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Trifles and Folly A Deadly Curiosities Collection by Gail Z. Martin Genre: Urban Fantasy

A collection of nine adventures: Buttons, The Restless Dead, Retribution, Coffin Box, Wicked Dreams, Collector, Bad Memories, Shadow Garden, and Spook House. Cassidy Kincaide runs Trifles & Folly in modern-day Charleston, an antiques and curios shop with a dangerous secret. Cassidy can read the history of objects by touching them and along with her business partners Teag, who has Weaver magic and Sorren, a 600 year-old vampire, they get rid of cursed objects and keep Charleston and the world safe from supernatural threats. An extension of the Deadly Curiosities book series. Revised Edition 2, 2018. Includes an updated cover, minor edits and the BONUS section with three stories chronicling Sorren’s early days: Vanities, The Wild Hunt, and Dark Legacy. Goodreads * Amazon

Trifles and Folly 2 A Deadly Curiosities Collection

Cassidy Kincaide runs Trifles & Folly in modern-day Charleston, an antiques and curios shop with a dangerous secret. Cassidy can read the history of objects by touching them and together with Teag (a hacker and weaver witch) and Sorren, a 600 year-old vampire, they get rid of cursed objects and keep Charleston and the world safe from supernatural threats. An extension of the Deadly Curiosities urban fantasy novel series, this collection contains three full novellas and four short stories: The Final Death, Predator, Fair Game, Fatal Invitation, Redcap, Bloodlines, plus three bonus stories: Among the Shoals Forever, The Low Road, and Steer a Pale Course. Goodreads * Amazon

Gail Z. Martin discovered her passion for science fiction, fantasy and ghost stories in elementary school. The first story she wroteat age fivewas about a vampire. Her favorite TV show as a preschooler was Dark Shadows. At age 14, she decided to become a writer. She enjoys attending science fiction/fantasy conventions, Renaissance fairs and living history sites. She is married and has three children, a Himalayan cat, a Maltese and a golden retriever. Website * Newsletter* Facebook * Pinterest * Twitter * Goodreads * Amazon

Coffin Box

“I DON’T KNOW why, but I’ve really got a bad feeling about that house.” I sat in the car parked at
the curb near the big house on the Battery.
“Bad feeling like they won’t pay their bill, or bad feeling like there’s a hungry demon
inside?” Teag Logan asked.
I shook my head. “Not sure, but if I had to put money on it, I’d go with the demon.”
Most people would be kidding. Teag knew I wasn’t. I’m Cassidy Kincaide, owner of Trifles
and Folly, an antique and curio shop in historic, haunted Charleston, SC. Neither Teag nor I are
entirely what we seem, and that holds true for the shop as well.
I’m a psychometric, which means I can often read the history of objects by touching them.
Teag has Weaver magic, an ability to weave spells into cloth and to weave data streams—like
the Internet—making him an awesome hacker. He’s my best friend, sometime bodyguard and
assistant store manager. I’m the latest in a very long line of relatives to manage Trifles and Folly
in the 350 years the store has existed, but we’ve all had the same silent partner, a nearly six-
hundred-year-old vampire named Sorren, and the same mission: to get dangerous magical items
off the market and out of the wrong hands. Most of the time, we succeed. When we fail, people
die and really bad things happen.
“How do you want to handle this?” Teag asked.
I drew a deep breath. “We go in, and see what’s what. Then we figure it out from there.” My
magic is touch-psychic, not clairvoyance, so I can’t see the future, much as I would sometimes
like to.
The house was large, old, and expensive. Most of the homes on the Battery hailed from
before the Civil War. Many of the houses are painted in the muted pastels most people associate
with places like Bermuda and Nassau. Some of the families who owned these homes had been
here since the mansions were built. The houses are beautiful, and tourists flock to see them. But
as much as I admire their beauty, I try not to spend a lot of time down at the Battery for the
simple reason that it creeps me out.

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The skiff shoved off, disappearing into the fog that had settled in wisps on the
dark waters of Granville Harbor. Zoé and her uncle began to walk down the wharf toward
the quay when a small boat carrying three men emerged out of the fog and pulled up
alongside them. She recognized the two men at the oars as crew from la Reine Noire.
Behind them in the stern knelt Freddie, beckoning to her.
“’Tis Freddie!” she said, her spirits lifting at the sight of her friend.
“Get in!” he implored.
“Be quick,” said her uncle, directing her to the wooden steps built into the side of
the wharf that ran down to the water.
She climbed down to the rowing boat and her uncle followed. He was nearly to
the end of the steps when shouts from the wharf drew their attention.
“Vous, là! Halt in the name of the Republic!” The musket-bearing soldier strode
toward them, his boots loud on the wooden planks. A short distance away, a half-dozen
soldiers hurried to join him.
Her uncle ascended the stairs, pulling a pistol from his coat, and fired. The soldier
stumbled and fell to the wharf.
Racing down the stairs, her uncle leapt into the boat. “Vite, away!”
The two crewmen pulled hard at the oars.
Freddie drew his pistol.
The cluster of republican soldiers knelt at the edge of the wharf, took aim and
commenced spewing shot toward their small boat. Zoé crouched low as the balls whizzed
over her head and the loud crack of pistols and musket fire exploded around her.
Freddie and her uncle returned fire.
The crew pressed into the oars and the boat slipped into the fog. Her uncle
subsided onto the bench in the bow, stuffing his pistols into his coat pockets.
Zoé cast a long look toward the lights on the receding quay. The sound of muskets
still firing echoed in the mist.
One of the soldiers shouted, “I told you he was the one! That was le porc who cut
Pierre.”
Her uncle shook his head. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
Zoé turned her gaze away from the shore. Finally, the shots died, leaving only the
rhythmic sound of the oars pulling through the water. “Dieu merci, at least ’tis over.”
“Oui, for now,” said her uncle. “We have West to thank for our lives.”
One of the crew pulling at the oars glanced over his shoulder. “The Englishman
has been shot, I think.”
Zoé looked behind the seamen. In the darkness, it was difficult to see but she
could just make out Freddie’s form slumped in the stern. “Freddie!”
A FIERCE WIND, Copyright © 2018 Regan Walker