My Books!

Friday, December 2, 2022


Hellfire (Sin City Wolf #4)

by January Bain




GENRE:   paranormal romance, billionaire werewolf






Amara St. Clair is just out for a rare night of fun on the Vegas Strip. But when she discovers her fun-loving side in the Glitter Palace casino, a life-altering altercation with a deadly ancient vampire leaves Amara lying unconscious in an alley near the famous casino.
Doctor, geneticist and genealogy expert Dante Luceres, dedicated to research that will keep his fellow werewolves safe and healthy, is attending a mandatory yearly event of the House of Luceres. Coming across Amara, he saves her life, though vampires and werewolves are forbidden from interfering with each other in the supernatural world. There are dire consequences for interfering with another supe’s domain, and he expects that soon both the vampires and the werewolves will be after them, but he can’t leave the beautiful, vivacious little human to suffer alone.
Drawn to each other, the pair must hide from the world. But with everyone against them, including Dante’s clan and an evil vampire hellbent on having Amara for his own, how can they find a path to a shared future…and true happiness?





“Wait! We’re going the wrong way.”


“My Harley’s out back. Quickest way out of town.”


“I’m wearing a dress. And I’d prefer an Uber or cab. No offense, but I don’t know you.” She jerked her arm to pull away, but I hung on.


“You’re in mortal danger. I’ll figure out the explanation for all this”—I gestured between us—“later when I have access to records and blood testing.”


“Blood tests? What are you talking about? And why does it affect you?”


She exaggerated my hand movements demonstrating the connection between us back in my face. I did note that her hand also trembled, causing an odd emotion to come over me. She was trying to be brave, but it was costing her.


“Are you suggesting that you are not in touch with your obvious physiological responses?”


Anything was possible in this alternative world she’d just had thrust on her. Perhaps she wasn’t aware she had become aroused. Or refused to admit it. It didn’t matter, neither of us would be acting on it in this lifetime.


“You don’t understand. That beast that attacked you? He’s coming back, and he won’t be alone. I have to get you away right now.” I added a sense of urgency to my tone in efforts to persuade her.


She did look around with a more constrained expression, as if the boogey man was going to jump her.


“Don’t worry. I won’t let them take you.”


“Why would they take me? That makes no sense.” She had the cutest way of wrinkling her nose that made it wiggle a bit.


“You look like a movie star.”


“Yeah, right!” Now she gave a grimace as if I were fucking around with her.


“Yes. Marilyn Monroe. Only with dark hair. In a blonde wig, you’d be able to pass for identical twins. Your features, perfectly aligned and symmetrical, are above average in scope and dimension.”


I pointed at her face, as if drawing with my fingers in the air. “The distance between your eyes in one exact eye, the length of your face equals three noses. Space from the lower eyelid to the upper eyelid is the same as space between the upper eyelid and eyebrow. Also demonstrated to perfection. And width of the face across the cheeks is equal to two lengths of the nose. Finally, eyebrows begin on the same line as the corner of the eye nearest to the nose. There you have it, a perfect oval face!” I always appreciated sharing such proof positive.


Instead of thanks for pointing out her perfection, what did I get but a rolling of her eyes before she burst into gales of laughter?


“Is that the line you try on women to get them into bed, by any chance?”






AUTHOR Bio and Links:


January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle, and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full-blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create books that features strong women who live life to the fullest, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope her stories will capture your imagination.


If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with her furry baby, Ling Ling. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously remarked to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.

If you wish to connect in the virtual world she is easily found on Facebook. Oh, and she loves to talk books…


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January Bain will be awarding a $40 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Thursday, December 1, 2022

Love Tools


                Love Tools: Bluestone Series Book One

by Isobel Reed




GENRE: Contemporary Romance






What happens when the king of casual meets the queen of picking the wrong men?

Lily is running. From a dead-end job, a neurotic mother and all the losers she dared to date. Moving halfway across the world to Bluestone County seemed like a good idea at the time. So did reopening her estranged father’s hardware store. But now she isn’t so sure.

Small town living has its perks though. Wide-open space, clean air, and sexy cowboys. Well, one sexy cowboy. Jake. Who also just so happens to be the new bane of her existence. At least when he’s not talking, she can admire the view.

Jake is the king of casual. The love of his life has always been his ranch, and that was fine with him. He never really saw the point in long-term. But all that changes when a mouthy, blonde sasses him into oblivion. He should have known she’d be trouble as soon as he laid eyes on her. Now it’s too late. She’s all he can think about. All he has to do is convince her that he’s finally the right man.






Lily stared at the boarded-up windows and took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. Pulling the keys from her handbag, she unlocked the door and followed the creaking sound of the floorboards into the dimly lit store. 


To her surprise the shelves were still stocked and brimming with power tools, each item covered in a layer of dust that had already started to make its way up her nostrils. 


“What the hell are you doing here Lily?” she muttered to herself as she ran her fingers across the counter. 


To get this place up and running, it was going to be more work than she ever imagined. She just hoped the apartment upstairs was in better condition. 


After exploring the shop floor, she went to find out. She followed the beige hallway into the living room, taking a seat on the squeaky leather sofa and looking around. The space was depressing. Habitable but depressing nonetheless. 


How could he have lived here for so long, and it still feel so empty? 


Furniture was sparse, and other than the chair she sat in, the only other items that remained were a flatscreen TV, a scratched wooden coffee table and a small shelving unit scattered with a few books and a couple of picture frames. 


She looked over at the kitchen adjoining the living room and noticed some basic appliances. It felt strange to be in his space. His home. Surrounded by his things. Was there a right way to feel? 





                                                          AUTHOR Bio and Links:


Isobel was born and raised in London. She still lives along the River Thames with her husband and her substantial book collection. Ever the hopeless romantic, she fell in love with the genre from a young age and was inspired to write her own stories. When she's not feasting on romantic comedies or binge reading her hoard of contemporary romance novels, Isobel is writing. 






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BOOKBUB: Love Tools: Bluestone Series: Book One by Isobel Reed - BookBub








One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/ gift card.


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The Warlock's Curse

The Warlock's Curse

by C. B. Oresky




GENRE: Young Adult Fantasy






Clara and Angelica Grace have never met ghosts. They’ve never sailed on a tall ship, ridden wild unicorns, or fought with magical weapons. Instead, the teenage twins have a wretched existence, ignored by their troubled parents in a rundown home and tormented by the town’s snobs.


Everything turns topsy-turvy all of a sudden when discovery of an ancestor’s hidden journal with an odd key to an unknown door leads them into an entirely different realm.


The girls go on a thrilling oceanic voyage to search for mysterious whales, train with a seasoned warrior, and are befriended by a wise Master. But all is not a bouquet of lovely lilies…they are hunted by a cunning warlock and must rid themselves of The Warlock’s Curse.






The whales’ frenzied song grew even louder—the electrical atmosphere intensified. 


 “Now what’s happening? We’re dissolving!” Clara yelled, watching her little hands disappear and then reappear again. 


Angelica observed different parts of the ship, their cats, their bodies, and the monkey crew all vanishing momentarily. She drew a sharp breath. She was about to say something when the ethereal whale swimming directly before them opened its massive mouth, saltwater pouring down its yawning maw that seemed miles and miles deep. 


 “This is madness!” Clara shrieked, staring down the vast gaping throat of the beast. “Even a hurricane would be much better than this. 


We’re going to die, for sure!” Angelica lost her composure. “Turn the ship!” she demanded. “I don’t wanna die!” 


 “Impossible!” Claudius cried. “We must go!” “I’m gonna be sick!” Clara cried, her face pasty. She clasped her sister’s scrawny hand in horror. What lay before them was far worse than that scary roller coaster Angelica had once convinced her to try at their town fair. 


Catapulted forward by the hurrying tide, Claudius’s ship now sailed upon the phantasm of a massive whale. The sleek vessel hung momentarily on the edge of the watery precipice of white light, then slipped straight down the monster’s wide-open chasm…




                                                             AUTHOR Bio and Links:


Fascinated by the works of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis, C.B. Oresky began writing her own fantasy novel, The Warlock’s Curse, after dreaming of being whisked off to an alien realm. Besides her debut novel, she has seen four of her short stories published in a small, national literary press: Conceit Magazine. When she’s not writing, she can be found wandering through the  woods, dancing flamenco, or planting flowers in her garden. She currently lives in a small town in Connecticut with her bodybuilder husband, their exceptionally naughty Scottish terrier and Siamese cat, ten chickens, Mr. Tiggy the hedgehog, and a yard filled with majestic flowers.





Twitter: @cbOresky










A randomly drawn winner will be awarded a $50 Amazon/BN GC.


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Tuesday, November 29, 2022

Beyond the Book: The Victorian Christmas Tree


Since people are starting to put out their Christmas decorations, I thought I’d share a little about the Victorian Christmas tree. Maybe you’ll even want to decorate one.

When we think of Christmas during the Victorian Era, most of us picture a Charles Dickens Christmas complete with a goose or turkey and a Christmas tree, but the English haven’t always had Christmas trees. They were introduced into England in 1841 when Queen Victoria was on the throne. Her husband Prince Albert decorated the first Christmas tree. Albert was from Germany, a place where they’d long used Christmas trees. He decorated a tree for Windsor Castle using candles, candies, and paper chains. The custom spread, and before long all of the English had Christmas trees. So did the Americans.

As time passed, people started to use more elaborate decorations on their trees, including gingerbread men, marzipan candies, hard candies, cookies, fruit, cotton-batting Santas, paper fans, tin soldiers, whistles, wind-up toys, pine cones, dried fruits, nuts, berries, and trinkets of all kinds. They also enjoyed hanging cornucopias filled with sweets, fruit, nuts and popcorn on their trees. Small homemade gifts, such as tiny hand-stitched dolls or children’s mittens were also popular. Beautiful angels were the tree toppers of choice, and some families set up a Nativity scene under the tree using moss for grass and mirrors for ponds.  

Eventually, people started to use German store bought ornaments which first appeared during the 1860’s. Glass icicles came first followed by hand blown glass globes called kugels. People also liked Dresdens, embossed silver and gold cardboard ornaments in many shapes.  

Decorating a Victorian tree today would be pretty simple without investing a great deal of money. Here are a few things I’d do.

1.String popcorn and cranberries to make a garland. The kids should have a great time helping.

2.Shape small paper doilies into cornucopias. Fill with candies of your choice.

3.Recycle old Christmas cards. Cut out shapes you like and attach them to the tree with ribbons to make mock Dresdens.

4.Make or buy small cookies to hang on the tree. You can decorate them with glitter if you like. Hairspray works great as a preservative.

5.Fill small mesh bags with colorful candy and tie them with ribbon.

6.Spray nuts in the shell with gold paint and glue a slender cord to them so they’ll hang on the tree. 

7.I don’t recommend lighting the candles if you use real ones, but I’ve seen strings of electric lights in the shape of candles. That sounds a lot safer to me.

8.Don’t forget to fill the tree with small toys. Personally, I’d add some cherubs, another Victorian favorite.

9.Decorative tassels would look beautiful on your tree.

10.Buy some pretty ribbon-Victorians preferred velvet-and shape it into pretty bows or swirls.

11.Fold wrapping paper in the shape of fans and put them on the tree. We used to love making fans when we were kids.  

If any of you decide to do a Victorian tree, email me a picture at and I’ll post it on the blog for others to see.  

Oh, and the picture that accompanies this post is from an 1841 engraving showing Victoria and Albert and their children.

Does your Christmas tree this year have a theme?

The Early Case Files of Sherlock Holmes


The Early Case Files of Sherlock Holmes

by Liese Sherwood-Fabre




GENRE: Historical mystery






A murdered midwife. A body in the stable. At the age of thirteen, Sherlock Holmes is thrust into his first two cases. At stake: the lives of his own family.


Before Sherlock Holmes met Dr. Watson in 1895, he had already developed his skills as the world's most famous consulting detective. Arthur Conan Doyle provided little information about his detective's formative years or how he created his singular profession. These first two books in The Early Case Files of Sherlock Holmes series reveal how Sherlock's past shaped the sleuth he became.


Faced with the possibility of losing his mother to the gallows for a murder she did not commit, Sherlock must uncover the true killer before she hangs in The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife.


In Case Two, unexpected guests and a murder arrive in time for the family's Christmas celebrations. For the safety of his family, Sherlock is compelled once again to bring the perpetrator to justice in The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy.


Fans of Sherlock Holmes and traditional historical British detective mysteries will love The Early Case Files of Sherlock Holmes as a welcomed addition to the originals.







They told me the Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton, and I knew I should have been honored to be at the institution; but at age thirteen, I hated it. The whole bloody place. I remained only because my parents’ disappointment would have been too great a disgrace to bear.


My aversion culminated about a month after my arrival when I was forced into a boxing match on the school’s verdant side lawn. I had just landed a blow to Charles Fitzsimmons’s nose, causing blood to pour from both nostrils, when the boys crowding around us parted. One of the six-form prefects joined us in the circle’s center. 


After glancing first at Fitzsimmons, he said to me, “Sherlock Holmes, you’re wanted in the Head Master’s office. Come along.”


Even though I’d been at the school only a few weeks, I knew no one was called to the director’s office unless something was terribly wrong. I hesitated, blinking at the young man in his stiff collar and black suit. He flapped his arms to mark his impatience at my delay and spun about on his heel, marching toward the college’s main building. I gulped, gathered my things, and followed him at a pace that left me puffing to keep up.


I had no idea what caused such a summons. If it had been the fight, surely Charles would have accompanied me. I hadn’t experienced any controversies in any of my classes, even with my mathematics instructor. True, earlier in the day I’d corrected him, but surely it made sense to point out his mistake? For the most part, the masters seemed pleased with my answers when they called on me.


I did have problems, however, with most of my classmates—Charles Fitzsimmons was just one example. Except he was the one who’d called me out. Surely, that couldn’t be the basis of this summons?


Once inside, my sight adjusted slowly to the dark, cool interior, and I could distinguish the stern-faced portraits of past college administrators, masters, and students lining the hallway. As I passed them, I could feel their judgmental stares bearing down on me, and so I focused on the prefect’s back, glancing neither right nor left at these long-dead critics. A cold sweat beaded on my upper lip as I felt certain something very grave had occurred, with me at the center of the catastrophe. Reaching the Head Master’s office, I found myself unable to work the door’s latch, and with an exasperated sigh, the prefect opened it for me and left me to enter on a pair of rather shaky knees.


My agitation deepened when I entered and found the director examining a letter with my father’s seal clearly visible. He glanced up from the paper with the same severe expression I’d observed in his predecessors’ portraits. Dismissing his appraisal, I concentrated on the details I gathered from the missive in his hand.


Taking a position on an expansive oriental carpet in front of his massive wooden desk, I drew in my breath and asked, “What happened to my mother?”





AUTHOR Bio and Links:


Liese Sherwood-Fabre knew she was destined to write when she got an A+ in the second grade for her story about Dick, Jane, and Sally’s ruined picnic. After obtaining her PhD, she joined the federal government and worked and lived abroad for more than fifteen years. Returning to the states, she seriously pursued her writing career, garnering such awards as a finalist in RWA’s Golden Heart contest and a Pushcart Prize nomination. A recognized Sherlockian scholar, her essays have appeared in scion newsletters, the Baker Street Journal, and Canadian Holmes. These have been gathered into The Life and Times of Sherlock Holmes essay collection series. She has recently turned this passion into an origin story series on Sherlock Holmes. The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife, the first book in The Early Case Files of Sherlock Holmes series, was the CIBA Mystery and Mayhem 2020 winner.


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Liese Sherwood-Fabre will be awarding $15 Amazon, Apple or B&N gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.




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Monday, November 28, 2022

The After Times


The After Times

by Christine Potter




GENRE: YA Fantasy--Time Traavel






Say you’re Gracie Ingraham, nerdy but happy high school senior. But you’re also a time-traveler from 1962 who got a bit lost and has been living in the 2000’s since 2018. That would be plenty without it now being 2020. Covid has just shut down the world. Your pandemic pod? Your BFF Zoey—and your ex-boyfriend, Dylan.


Dylan still lives to spin weird vinyl LP’s with your sort-of, kind-of Dad, Amp. So your quarantine hobby is going to have to be Being Mature About Stuff.


But then your time traveling kicks into high gear again.  And your long-lost brother and mom mix it up with a creepy, pyromaniacal force that is most likely demonic. How can love save the day when you can’t even go downtown without wearing a mask?






We’d arrived at the first of the big, fancy gravesites: nineteenth century family plots, with tall, marble obelisks and statues of weeping angels. Some of them have creepy stone and marble mausoleums. Mausoleums are tombs the size of tiny houses with windows and even gates and front porches sometimes. You could go inside one if someone unlocked the door.


Some kids had obviously partied out by the mausoleums the night before.  They’d left a White Claw can one at of the sad angels’ feet. A few more cans were tossed on the ground and on the stone stairs to one of the bigger tombs. There were beer cans, too. 


Zoey shook her head. “Some people are still getting out at night.” 


“They could have at least recycled!”




See, Zoey, Dylan, and me… We’re the kind teachers and parents don’t worry about. We always recycle. We don’t break quarantine. We wouldn’t have gone to a midnight graveyard party before quarantine … well … not without seriously good reason. 


Not that Zoey wouldn’t snag a White Claw. And I did sneak out on one serious midnight date when Dylan and I were first together. But I also had to zap a demon that evening. Which was the last time anything interesting happened to me… Up until the very next minute, that is. 


‘Cause then it wasn’t a pretty April day anymore. It was very cold and very dark. Zoey and I were still in the cemetery, but we weren’t by ourselves anymore.

A Word With the Author

 1. Did you always want to be an author?

I think I did. I read before I went to school, and I was stapling together “books” when I was seven. I loved reading. Some of my happiest childhood memories are being stretched out on the beat-up three-seater couch my mom kept in a room we called “The Sun Porch. ” It was a little drafty in there in the winter time from its huge windows, and I remember rainy late fall afternoons, cuddled down with a book, just lost in a story. I wanted to be able to make that kind of magic. When I learned how to type on my mom’s old Smith-Corona, it was Jenny, bar the door. Writing felt like play to me. It still does. 


2. Tell us about the publication of your first book. 

 I published poetry long before I published fiction. My first book of poems (I have three out) was called Zero Degrees At First Light. I had just retired from teaching English, and the local paper came and took my picture. I remember giving the first reading to support it; my parents were still around then. They were in the audience, and I was skipping around, trying to find poems that wouldn’t make them mad!  I still write poems as much as I tell stories. 


My first novel felt much more like I had arrived. 


I’d been at Hedgebrook, a woman’s writing retreat on an island off Washington State. I was lucky enough to have Karen Joy Fowler, who wrote The Jane Austen Book Club and We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, for my mentor. I was terrified!  She was the first set of eyes on Time Runs Away With Her, the first book in the Bean series, which was my first novel. She loved my characters, and that gave me the strength to pull the book apart and put it back together about three times. Finally, it was accepted by Evernight Teen. (Yay, ET!!)  I was on vacation with my husband on Prince Edward Island when I got the news, and I went straight to the gravesite of Lucy Maud Montgomery to say thanks. I loved the Green Gables books, which is why the Bean Books are a series. 


3. Besides yourself, who is your favorite author in the genre you write in?

My favorite YA author that I’m pals with is my fellow ET-ite Marcus Damanda, who wrote the incredible Salvation State trilogy. It’s horrifying and fascinating and smart. Great characters, superb world-building, some of the vilest villains in all of fiction. I love those books. The only horror/dystopian author I know who can grab you faster and better is Stephen King. For real. My favorite YA author  all-around is probably still A Wrinkle in Time’s Madeleine L’Engle. Her blend of warmth and imagination is hard to beat. I try to take myself a little less seriously than she does, though…And yeah, there’s the matter of my last name. I come by it honestly. You have to love the Harry Potter books. The whole concept of there being a group of people nobody knows about who can do magic just fascinates me—and I explore it in another sense in my own work. In my books time-travelers are just people who can step out of their own time and see the past. There’s a community of them. I don’t do time machines, you know. For the record, I’m

disappointed with Rowling’s comments on trans people, though.  

4. What's the best part of being an author? The worst? The best part about it?  I think it’s reading back over an old book and discovering that it’s—wow—pretty excellent. How did I do that?  Hah!  I also love getting a good review. The worst is waiting for the first reviews to come in, and feeling swamped, as I often do, by the difficulty of getting a book that I really care about out into the world and into hands. In other words, please read my books :) !


5. What are you working on now?

Right now, I’m promoting The After Times!  That’s a full-time job. Press releases, blogs, letters to local journalists, all that. So many people have books now, it can be hard to get loft with a project unless you’re on a huge, ginormous publisher. Even if you are!!  I’ll probably write a poem or two this week. I do that all the time, still. And I’m trying to figure out what my next novel will be. It’ll be young adult, I’m pretty sure. I have a fragment about a young piano student during WW2 that I wrote, based on my mom. I might do something with that. I also have an idea about ouija boards. And one about past-life regression. Lots of teen girls go through a ghostly phase, and I want to do something with that. I’m in the daydream stage. 




AUTHOR Bio and Links:


Christine Potter is a writer and poet who lives in a (for-real) haunted house in New York’s Hudson River Valley, not that far from Sleepy Hollow.  She is the author of Evernight Teen’s Bean Books, a five book series that travels through time—and two generations of characters. Christine is has also been a teacher, a bell ringer in the towers of old churches, a DJ, and a singer of all kinds of music. Her poetry has appeared in literary magazines like Rattle and Kestrel, featured on ABC Radio News, and sold in gum ball machines. She lives with her organist husband Ken and two indulged kitties.






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Christine Potter will be awarding $50 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.


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