Category: book tour

The Assassin Chronicles TV series is in development with Council Tree

Productions.

Consumed with grief over the tragic death of her husband, FBI agent
Victory
McClane is obsessed with finding Ohio’s serial killer, “The Wrapper”.

When another young woman turns up dead and the victim is linked to
Derrick
Lynn, son of the Secretary of Defense, Victory finds Derrick has all
the right answers and is a little too helpful.

Derrick has a secret: He’s a government assassin who uses his unusual
paranormal skills to eliminate targets. Determined to keep his own
secrets buried, he offers to help find The Wrapper.

But can Victory trust him?

As the body count rises, Victory must cross a dangerous line–into a
world of government cover-ups, murder, and betrayal–a decision thatwill test her limits. And everything she believes in.

The battle between good and evil begins! Deadly Shadow is the first
book
in the gripping paranormal/supernatural thriller series, an
action-packed blend of suspense and mystery for detective and crime
book lovers.

 

Goodreads * Amazon

Kim Cresswell is the award-winning Canadian author of the action-packed
Whitney Steel series. Kim recently signed a 3-book translation deal
with LUZIFER Verlag for the first three books in the series:
Reflection
,
Retribution and Resurrect.
The popular series will be published in German beginning in 2018. Her
novel,
Reflection, has won numerous awards and the book trailer was featured online at
USA Today

.

She has also published two Kindle Worlds novellas (Jet: Oblivion, Jet: Duplicity

),
featuring characters from her Whitney Steel series and JET from
Russell Blake’s
New York
Times and USA Today bestselling JET action thriller series.

Within the hour, Derrick Lynn would kill his next target, a popular radio host known as ‘Big
Mouth’ Bullington. He didn’t want or need any specifics about the target, only who and when.
He’d learned a long time ago to keep that distance to make his job a lot easier to deal with.
Never women or children. Never a non-target—which at times took an incredible amount of
self-control. More than anyone could imagine.
Like his grandfather and father, he could move about in real-time, watching people and
events while his physical body remained asleep. The paranormal freaks called it Etheric travel.
But his real gift was psychokinesis, a gift very few in the world had. He used his mind to move
objects. It came in damn handy, turning anything and everything into a deadly weapon.
For over twenty years he’d evaded the authorities—in particular FBI Agent Victory
McClane. And he was hell-bent on keeping it that way, no matter the cost.
In the large soundproof bedroom, Derrick laid on his back in his king-size bed, looking up
at the ceiling with his hands clasped behind his head. Silk sheets covered his legs and, barely,
his groin. The only light in the room came from the eerie glow radiating from the cell phone
cradled in its charger on the nightstand next to his laptop. He glanced at the studio headshot
of Eddie Bullington filling the phone’s screen as the podcast of the man’s radio show played at
mid-volume.
“… and while it’s a bunch of bull that Republicans work to keep the Black man down…”
His eyes shifted to the bathroom doorway to his dinner companion, Alessandra, a thirty-
something runway model with long blonde hair and voguish features. She straightened her
white blouse over her black skirt then put her hoop earrings back on. Alessandra shot him a
soft smile and grabbed the silver faux-fur coat laying on the end of the bed. Before leaving she
bent and kissed him, her lips warm against his. Derrick closed his eyes as Bullington’s podcast
droned on.
“… if you think the Dems are squeaky clean then I’ve got some prime Louisiana property for you.
Those Limousine Liberals keep their boots pressed against the back of our necks, pretending to be onthe side of equality and justice…”
He inhaled and exhaled slowly a dozen times and visualized his target’s bedroom. His body
felt light, floating. Before losing consciousness, he jerked himself awake, then let himself go
under again. Deeper into a half-sleep state, he felt as if he were bobbing in a boat. As the
rocking intensified, high-pitched ringing sounded in his ears and his limbs vibrated and
buzzed like a bee’s nest. He left the physical plane, his astral body flying.

✽✽✽

Eddie Bullington stood in the shower. Steaming hot water pulsated hard against the back of
his shoulder blades. The “God Bless America” Muzak-like ringtone blasted from the phone
sitting on the counter next to the double sink. He shut the water off, stepped out of the shower
stall, and grabbed his regal-looking red and gold bathrobe from the back of the door. He
quickly slipped it on and answered the call.
“Let me guess, Sid. You want to talk about last week’s show.”
“Sure do. Ratings are down five-percent from last quarter. That’s a cause for concern.”
“Just relax, okay? Anything else or are you going to keep on complaining about the same
old thing?”
“Five percent is a big deal, Eddie.”
“Go to bed, Sid. I got this. I’ll be in a little earlier than usual for the show.” Eddie
disconnected and shook his head.
His producer, Sid Moller, was a pain on a good day. Eddie didn’t feel like dealing with the
man’s silliness. His ratings were fine. He was still the top radio host in the United States, his
shows syndicated on four continents.
With the phone clutched in his hand, he strolled barefoot into the spacious antechamber
located next to his bedroom and flopped down into the extra-wide recliner. After setting the
phone on the end table he picked up the TV remote, along with a half bag of Cheetos. He flicked
on the TV to watch the latest episode of “Tucker Carlson Tonight” and dug into the snack bag.

✽✽✽

Derrick’s eyelids fluttered. Blackness. Then a long, dark tunnel emerged and grew wider.
Sounds, natural and alien, came and went as a frantic rush of lights, faces, and places blazed
toward him. He bobbed and weaved. Images, some distinct, others not, warped and flew
toward him, through him, past him. The sounds and images intensified. Then they stopped. He
was in Bullington’s bedroom.

✽✽✽

Derrick stood behind Eddie, his naked body blurry and silhouetted in shadow. The room
was filled with over-stuffed antique furniture, gaudy gold and green patterned drapes, and a
Victorian rug in various hideous shades of red and pink. A mounted rhinoceros head glared
down at it all.
His eyes shifted to the end table, then to Eddie’s phone. He trembled. Sweat dripped from
his forehead and ran down the sides of his face. His gaze moved to the colorful ad for gold on
the TV screen while the male announcer excitedly implored viewers to act now because there
has never been a better time to buy. Derrick directed his energy at the end table drawer. It
quietly eased open. Inside was a Baby Glock. He concentrated harder, staring, focusing as much
energy as he could at the weapon.
The gun twitched. And turned. And rose from the drawer. The barrel moved within an inch
from Bullington’s right temple.
Eddie twisted his head as if sensing something was about to happen. “What the—”
An angry gunshot cracked.
Blood, bone, and brain matter splattered and sprayed across the room. Various colored
fluids and small lumps ran down the TV from a splotch at the top of the screen.
Derrick grunted. The gun traveled back to the end table and the drawer slammed shut.

✽✽✽

Derrick’s physical body and astral body snapped together like strong magnets, slamming
him back into the bed. His body jerked. Intermittent banging and dinging invaded his head.
Then the familiar headache kicked in. Like an elastic band tight around his forehead, traveling
down the base of his skull. His eyes jolted open. He stared for a long moment, disoriented,
before slowly sitting up in bed. Bullington’s podcast continued to play.
“… oh, yeah. Give them freedom then lock them up in prison cages for years. That’s all I’m saying.
Thanks for tuning in.”
Once he got his bearings, Derrick grabbed his laptop from the nightstand and opened the
lid. The brilliant screen illuminated his tense face as it booted up.
He opened a new email and typed “task completed”, encrypted the data, then tapped the
“send” button. It would only be a matter of seconds before he received confirmation that the
payment had been transferred to his account at the Panama National Bank under the name,
Miles McGrath. A million dollars. Not bad for less than two hours work including surveillance.
A soft beep. Then a message popped up on the screen.

((0400TCHCLVGHEPUOFJJHPLJO7IAJKHBG2NDLF))

With a couple of keystrokes, he ran the special decryption software he’d been given, and
within seconds the garbled message became readable.

Fee transferred. Face-to-face requested

He shut down the laptop and wondered why his contact had requested meeting in person.
His face reflected on the black screen, yet his blue eyes shone.

 

Follow the tour HERE

for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

 

 

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

November in upstate New York can be chilly, but Kailyn Wilde’s shop,
Abracadabra, is a cozy respite where you can find lotions, potions,
and plenty of warm, feline company. But what customers don’t know
is that the proprietor has some unusual powers—and unusual friends,
including the renowned magician Merlin, who’s been transported into
the modern world. All of which comes in handy when there’s a murder
to be solved . . .

Investigative journalist Ryan Cutler has perished in a car accident in New
Camel,
and his friend, Travis, suspects foul play—especially when the
reporter’s notes reveal a mysterious list of dead men’s names.
Kailyn wants to help, but she’s also got her hands full with the
curmudgeonly Merlin, who’s not exactly maintaining a low profile.
Between keeping the wizard under wraps and mixing up cold remedies
that work like magic, she’ll have to tap into her many talents to
figure out a killer’s fatal formula . . .

 

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Kailyn Wilde enjoys running her shop,
Abracadabra, in the quaint New York
hamlet of New Camel, where she lives with her six cats. Her family’s
been here for centuries, and she’d like to keep up the tradition.
But the place may never be the same if a big hotel gets built, so she
does her civic duty and attends a town meeting along with her aunt
Tilly . . . and Merlin. Yes, that Merlin—though
he gets introduced to folks as her “distant English cousin.” The
wizard is pretty grumpy about being transported here, but there are
things about the modern world he doesn’t mind—like pizza.

Kailyn was prepared for a heated debate about the hotel, but she wasn’t
expecting murder. When Tilly finds the body of a board member outside
the schoolhouse, Kailyn doesn’t want any suspicion cast on the
wrong person. She plans to crack this case, even if she has to talk
to every living soul in town—plus a few departed ones . . .

—Julie Hyzy, New York Times

bestselling author

 

Add to Goodreads

Twenty-something
Kailyn Wilde has learned to embrace her unpredictable life as a
descendant of small-town New Camel’s most magickal family. She just
didn’t expect to inherit her mother and grandmother’s
centuries-old shop, Abracadabra, so suddenly. The surprises keep
coming when Kailyn goes to finalize the estate at the local
attorney’s office—and stumbles over the body of her best friend
Elise’s husband . . .

As a brash detective casts the blame on Elise, Kailyn summons her
deepest powers to find answers and start an investigation of her own.
What with running a business, perfecting ancient spells, and keeping
up with an uninvited guest of fabled origins, Kailyn has her hands
full. But with the help of her uncanny black cat Sashkatu and her
muumuu-clad Aunt Tilly, she’s closing in on a killer—who will do
anything to make sure she never tests her supernatural skills again!

 

Add to Goodreads

Sharon Pape is the author of the popular Portrait of Crime and Crystal

Shop mystery series. She started writing stories in first grade and
never looked back. She studied French and Spanish literature in
college and went on to teach both languages on the secondary level.
After being diagnosed with and treated for breast cancer in 1992,
Sharon became a Reach to Recovery peer support volunteer for the
American Cancer Society. She went on to become the coordinator of the
program on Long Island. She and her surgeon created a non profit
organization called Lean On Me to provide peer support and
information to newly diagnosed women and men. After turning her
attention back to writing, she has shared her storytelling skills
with thousands of fans. She lives with her husband on Long Island,
New York, near her grown children. She loves reading, writing, and
providing day care for her grand-dogs.

 

Follow the tour HERE

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Preparing for My First Cockatiel is a beginner’s guide book for you and your

children to help you know what it takes to get ready for bringing
home your very first cockatiel.

Unlike most books about cockatiels out there, this one doesn’t try to
cover
everything, but stays focused on what you need to be ready for your
new life with your bird.

Full of personal stories and photos, you will get to know what life with
cockatiels is like from my many years living with and loving them. A
fun book for anyone who loves animals!

Topics covered include:

— Cockatiels as cockatoos

— Primary cages

— Travel/hospital cages (including cages for domestic &
international air travel)

— Play spaces

— Food

— Toys

— Perches

— Food dishes

— Communicating with a new or shy cockatiel

— Preventing psittacosis (the main disease that transmits between
humans and birds)

— Games to play with your new bird

 

Goodreads * Amazon

Born, raised, and educated in Lincoln, Nebraska USA Laurel A. Rockefeller

is author of over twenty books published and self-published since
August, 2012 and in languages ranging from Welsh to Spanish to
Chinese and everything in between. A dedicated scholar and
biographical historian, Ms. Rockefeller is passionate about education
and improving history literacy worldwide.

With her lyrical writing style, Laurel’s books are as beautiful to read as
they are informative.

In her spare time, Laurel enjoys spending time with her cockatiels,
attending living history activities, travelling to historic places in
both the United States and United Kingdom, and watching classic
motion pictures and classic television series.

 

Follow the tour HERE

for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Laura is willing to do whatever it takes for her son. When aliens kidnap

Jason, it’s going to take a lot more than a mother’s love to get him
back. After infiltrating a military research base, Laura discovers a
terrifying secret: their plans to impregnate women with alien DNA.

Milijun is the first installment of an action-packed

 

sci-fi
alien invasion story. If you like tales of first contact, secret
military operations, and the people caught in the middle, then you’ll
love Clayton Graham’s fast-paced sci-fi thrill ride.

 

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo

As a
youngster growing up in the cobbled streets of Stockport, UK,
Clayton Graham read a lot of Science Fiction. He loved the ‘old
school’ masters such as HG Wells, Jules Verne, Isaac Asimov andJohn Wyndham. As he left those formative years behind, he penned
short stories when he could find a rare quiet moment amidst life’s
usual distractions.

He settled in Victoria, Australia, in 1982. A retired aerospace engineer
who worked in structural design and research, Clayton has always had
an interest in Science Fiction and where it places humankind within a
universe we are only just starting to understand.

Clayton loves animals, including well behaved pets, and all the natural
world, and is a member of Australian Geographic.

Combining future science with the paranormal is his passion. Milijun is
his
first novel. Second novel, Saving Paludis, will be published early
2018. They are light years from each other, but share the future
adventures of mankind in an expansive universe as a common theme.

Laura lay back on the bed, hands clasped behind her head and knees drawn up as tightly as
comfort would allow. Jason, emotionally exhausted, was asleep in the other bed and for the
first time in many hours she had the luxury of undisturbed time to think the day’s events
through. They had called a taxi from Robert’s house and directed it back to camp. Having
found Jason, she had no wish to chase into Caiguna and risk further confrontation with the
police, Janice Mepunga in particular. There was just no forgiving the policewoman for
leaving her stranded at Robert’s house with a laser-seared dead body on her hands.
Some semblance of inner strength returned. They would have to see Mepunga
tomorrow, of course, and learn what happened to Bradley Robert or, more accurately, how he
had ended up with a hole drilled in his chest.
Careful not to wake Jason, she made her way outside, in search of fresh air. Looking
up at the darkened sky she saw a pale moon rising and what could only be Venus shining
brightly. The air held a slight chill, and she shivered involuntarily.
Laura scanned the sky, half expecting something to emerge from the star-pricked
canopy and descend upon her with mischief in its heart. What was it Jason had said?
Sometimes when it touched me I didn’t even feel it. She didn’t know what to believe but
whatever it was, Janice Mepunga was the next step.
They had found the camera in a kitchen drawer, but it contained no record of Jason’s
pictures. Robert had obviously removed the stick. Or, of course, the alien had. Surprisingly
enough, observing Jason’s face at that moment of disappointment served to remove her
doubts concerning his version of events. She had totally believed, if only for a few seconds,
that an alien being had emerged from Bradley Robert and examined her son.
Tomorrow they would see Mepunga. And maybe get some answers.***

At the Eucla defence base the only source of light in the room came from a large wall screen
that portrayed the death throes of choppa flight 209 from Cape Pasley to Cocklebiddy on the
night of 17 January 2179. In the room were Assistant Commissioner Ray Parlane of the West
Australian Police, Major General Sebastian Ord, Air Vice-Marshal Jean Pescos and Sergeant
David Jameson Cooke of the Australian Defence Force. The whole flight cam episode had
run for no more than three minutes, and now the group were digesting, and struggling to
understand, what they had just seen.
“At least it ties in with the radar records,” Jean Pescos stated, a frown ageing her
otherwise smooth, olive complexion. “Definitely two …” she struggled for the right word,
“… attackers.”
Sebastian Ord raised his brow at the use of the word. “Could it have been an accident,
a collision?”
Cooke snorted and said, “No sir. The radar shows two objects peeling away from the
main group. Definitely intentional.”

“I agree,” Jean Pescos ventured. “Definitely intentional. Analysis of the short flight
path they took indicates an optimum trajectory for intersection with the choppa.”
“You mean it shows intelligence.” Ray Parlane looked incredulous. Short, with
luxurious eyebrows, he had obtained his rank by being down to earth and taking no nonsense.
This whole episode did not sit well on his shoulders.
“Perhaps even more to the point, what the hell are the damn things?” Sebastian Ord
asked. Tall and wiry with piercing blue eyes, he wore his neatly pressed uniform like a glove.
He started the video again and they watched as bright moonlight exposed a flock of large
creatures moving through the night sky. The choppa had hovered no more than two hundred
metres away, and its lights had picked out two of the objects breaking away to veer towards
the camera. They looked large, too large for any known species of bat. Strong white beams
highlighted their outstretched wings as they homed in on their target, revealing thin
reticulated arms as they grew closer. Large reflective eyes dominated the screen for a
moment and then focus was lost as the creatures appeared to collide intentionally with the
choppa’s canopy.
Ord ran the video back to show the best zoomed shot of the creatures as they
approached Pilot James Vanelli’s machine. He shook his head slowly. “Hands up those who
have seen animals like that before?” he said sardonically. “We need to let an expert look, but
I wouldn’t be confident of an identification.”
“And don’t forget the radar showed them descending from at least ten thousand
metres,” Cooke added. “Air is thin up there.”
The group grew silent as Parlane switched on the light and turned off the wall screen.
“So, what happens now?” he asked nobody in particular.
“One. Expert opinion on identification,” Ord replied, counting off on his fingers.
“Two. Find out if anyone else saw them that night.” He looked at everyone in turn before
raising a third finger. “Three. Try to find them.”
“Then what, after we find them?” Jean Pescos asked.
Parlane was swift to answer. “We must eradicate. Can’t have them bringing down air
traffic.”
Ord couldn’t help smiling. “Let’s give the scientists a say. If they’re a rare or unheard
of species it could be a different anecdote.”
The room became quiet again and Cooke stretched uncomfortably in his chair. He
wasn’t convinced. Other than Vanelli, there were no bodies at the crash site. And the aerial
attackers didn’t look like anything he had seen before; alien almost. Though nobody, of
course, had the balls to say so.

***

The road ribbon system took them directly to the front of the Caiguna police station, seaward
of the Eyre Highway along dusty, unkempt side streets. Mother and son dismounted as one
and strode resolutely up the path and through darkened glass doors. They found themselves in
a featureless foyer where a single three-metre plant was placed strategically in the middle of a
brown synthetic marble floor. A long black desk stood at the far end but there was no sign of

any other exit door or, for that matter, any other person. The walls were sky blue, the ceiling
white, and the effect austere.
Laura approached the desk and saw a white button labelled Press for immediate
attention. She did as requested. A flat screen rose from the desktop and the face of Janice
Mepunga stared out at them. An aura of total distrust immediately gripped Laura’s mind,
reinforced by unwelcome apprehension, but the image on the screen flashed a convivial smile
and said, “Oh hello you two. I’ve been expecting you. Just one moment.”
To the right of the desk, a mechanism hummed and a well-disguised door opened
within the blue wall to reveal a brightly lit office beyond.
“Come through. Come through,” Janice Mepunga called.
Jason seized his mother’s hand and looked at her questioningly. There was a strange
fear in his ashen face, and his eyes mirrored the foreboding that Laura felt within her own
heart.
“It’ll be fine,” Laura said quietly and gently guided him through into the inner office.
Janice instantly took the wind out of Laura’s sails by saying, “Look. I’m sorry about
yesterday. An emergency came up. I had to leave. Sorry about leaving you with Robert, too –
it was unavoidable. He tried to kill me. I knew Jason was around.” Her smile grew broader. “I
knew you would find him.”
Shaking her head, Laura said sharply, “Maybe you did, but in what condition? It was
absolutely unforgivable what you did.” She threw a challenging look at the policewoman.
“And Robert wasn’t dead when I found him.”
Janice’s face hardened and Jason noticed she slowly worked her hand down to her
pistol. “It was unavoidable,” the policewoman repeated.
“Are there any other officers here?” Laura asked.
Janice shook her head. “My partner went to Perth this morning. It’s normally pretty
quiet around here, you understand, and there’s plenty of air backup from Kalgoorlie.” She
cast a meaningful glance at her visitors before adding, “Should we require it.”
“What about a statement?” Laura asked. “Don’t you want one?”
“I certainly do,” Janice said, pointing to a terminal in the corner of her office. “Be my
guest.” She was all sweetness and roses again, in control of the situation.
While his mother typed, Jason waited his turn. He was nervous, upset about Bradley
Robert and about the loss of his photographs. His eyes hardly left Janice Mepunga, unsure in
his own heart whether the alien creature was harboured inside her or whether it had moved to
fresh pastures. On the drive to the station his mother had told him of Robert’s dying words,
and he had felt sick. He desperately wanted to know the truth but was afraid of another
confrontation. And worst of all, there was no proof of anything.
“How did the ranger threaten you?” Jason asked abruptly causing his mother to pause
her statement mid-sentence.
Mepunga glanced up, her face like stone. “He just did, and that’s enough these days.”
She gestured to Jason to sit down on the chair across the desk. “Let’s compile your statement
together while your mother finishes hers.” She initiated a recorder and leant back in her chair.

Jason shot a fleeting look at his mother and received a warning glance in return,
accompanied by a small shake of the head.
“How did you get to Robert’s house?” Janice asked.
“I was on the computer in the camp tourist centre,” Jason replied. “He knocked me
out and I awoke in a bedroom.”
Despite the recorder, Janice typed as she said, “And then what happened?”
“He made me something to eat, just eggs and toast. Then he made me shower and
took me into the basement.”
“What about his sister from next door? Did you see her at all?”
“No,” Jason said. “There was nobody else.”
Janice raised her eyebrows. “Did you try to escape?”
With a shake of his head, Jason said, “He was always in my face, and twice my size.”
“Even in the shower?”
Jason averted his eyes. “More or less.”
“He was naked when I found him,” Laura interjected. “In the basement.”
The policewoman looked hard at Jason. “Did he touch you? Molest you in any way?”
Jason bit his lip. “No, he didn’t.”
Laura stood up. “I’ve finished. It’s fairly short but to the point.”
Janice walked over and glanced down at the screen. “Not exactly flattering behaviour
on my part,” she said, pursing her lips. “My statement will give my story.”
Laura shrugged. “I’d still like to see—”
Jason interrupted her. “Can we go now, Mum? I need some air.”
Laura saw he looked pale and distressed. “I’m sorry,” she said to Janice. “Is that all
for now?”
“Sure. We have your vehicle tag. Stick around the district though.” She printed both
statements and laid them on the desk. “Just sign these for now.”
After they had signed Laura turned to leave but paused at the door. “What happened
to the body?”
“It’s been taken care of,” Janice replied. “Thanks for coming in.” It was the final
dismissal. Laura and Jason left without further discourse. They moved through the stark foyer
and once outside paused to breathe the fresh southern air, which was rapidly warming as the
sun rose higher in the sky.
“No alien for the lady,” Laura said. “Thank God you didn’t say anything about that.”
“Not to her,” Jason said, looking at his mother fearfully. “I think it’s still with her.”

***

In her office, Janice read the statements again and put them through the shredder. She stood,
swayed slightly, and pushed a floor panel with her foot to release the door into an adjacent
room. Moving through, she closed the door behind her and stared at the uniformed body of
her colleague. He was slumped face down on the desk, head resting in a pool of coagulated
blood.
Suddenly, the winged alien was outside her, standing two metres away, observing
with its head on one side. She sensed an instantaneous chill invade her body as the creature

emerged but, once free of it, Janice felt warmer and strangely fearless. No words or other
communication passed but Janice felt its mind boring into hers, trying to understand her
emotions. At least she thought she did. She didn’t really want to see it anymore, was not
interested in it at all, and wished it was light-years away.
“I’m sorry, Daniel,” she said to the motionless body of her partner. “I’m so sorry. I
really could not help it.”
A tangle of meaningless images ran through her mind, and she turned to face her
symbiotic disciple from another world. Something passed between them, intangible and
outside her scope of logical thought. She asked the question anyway.
“What do you want from me? What do you want from us?”

 

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Award Winning author, R. L. Weeks, brings you Raven’s Ghost – Book Two in

the Young Adult Victorian Paranormal Mystery Series.

Another serial killer is raising hell on the streets of London and Raven
believes it’s all her fault. All the victims have blonde hair and
blue eyes like her, and the killer is none other than her uncle.

His mind had been warped and twisted by heartbreak and betrayal and his
hatred for women is driving him to kill more and more each week.

Raven wants to stop him at all costs. However, there is one big problem
standing in her way. No one can see, hear, or feel her.

With the help of her new friend, Elizabeth, and Emmett who is
desperately
trying to contact Raven’s Ghost, can Raven find her way back from the
other side to save the world from the notorious serial killer?

Or will the Shadow Men, drawn back to their world by darkness, fade her
away before she get’s the chance?

 

Goodreads * Amazon

Award Winning author, R. L. Weeks, brings you Raven’s Sight – a Young Adult

Victorian Paranormal Mystery. Book One can be read as a standalone
and as part of the series.

Raven looks out over the small, industrial town of Cogsworth and
imagines a
life beyond the confines of her Grandmother’s mansion.

However, Raven holds a dark secret that prevents her from leaving. One
which
comes to light after her father’s untimely death. Now an orphan,
Raven must do her best to hide her gifts of sight if she’s to survive
the cruel Victorian society she lives in.

However, when a ghost of a child comes to her for help, Raven finds
herself in
the gas lit streets of London, on the trail of a female serial
killer. As she tries to solve the string of murders, she realizes
that the murders are almost identical to those from a case left
unsolved years before she was born.

In a race against time, Raven is thrown into a world she doesn’t know.
With her crush, Tom, now a ghost, her friend, Emmett, now a suspect,
and an uncle who runs illicit groups and hates women, Raven will have

to unravel the mysteries quickly before she becomes their next victim.

 

When she’s not writing, she’s traveling, reading (paranormal, fantasy and
horror being her go to genres) and designing covers for Dark Wish Designs.

November 27th, 1861
I sit at the stool and marvel at the mahogany structure in front of me. Father
converted our spare room into a music room two years ago. Father loves to
play
the piano. I mean, he loved to play the piano and no longer loves, for he no
longer is. Like everyone else in my family, apart from Grandmother and my
uncle, he is dead.
I lift the heavy lid, and a row of ivory keys greet me. Father ensured that our
piano had a cast iron frame installed when it was bought. According to him, it
gives a more powerful sound. Father was a very smart man.
I suck in a deep breath and dangle my legs off the stool. I tap the heels of my
black, shiny shoes together. My feet can almost reach the ground now. Soon, I
will be nine years old, and I will be able to play the piano much better than
Lissy, who lives down the road. Although, her mother doesn’t want her playing
with me anymore. Apparently, I’m weird.
Tears blur my vision as I realise for the first time that I will be turning nine
without Father.
I miss his sparkling blue eyes and “moments of madness,” as Grandmother
called them. Father is…I mean, was, the owner of a wool factory. Father said
that his factory was one of the first to recognise a union, whatever that is, and
his
workers were paid fairly. He was very proud of his factory which is now owned
his adopted brother who I’ve never met. All the workers live in small houses in
our small town of Cogsworth.
I used to sneak off and look at the factory after school. Sparks and flames
would light up the sky that had been darkened by smoke from the chimneys. I
used to watch the children that worked at his factory sit on the old wooden
fence
and eat their dinners before going back to finish their long day.
I look down at my little fingers and wonder if I will be put to work now that
he is dead.
Grandmother says not to worry, that father has left us more than enough
money and that we have enough to last us for the rest of our lives, but I am
much
younger than her.
I must find a good husband when I am grown up. I just hope Grandmother
lives long enough for me to marry. If not, I may end up desperate and poor,
without anything in the world. I am, after all, an orphan now, and world is not
kind to orphans. I know this much from the books I sneak from Grandmother’s
shelves. You see, Grandmother always hides the harsh truths from me, unlike
Father, who always told me the truth, even when I didn’t want to hear it. He
always said that the most important gifts he had been graced with by God were
his integrity and honest tongue.
I look up at the door and smile at him.
“My dear,” my grandmother says crisply. She walks through Father and sits on
the futon. “I know it has been hard with losing both your parents in one year,but
you still have me, and I will always be here for you.”
I give her a “mmm” and hover my fingers over the keys of the piano. I don’t
want to talk about my parent’s deaths right now. I don’t have time. “I am about
to play a song.”
Her thin lips crack into a small smile. She nods for me to play, but the song is
not for her. It is for Father. He has been standing in the doorway waiting for me
to play for almost ten minutes. He is almost transparent and taps his watch,
pushing me to hurry.
What if I do not play my goodbye well enough for him? How can I put all the
words and memories I wished for us to have into just one small song?
I elaborate when she does not leave. “I am playing a song for Father, not you.
I must make sure I get it right. I want to play it only for his ears.”
Her eyes, a paler blue than mine or Father’s, widen. “Raven…” She pauses
and fiddles with the cameo necklace around her neck. “Your father, my poor
son,
is not coming back. He is with God now. I have told you this. You must accept
it.”
I shake my head and look at Father. He tilts his head slightly to the left and
drops his arms to his side.
“No Grandmother. Father is standing right there. He has to go soon, but he is
waiting for me to play for him.”
I press down three keys and hold my breath so I do not tremble. I start the
lullaby that I used to play with Father.
I have decided that it is most appropriate; it will be a goodnight to him and my
life with him.
Grandmother marches over to me and grabs my arm. I miss a note and look up
at her furiously.
“No!” I shout and fall off the stool. I try to wriggle free, but she pulls me
across the cold floorboards.
“No! Grandmother, please. I must finish!”
“Stop being ridiculous, Raven. There are no such things as ghosts.”
I pull down on her fingers and accidentally pull off her wedding ring. I grasp
it in my sweaty palms. I see Father look sadly at us before turning away.
“No! Father, No!”
I look at the door with desperation as he fades away.
“Father!” I scream. Grandmother’s grip remains tight on my arm, and I pull
with all my might. “I hate you. You made him leave.” A lump forms in my throat
as despair grips me. “He’s gone.”
“Enough, child,” she says and tightens her grip.
I kick my legs and scream and scream until my screams are silent. I feel
nothing but rage as I kneel on the floorboards holding Grandmother’s ring.
Suddenly, the room twists around me, and everything fades to black.
The room looks different. The walls are plastered with cream paper instead of
the normal pale blue and gold.
Grandmother sits with my dead grandfather. They both look younger. A boy

plays on the floor with a wooden horse. He is only four of five years old. His
eyes sparkle with the same blue color as Father’s.
Grandmother plays with her wedding ring. I look down at the same ring in my
hand, and my eyebrows knit together.
The boy runs out of the room with a mischievous smile. Grandmother runs
after him, laughing. “Jameson, get back here,” she says through her laughter.
The memory fades from me as I feel the ring topple from my hand onto the
floorboards.
“Raven?”
I open my eyes and look into my Grandmother’s hard expression.
“Raven, are you okay?” Tears have formed in her eyes.
I can feel the pain from where her nails were digging into me. “You seemed
happier when you ran after Father in this room. When he was a boy,” I said in
clarification.
Grandmother’s worried expression is replaced with one I have never seen on
her: fear. “You and your imagination.”
I pick up her ring and give it back to her. I stand up and rub my arm. “I saw it.
He was playing with a wooden horse. I think it was real,” I say. I am as
confused
by the memory as she is. “It felt real.”
The colour leaves her face. “He must have told you about the wooden horse.”
I shake my head.
“This is the last time we can let this happen.” Strands of her hair have freed
themselves from her tight bun and now dangle wildly around her face. “Nora!”
She calls for our maid.
I look at her as she runs in the room, looking flushed. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Take Raven to her room and do not let anyone in the house,” Grandmother
orders.
Nora Bonetta, whose skin is much darker than ours, looks at me curiously. “Is
the child okay?”
Grandmother paces around in a circle. “I have seen this happen before, and it
is happening again. We cannot have another Alice,” she says and stops in front
of me. She pushes me over to Nora. “We must not let her out the house. If
anyone finds out what she is…”
Nora nods, seeming to understand what I do not.
Who is this girl—I have forgotten her name already—that we cannot have
another of, and what am I?

 

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