88J
Number of pages: 359
Word Count: Aprox. 98,000
Cover Artist: Kimber Grey
Tagline: Hilarious, Dark, and Epic! Everything you’d expect in a book with vampire weasels.
Book Description:
Never meet your heroes.
Outcast by every guild, starving, and left beaten and shamed in an alley, he was beyond desperate when the timeliest opportunity presented itself: The Greatest Hero of Men was in need of an assistant.
He was so eager to leave his old life behind, he didn't hesitate to accept the role of Tiberius, personal assistant to The Chosen One. The magically binding contract was signed, and the previous servant was out the door before the blood on the quill was dry. Tiberius quickly learned he was responsible for all of the hero's needs from mundane to absurdly ridiculous, and the hero himself was the most ridiculous of all. Woefully inexperienced as a quester, thrown into the hero's world of danger and debauchery, he could never have guessed how harrowing and frustrating this new position would be. Then he learned the God of Pestilence was holding a well-justified, 100-year-old grudge. Death, disease, and evil beyond any Tiberius could imagine awaited them on the path ahead, and The Chosen One had been called to stand against it.
How could Tiberius hope to survive his first campaign with the gods' champion against Trion, God of Darkness?
Excerpt:
I returned to the room and knocked, entering at the direction of The Chosen One... who stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but his Chosen underwear and the tyrian purple cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His chest was puffed out, and his enormous, muscular limbs flexed this way and that as he posed himself in dramatic battle postures with his famous great sword. Every inch of visible skin was hairless and glistening. He had worked up a sweat admiring himself, and I could still smell the liquor on him.
"Um..." I mumbled, wondering if I should return at a more convenient—and less embarrassing—time. Much to my chagrin, he didn't stop flexing on my account.
"Go ahead and pack," he grunted as he clenched his stomach to make all of his tightly bound abdomen muscles pop. "I'll wait for the pressed clothes." He turned to the side and threw the cloak over his shoulder so he could admire his hips and backside, casting daring glances at his tiny embroidered face on the seat of his underpinnings through the polished brass.
I was certain my own face was scarlet as I skirted past him to gather up everything and return the items to the trunks that seemed the most appropriate. The entire time I worked, he didn't break from his posturing, and I wondered if it was a form of exercise for him, or if it merely exercised his ego. My work was hastened by embarrassment, and when I was done, I silently took up the first Tome of Tiberius. I turned my back, ignoring his grunting and wheezing, and flipped to chapter 3, skimming for the most pertinent pieces of information. I needed to know how to handle The Chosen One's finances.
I quickly learned it was my duty to draw up contracts when The Chosen One agreed to take a deal, enforce the contracts, and collect the fees. It was my duty to arrange for appraisers, auctioneers, and moneychangers to convert any "spoils" of The Chosen One's labors—those that he did not keep for his personal collection—to coin. It was my duty to ensure there was sufficient coin for The Chosen One to live whatever lifestyle he chose and to fund any campaign. Incidentals incurred as a direct result of a campaign—such as bribing furious husbands—came from funds before they were deposited into a bank and Tiberius' percentage was calculated. There was a list of "lifestyle" actions that came from the bank and were not considered incidentals; "donations and women" were on that list. Thus, I assumed him throwing coins into the crowd was not an incidental, either, but came from The Chosen One's own bank holdings.
"You need to plot a course for Vevesk," The Chosen One said between poses. "They have vampire stoats."
"What," I asked, slightly startled by the break in silence. "What is a stoat?"
"I think they said it was like a long rat." He glanced over at me. "Find out. And find out how to kill it."
I stared at him until his self-admiration embarrassed me enough to look away. "You don't know how to kill them?"
"I assume I cut them up enough, they'll die," he quipped. "You need to figure out how it happened so I can stop it. Evil wizard, ancient curse, typical vampirism, that sort of thing."
"I have to learn what caused this outbreak of blood-sucking long rats?" I asked, incredulously. Surely he was jesting. That was his job.
"Chapter 2," he said, stripping off the cloak so he could better admire his shoulders.
I grimaced and turned to the second chapter in the Tome of Tiberius. This detailed how I was to conduct necessary research for a campaign and successfully translate it to The Chosen One, for him to then implement that knowledge to complete his feats of heroism. I sighed deeply. "There is no university here to hold historical works, and many of the larger temples do not have any books in them at all. I will need to visit the Wizards' Guild, the Questers' Guild, and the Scriveners' Guild," I explained.
"Go quickly," he ordered without sympathy. "We leave soon."
I gritted my teeth and rose from my chair, throwing Tiberius' quill and a stack of paper sheets into my shoulder bag. It was all but impossible to do the kind of research this would require in only a handful of hours. So, I ran.
Kimber was born in the arid and alien land known as southern California. She began consuming fiction from an early age, and has ever been eager to emulate the works that dramatically shaped her heart and mind as a child. She began creating short fiction and poetry in grade school, and wrote her first (laughably bad) novel in jr. high. With a grandmother who is a writer and an editor, English teachers who encouraged her budding potential, and a husband with an even greater appreciation of the written word, Kimber has never lacked support in the pursuit of her bliss.
She published her first fantasy novel Quietus in 2009, and her second Seeking Destiny in 2012. The first three books of Faiden Reborn, Kingdoms Lost, Fallen Heroes, and History Forgotten were published in 2017. She has published two anthologies and four novellas, and her work has appeared in anthologies such as Missing Pieces IV, V, and VI; The Hapless Cenloryan-The Troubadour's Inn Book I (2017 Ed.), and On Wings of Steam: Ears and Gears. The Chosen One's Assistant, published in 2023 is her most popular yet, with it's heavy fantasy tropes and sharp wit.
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