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The Gathering
Are you a book blogger? -- EXCERPT: Jamie I saw Emperor – looking like a hot air balloon, sounding as ridiculous as ever – blathering on about his personal Reichstag fire, and laying the blame of the explosion squarely at the feet of myself and my brothers-in-arms. “…and it’s these traitors of the state – the threat to the security of my Empire of the United States of America – the defectors of the Cabal who go by Jamie Ryanand Basile Perrinault and, my greatest betrayal, Supreme Allied Commander Kanoa Shinomura…” he hollered into the microphone, which seemed to reverberate throughout the city. At the sound of Kanoa’s name, the Cabal members below the balcony slammed the butts of their guns on the floor in rhythm. I knew that rhythm all too well – it was meant to be a war cry for those of us in the rank-and-file of the Cabal – but, to the untrained ear, it sounded like a machine gun going off…which was exactly the point. But I couldn’t help but sneer at the accusation that the blast that nearly killed Evanora and Tommy was somehow our fault. He’d spent decades trying to catch us and failing miserably, yet in the same breath, believed we were inept enough to set off a blast that took no lives and could be cleaned up during a balmy New York evening. And he managed to sell this ridiculous belief to the crowd, no less. “Let’s make something clear, asshole,” I muttered, “if it had been me and the boys that lit your shit up, you wouldn’t be standing here today.” Despite the absurdity of the accusation – and despite the obvious absurdity of the accusation – the victims of psi just grunted along, agreeing with everything and anything that came out of Emperor’s mouth, in part because they didn’t know any better (they were psi victims, after all), and in part because any disagreement with what Emperor had to say was met with a fierce, painful punishment. “His Word, Before All and Above All,” I muttered. “With liberty and justice for no one, so kiss my peasant Old New York ass and take a breath mint afterward, unless you like that funky aftertaste…” My voice trailed off as my eyes focused on a strange woman on the balcony. At first, I couldn’t discern who she was – she looked like someone I’d seen before, yet someone I’d never seen before. Her hair was a garish white-blonde, stringy and lifeless, and pinned tightly behind her head with a set of black ceramic chopsticks. Her makeup was almost cartoonish – cat-like black eyeliner and matte black lipstick sat atop a ghostly white foundation. Even her outfit was a hideously hilarious cultural appropriation – a black silk kimono paired with a set of black stiletto heels. I’d seen Old New York 42nd Street prostitutes, with terrible heroin problems, sell the “Asian coquette” look better than what I’d seen before me now. “Who the actual…” I began, hesitantly, unable to process who I was seeing before me. And then it hit me, all at once, who she was. For the first time in a long time, I was literally speechless. When I could finally find my voice again, it barely came out in a whisper. “Rosie,” I squeaked. I walked into the Ludlow Street apartment I shared with Angelique and was instantly greeted with the smell of a meat dish that, I would later learn, was calledcarne asada. “Angelique!” I called out over the loud sizzling of steak as I kicked off my black Frye boots and set my matching acoustic guitar down. “Where are you, my love?” “In here!” she called, out of sight, from the kitchen, where more clanging and banging sounds echoed over her voice. I began walking through the apartment, shedding layers as I went along until I reached the kitchen wearing nothing but my black leather pants and a mischievous smile. I was hoping to have a little appetizer of crème d’Angelique before dinner, but when I reached the kitchen, I realized – much to my chagrin – that we weren’t alone. Angelique, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail, was wearing a tight, white, see-through shorts jumper and a matching white apron. She was standing next to an unfamiliar-looking woman with a matching messy ponytail, but whose thick chocolate brown hair stood in sharp contrast to Angelique’s thin flaxen locks. The rest of her, too, was in stark contrast to Angelique, but not in a bad way – she was olive-skinned, in contrast to Angelique’s pale white skin; she was curvy, in contrast to Angelique’s ectomorphic figure; she was fiery, in contrast to Angelique’s ethereal nature. They were standing side by side, working on something that smelled simply delicious. Angelique was mixing flour, sugar, and garlic powder, and her friend was adding melted butter and salted water to the resultant powder, then kneading it until it formed a dough. “Am I interrupting something?” I asked as I walked behind Angelique, wrapped my arms around her waist, and kissed her neck, breathing in her scent of lilacs as I did so. She smiled, then took her index finger and bopped the tip of my nose with the flour mixture. “Hey handsome,” she said, beatifically. “We’re making something special for you for dinner. We’ve got carne asada in the pan over there – we’ve got some arroz con gandules in the rice cooker – and we’re making…wait, girl, what’s this called?” “Arepas,” her friend said, smiling as she continued to knead the dough between her hands, her silver thumb ring glistening in the light of the dusk as she did so. “Right, arepas,” Angelique repeated. “Ramira here is teaching me all her magic ways – she says this is the exact dinner I need to make if I want my man to marry me.” She giggled, then elbowed Ramira, who giggled along with Angelique. I couldn’t help but giggle, as well, as I unentwined myself from Angelique and walked over to Ramira to properly introduce myself. “I’m going to be stuffed fordays with all this delicious food, so it’s only right that we become friends,” I began, extending my hand. “Hi there. I’m James Randall Ryan IV, I somehow lucked out enough to convince this lovely lady Angelique to be my girlfriend, and it’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Jamie.” Ramira smiled, then shook my hand with two of her fingers, taking care not to smear the wet dough across my palm. “Well, my name is Ramira Diaz, Angelique is my best friend, and it’s a pleasure to meet you too. You can call me Rosie, though. Everyone else does.” I sat under a wilting star magnolia tree and stared, intently, through the open window of a room that had to be Rosie’s dressing room. She peeled her black silk kimono off and turned her back to the frameless window, exposing her prominent ribs and shoulder blades as she did so. The sight of her suddenly-bare, emaciated frame shocked me, especially given how pronounced her curves were in our younger years, and tears welled up in my eyes yet again. In the decades since Angelique and my son had died, I could count the number of times I’d cried on one hand. In the past 72 hours, though – as I realized that my best friend’s kid, and my best friend’s girlfriend, were alive and well, and that the Uprising was bigger than I’d ever imagined – the tears came quickly and flowed easily, and I couldn’t decide if this was a sign of strength or weakness on my part. Rosie slipped a shimmering white camisole over her emaciated frame, which she then tucked into a pair of white linen slacks. I couldn’t get over how thin she’d gotten, then wondered if this was by her own design, or if she was under orders from that evil husband of hers. No way would Jordan be cool with this, I thought to myself. On his fucking grave would this go on. On his fucking grave. And wouldn’t you know it – here we are, on his fucking grave. I saw Rosie leave the room and begin to head down a flight of stairs, and I took that as an opportunity to get her alone, away from the rabid Cabal and out of sight of the vainglorious Emperor. She’d taken a few steps away from her building, and into Emperor’s Park, before passing by the wilting star magnolia tree that I was hiding behind. It was only when I saw the back of her slicked back, perfect ponytail – what a difference from the one she was wearing when we first met, I thought – that I saw the opportunity to get her alone and began walking behind her. “You’ve come a long way from making arepas on Ludlow Street,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder when I finally caught up with her. She spun around, her face scrunched up in fear, and for a split second, I thought she was going to hit me. But just as quickly, she relaxed as her eyes registered who owned the disembodied voice. “Jamie,” she whispered tearfully. “You’re here. You’re alive. I didn’t realize…” “How the hell did you not?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows and side-eyeing her. “Your damned husband has been hunting me for decades.” “I knew that,” she said, taking ragged breaths. “But just the fact that he was never able to take you alive led me to believe that you were…you know…” Her voice trailed off. I wasn’t convinced, and I continued to stare at her intently as I scratched my left cheek, which was now beginning to show the first signs of salt-and-pepper beard stubble. “First of all, why the hell are you talking like you’re Queen Elizabeth? Second, let me just state it for the record: you give your asshole husbandway too much credit if you think he can take me down.” Rosie bit her lower lip, then shifted her eyes down. I put my hand under her chin and tipped her face up, forcing her eyes to meet mine as I tried, desperately, to search for a sign of the Rosie I once knew. “Rosie,” I whispered intently. “It’s me. You don’t have to hide from me.” Her face was a blank slate. “My name is Rose. Rose Cunningham,” she said with flat affect. “Oh, bullshit,” I whispered, even more intently. “Whatever happened to ‘call me Rosie, everyone else does’? What happened to that woman who was makingarepas in the kitchen with my Angelique?” That got her attention, and her deep brown eyes flashed with fire as she balled up her fists and began swinging at me. “You shit! You bastard! You did it! You almost killed my baby!” I ducked, bobbed and weaved, avoiding each blow as I carefully tried to talk her down from the ledge. “Rosie! What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do that shit! I swear!” She continued to swing at me. “Yes! Yes, you did!” she squealed tearfully, repeating the same “yes, yes” with each swing, her voice getting louder each time. “Do you want to knock it off before the fuckin’ Cabal finds us, Rosie? The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus Christ!” I was shouting despite myself and began scanning the landscape frantically for Cabal soldiers that would have undoubtedly heard us, all while bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter to avoid getting punched in the face. She swung even harder and squealed even louder. “You tried to kill my baby! Just like you killed yours!” That line finally got me to react, and I had to steady my breathing to stop from clocking her in the mouth. Even in the throes of the worst of my Faustian behavior, I never hit a woman, and neither did any of my bandmates – the thought of violence against a woman, let alone a woman we’d loved, didn’t even cross our drug-addled minds. Instead, I grabbed her wrists and forced them down to her sides, holding them in place at hip level as she struggled, trying to hit me, until she finally began whimpering in defeat. “Now you listen to me, Ramira Diaz, and you listen well,” I began, angrily. “You may have forgotten everything you were and are, but I sure as fuck haven’t forgotten a goddamn thing, and let me rest assure you, I never fuckin’ will.” Her lower lip was trembling, her eyes were watering, and it became evident that she was on the verge of tears. Still, I continued. “So, let me get a few things out of the way now, so we’re not confused. Number one: that blast? It wasn’t me. It wasn’t anyone tied to me. It wasn’t anyone whose name I can even spell. Because let me assure you, again, that if it were me, or anyone tied to me, we’d have burned down the entire fuckin’ city, even if it meant killing ourselves in the process, and wouldn’t have left a survivor anywhere on this God-forsaken island. “Number two: you know goddamn well I didn’t kill Angelique or our baby. Now I wear their death on my heart every. Fucking. Day. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in twenty fucking years, from the day they were killed, because I can’t get their murders out of my mind. There are times I wish I was dead, just so that I don’t have to live with the guilt of their murders, but no, here I am, and ain’t that a fuckin’ bitch from Hell. I’d give all the money in the world to have my Angelique back. I’d trade my life for Jordan’s any day of the week. And my son – my only legacy – never had a chance at life, and you think that’s all fair? “Number three – and this is the most important part, Rosie, goddamnit, you’d better fuckin’ listen to this if you listen to nothing else: remember that promise I made to you in the hospital room? All those years ago? Because I fuckin’ do. And that’s why when Evanora and Tommy came down the Bowery after the blast, and I realized who she was, I made sure she was safe and clean and warm…” Rosie looked shocked. “Wait. She came to you?” I searched her face, trying to see if I could register where her loyalties lie before I continued to answer the question. For some reason, however, I couldn’t make it out. I even tried to read Rosie’s mind using a gentle form of psi, but I still couldn’t read her mind at all. It was like trying to probe a brick wall. So, to protect Evanora – and the rest of us – I chose to cover my tracks. “Yeah,” I said airily, “she mentioned something about listening to Uprising Radio.” The name of Uprising Radio registered some type of recognition with Rosie, and her eyes lit up slightly. “My baby has heard Uprising Radio?” “I don’t know for sure,” I continued, still adopting an airy affect, “but I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.” Using my Cabal training, I put a mental wall between my thoughts and Rosie, mostly because I didn’t know how much training she’d had in the psi arts, and I wasn’t sure if she, too, could read my mind. And if, God forbid, her loyalties lied with that pathetic excuse of her husband, I could at least protect, if not myself, then the whole Uprising movement. I made sure the wall was firmly in place before I continued. “I think I’ve heard Uprising Radio a few times, but I don’t know much about it, who does it, or anything of the sort.” “Yeah,” Rosie said, hesitantly, behind a mental brick wall of her own, “I have no idea, either.” We were calmer, now – our breath was steady, our thoughts were collected, and Rosie’s fists were limp. I finally felt confident that she wasn’t going to try to hit me again, so I loosened my grip on her wrists. But I suddenly found myself unable to let her go, so I slid my hands from her wrists to her hands and grabbed her fingers lightly. I was overcome with emotion. “What is it, Jamie?” Her voice was cracking. I exhaled loudly, then drew in a ragged breath. “Do you think about him, Rosie? Do you think about Jordan at all?” She closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall as she exhaled shakily. “Every day of my life,” she said softly. “There’s not a day that goes by that Jordan doesn’t cross my mind. Every time I look at Evanora – every time I hear her laugh – he comes to my mind. Sometimes, she gives me this look – you remember, Jamie? You remember when Jordan would hear something that was just too stupid for words, and he would get this look on his face, like, ‘were you dropped on your head as a child?’” – and to this, I gave a half-smile and a nod – “and now, she gets that look. And that one eyebrow” – she took her finger and drew on her left eyebrow – “it would just go up like…like…” She dropped her hand as her voice trailed off, her eyes filling with tears. I nodded my head, closed my eyes, and sighed. “Fuckin’ guy,” I said, opening my eyes and looking at Rosie. “So. You didn’t see me, right?” Rosie smiled and winked at me. “Ivan Sapphire? Please. Get over yourself, rock star.” She squeezed my hands one last time for good measure. “I’m going to leave now. I’m not going to look back because I don’t want to see where you’re going. This way, if someone with bad intentions against you asks me if I know where you are, I can answer honestly when I say I don’t know. But just because I don’t look back, doesn’t mean I want to see you go. I need you to understand that, Jamie Ryan. I don’t need you to over-analyze things that don’t need over-analyzing. I need you to let me go, Jamie Ryan, and I need you to know that I love you, and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” She finally let go of my hands, gave me a slight nod, then turned and walked back to her home. I watched her, silently, keeping the promise I made so long ago to Jordan Barker and didn’t leave what was once known as Central Park until I saw, for sure, that she was safe inside.
GIVEAWAY!
ISAN
by Mary Ting Published by: Vesuvian Books Publication date: May 1st 2018 Genres: Dystopian, Science Fiction, Young Adult
Synopsis:
THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. SCIENTISTS WARNED IT WOULD HAPPEN. Meteors devastated the Earth. World Governments developed plans to help surviving citizens. The United States disbanded and salvageable land was divided into our quadrants—North, South, East, and West—governed by The Remnant Council. Struggling to survive, seventeen-year-old Ava ends up in juvenile detention, until she is selected for a new life—with a catch. She must be injected with an experimental serum. The results will be life changing. The serum will make her “better.” To receive the serum, Ava agrees to join a program controlled by ISAN, the International Sensory Assassin Network. While on a mission, she is abducted by a rebel group led by Rhett and told that not only does she have a history with him, but her entire past is a lie perpetuated by ISAN to ensure her compliance. Unsure of who to trust, Ava must decide if her strangely familiar and handsome captor is her enemy or her savior—and time is running out. "Captivating from the very beginning...this thrilling dystopian drama has a splash of romance and tons of actions." --School Library Journal
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35820721-isan
Purchase: Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/ISAN-International-Sensory-Assassin-Network/dp/1944109560/ B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/isan-international-sensory-assassin-network-mary-ting/1126846302?ean=2940154723616 iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/isan-international-sensory-assassin-network/id1263326436?mt=11 Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/isan-international-sensory-assassin-network
Excerpt:
“Would you like my assistance? Or you can just stand there so I can stare at you a bit longer.” Startled, I whirled toward the sound of a familiar, seductive voice. Sniper stood by the walk-in closet in a cool, relaxed manner with his hand braced on the door. His hair was slicked back, looking polished and debonair. My heart pummeled, but not in fear. Was I crazy to be attracted to him? Mesmerized by the black tuxedo forming to his perfect body, I stared at him and wondered if I’d dreamed him up. His presence confirmed I hadn’t imagined him above the stairs earlier. Then I wondered if he’d come alone. “How’d you know I was here?” Unnerved, I gritted my teeth. He hadn’t heeded my warning to stay away. I should scream or plan an escape out of the bathroom, but I couldn’t move or think. His presence stirred my curiosity and I wanted answers, especially when the lunatic thought he knew me. “It doesn’t concern you,” he said. His nonchalant tone caused me to raise my voice. “The hell it doesn’t.” “I’ll explain later.” I scoffed. “Are you here to try to kidnap me again?” I might not have Helix, but I had my heels and months of training backing me up. If there was one thing I was good at, it was bringing a person to their knees. Courage grew inside me and I dropped my dress.
About the Author:
International Bestselling Author Mary Ting/M. Clarke resides in Southern California with her husband and two children. She enjoys oil painting and making jewelry. Writing her first novel, Crossroads Saga, happened by chance. It was a way to grieve the death of her beloved grandmother, and inspired by a dream she once had as a young girl. When she started reading new adult novels, she fell in love with the genre. It was the reason she had to write one-Something Great. Why the pen name, M Clarke? She tours with Magic Johnson Foundation to promote literacy and her children’s chapter book-No Bullies Allowed. Amber Sky (C.O.I.L.S of Copper and Brass #1) by Claire Warner Genre: Dystopian Steampunk Release Date: June 2nd 2017 Summary: "You thought I did this out of the goodness of my heart?" He gave a short mirthless laugh. "Not a bit of it, this is going to be dangerous for me. What are you offering for my help?" Beneath the Amber Sky, the nobility control the food, education, and the mysterious C.O.I.L.S of Copper and Brass. To Tay, struggling to keep her siblings alive, the ideas of rebellion and freedom are distant and unreachable. But when her father is arrested, she begs Darius James, the son of the Overseer, to save his life. Darius agrees, but his help costs her a favour, one he can call in at any time. Darius' favour will bring her to the Palace, and the perfect position to help the growing rebellion. But the court has games beyond anything she has seen before, and Darius' secrets will add to the danger. Tay is now able to make a difference, to join the rebellion, find the C.O.I.L.S and discover the secrets of the Amber Sky. All she has to do is survive. About the Author When I was a child, I made up games and characters when my sister and I played with dolls. As I grew older, I would make up scenarios and scenes, fully intending to write them down but never finding the time. In my late teens, I discovered the world of role playing and settled into an avid ‘geeky’ life of D&D, comics, sci-fi and fantasy fiction. Years passed and I finally gave voice to the stories in my head. I write romance, fantasy, action and adventure. I love tales of steampunk and history, tales of magical powers and dark curses lurking in the shadows. Though The Black Lotus is not my first attempt at a novel, it is the first I have finished. And some fun facts about me: I sew. My favourite Disney film is Atlantis. I’ve been a film extra and stood 5 feet away from Sam Rockwell. Babylon 5 is my fave sci-fi show. I cried at the end of Toy Story 3.
Dark Matters
by John Kaniecki
Genre: SciFi, Dystopian
A collection if three stories by John Kaniecki.
HERETIC
Religion and truth battle for control.
In a future society on planet Earth a young man named Zacchaeus is raised the post apocalyptic society which is underground. Zacchaeus becomes a zealous believer in the church of Ratata. Zach’s father tries to protect him by transporting the young man to a different continent. Isolated from his religious family. Zach manages to find his way back home. However Zach’s eyes become opened to the truth to find the sacred text of Ratata to be a lie. Thus Zacchaeus is condemned as a heretic as he chooses to abandon the lie of religion.
JOHNNY CAN’T RUN
In a world of evil everyday is a wicked race.
In the not so far off future a group of Nazis have been exiled to a distant planet. In their wicked society they simmer in their misery, dreaming of returning to planet Earth as conquerors. Johnny is a perfect Aryan in every way excelling in the ways of Nazism. But with superiority comes arrogance. What happens when the best is your worst?
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF LADY JANE PERKINS
Michael Thorpe, an engineering student, is swept away in love by one Lady Jane Perkins, but what does the young man see in this homeless psychiatric patient?
Michael Thorpe is an engineering student at David’s Institute. He dreams of the day when he will be wealthy and thus happy. In fulfilling the requirements of a psychology course Michael visits a psychiatric hospital to visit one Lady Jane Perkins. Once meeting the woman Michael can’t seem to get her out of his mind, literally. So Michael begins a quest traveling to the disheveled side of Technocity to find his true love. But what nefarious powers are manipulating Michael Thorpe and why?
**Only .99 cents!**
John Kaniecki was born in Brooklyn, New York. Though having no memories of life there, John is proud to be called a Native New Yorker. John was raised in Pequanock Township, New Jersey. At age twenty John was baptized and became a member of the Church of Christ. Presently John resides in Montclair, NJ and lives with his wife of over twelve years Sylvia. The happy couple attend the Church of Christ at Chancellor Avenue in Newark, NJ. John is very active in outreach and teaching as part of the leadership of the congregation.
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The Revolution (The Bionics Novels #3) by Alicia Michaels ~ Book Blitz w/ Excerpt & Giveaway1/14/2018 The Revolution
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo Grab book 1 – The Bionics for FREE! -- EXCERPT: Swallowing the bile rising in the back of my throat, I close my human eye again and zoom in through the scope. I move the rifle until the crosshairs rest over Drummond’s forehead. “I’m taking the shot.” “Wait,” Dax says. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” Disbelief drops my jaw, but I don’t take my eyes off the president. “What? Why the hell not?” “Listen to me, B,” he says, his voice sounding closer. I feel him crouching beside me. “If we kill him now, they’ll just say we did it to silence him. Don’t you understand? If we kill him now, he’ll look like a martyr.” My palms break out in a sweat, and Drummond’s voice fades to an unintelligible warble as my blood begins to rush so fast I can hear it roaring in my ears. Dax is right … but Drummond is in my sights. The man who destroyed our lives and killed my family. The man who murdered Yasmine and threatened to come for the rest of us. “I have to,” I whisper, curling my finger around the trigger once more, shaking my head to clear it. “We came all this way.” “Undetected,” Dax argues. “We can leave the same way. It’s not too late.” “Yes, it is,” I argue. “It’s too late to go back! I won’t get another shot like this.” “We’ll find another way,” he insists, his hand now on my shoulder. “A way that doesn’t make us look like the terrorists he’s making us out to be.” I jerk away from his hold and refocus through the scope. “You can only treat someone like shit for so long before they snap. You can’t keep backing people into a corner without expecting them to eventually come out swinging. Drummond wants me to be a terrorist? Fine … I’ll earn my fucking spot on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. I’m taking the goddamn shot.” Dax whispers a string of curses under his breath, but he doesn’t physically try to stop me. He doesn’t touch me again. I think it’s because, deep down, he wants to see this fucker pay for what he did to Yasmine. He wants to see Drummond fall, even though he knows the consequences we’ll face for it. I zoom in a little closer … so close it feels like I’m staring directly into his cold, dead eyes. Spittle gathers in the corners of his mouth as he gets really riled up, waving his hands and pointing as he raises his voice to rally the crowd to his side. All around the world, people are buying into this … believing every poisonous word that comes from his mouth. It’s time to silence him once and for all. Taking another deep breath, I hold it as I prepare for my moment of truth. I see my father falling to the ground with a bullet in his skull … my mother sobbing hysterically as Skyye’s insides paint our front lawn red. And the hot rage in my veins goes cold like ice, freezing there as the entire world around me goes still. As I exhale, my finger squeezes the trigger.
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