A Ghost on Every Corner by Dawn Colclasure

NEW RELEASE SEPTEMBER 1, 2014!

A Ghost on Every Corner by Dawn Colclasure

#gypsyshadow #hauntedplaces #paranormal

http://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Every-Corner-Dawn-Colclasure-ebook/dp/B00N7S1IBC

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-ghost-on-every-corner-dawn-colclasure/1120256979

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/472374

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/DawnColclasure.html#GhostCorner

New Ghost Book Contains Stories from Paranormal Investigators Reporting from the (Haunted) Trenches. A Ghost on Every Corner by Dawn Colclasure. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/DawnColclasure.html#GhostCorner

There’s a ghost town then there’s a “ghost” town! A Ghost on Every Corner is a collection of stories from paranormal investigators who have done investigations in some of America’s most haunted cities. Read about the ghost haunting a restaurant in Galena, Illinois, or about a Gettysburg Battlefield ghost who follows an investigator home! There’s also Marilyn Monroe’s ghost haunting the famous Roosevelt Hotel, a ghost violently attacking an investigator at the Sallie House and the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe’s adoptive father angrily pushing an investigator down the stairs! You’ll also get to read historical (as well as ghostly!) information about places such as The Alamo, Myrtles Plantation and the famous BirdCage Theater. Walk with investigators located across the country as they gather evidence about ghosts and go where no other would dare to tread!

Word Count: 110000

Pages to Print: 393    /360 Print

Price: $5.99    Coming in Print, too!

EXCERPT:

Introduction

The atmosphere in the pub seems calm. Bar patrons converse with each other, gratefully sipping their brews and reminiscing of times gone by. Talk about work holds the attention of customers seated along the bar, as the faint sound of country music plays in the background.

The jovial mood is broken when a stranger bursts through the door. Eyes wide and hands shaking, he recounts how he’s just driven along a certain stretch of road and encountered what appeared to be a hitchhiker. He picked up the hitchhiker, and they continued along the barren dirt road, making idle chit-chat. During the course of their conversation, the driver turned to see that his passenger had suddenly vanished.

Disappeared. Without a trace.

Instead of reacting with shock or alarm at this tale, the bar patrons shrug it off and go about their conversations. Only after some desperate prodding of the barkeeper does the stranger learn this kind of thing is common in their town.

. . . Because, you see, it’s filled with ghosts, and everybody has grown accustomed to spectral encounters.

By definition, a ghost town is a city or town that has been abandoned. Ghost towns are usually envisioned as places where you’ll find barely-there houses, vacant streets and rundown buildings that once served as places of business.

However, there are bustling cities and towns that are literally ghost towns. Haunted cities abound throughout the world, and it seems everywhere you turn in such a city, someone has a good ghost story to share. The only difference between their stories and what you hear around a campfire is that theirs are true.

Why are cities haunted? There are several factors that can cause a whole city or town to burst at the seams with paranormal activity. A town may be haunted because of unique variables. What may seem like a harmless, innocent prank that ends up going wrong can open a Pandora’s Box of ghosts and hauntings. Or, in cases such as the Bell Witch, someone might curse an entire town and thereby incite ghostly occurrences.

Another reason a town or city may be haunted is historical events. Cities such as Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and Appomattox, Virginia, were the sites of battles that took the lives of many brave soldiers. Ghosts from the past still linger in such places, often seen in full uniform, reenacting the roles they played in history. Or the city may have suffered an outbreak of an epidemic disease that killed many of its residents, like the yellow fever epidemic in Memphis in 1878.

A town or city may be haunted because of where it is built. Any city built on an ancient Native American burial ground is a prime candidate for being a haunted city. If it’s built on the site of bloodshed or where tragedy occurred, then it is also possible the whole city or town will be visited by ghosts.

From time to time, a city or town will be labeled haunted more because of urban legends and rumors than for actually having ghostly residents alongside the living ones. Another reason may be the presence of one or two famous haunted sites—the Amityville Horror house, for example. These are not the places you will find in this book. The towns and cities offered here are actual, bona fide ghost towns rife with ghostly encounters and haunted locations, with residents willing to share true ghost stories. Cities where it’s not uncommon to discover the woman standing next to you on the corner is a ghost.

It’s not just the residents of a ghost town who have spooky stories to share, however. Paranormal investigators are the folks who confront haunted cities head-on. They investigate reports and make it their mission to get the facts about just what’s up with these locations. The evidence they collect may prove a true haunting is taking place and add to the city’s credentials as a real ghost town.

One surprising thing about haunted cities is that there are so many of them. As a result, not all have been included in this book. If you don’t find a particular notably haunted city here, rest assured it will likely appear in a future volume. For that reason, the author welcomes contact from paranormal groups and residents of a haunted city or town.

Because paranormal investigators have shared stories in their own words, the occasional bit of jargon or ghost talk is included in their stories. A glossary of terms used by investigators is located in Appendix A. You will also learn more about their tools and equipment in Appendix B.

While it is the author’s wish to share stories straight from the mouths of investigators, this was not possible for every case. On the one hand, in some cases, several different witnesses needed to be interviewed and more research, and information gathered independently for a story. On the other hand, many investigators felt more at ease discussing their cases through interviews, and the information they provided was then compiled by the author. All stories originating directly from investigators are noted as such.

Some of the locations discussed in this book are private property, and exploring them without the express permission of the owners is trespassing. Professionals don’t trespass, and for those who are simply curious, we ask that you consider how you’d feel if strangers suddenly invaded your home without invitation, before you go exploring.

When this book was in the early stages, I was amazed to discover that there were so many stories associated with so many actual ghost towns. It made me wonder: What’s it like to live in a haunted city? What kind of ghostly encounters take place there? How do local residents manage to live peacefully and happily alongside their ghostly neighbors? This book helps uncover the answers to those questions.

Chapter 1

Tombstone, Arizona

Say the city name Tombstone and probably the first thing that comes to the minds of many people is Wyatt Earp and the famous gunfight at the O.K. Corral. This Arizona city, founded in 1879, does indeed have a rich history of outlaw gunslingers fighting lawmen during the days of the Old West, but it is also widely recognized as one of the most haunted cities in America.

Aside from shootouts among the outlaws creating fear and anxiety among residents, there were also mining disasters, fires and lynchings. Violence and murder got to be so bad in Tombstone at one point that then-President Chester Arthur nearly sent the military to restore order to Tombstone.

Because of this violent and tragic history, it’s no surprise that many people today believe that Tombstone is haunted. The ghost of Marshal Fred White, who was accidentally shot by Curly Bill Brocius, a leader of the Cowboys, then later died of his injuries. White has been seen in front of what is today the Birdcage Theatre, where the shooting took place in 1880. The ghost of who many believe to be Virgil Earp has been seen crossing a road—though he never officially makes it to the other side. A ghostly figure who many believe to be the warrior Cochise has been seen playing a flute at the Cochise Stronghold State Park.

Ghosts have also been seen or made themselves known at various restaurants, motels, homes, bars and even Boot Hill Cemetery. Tombstone has been featured as a haunted city in books, TV shows and on various web sites. There is even a Tombstone Ghost Tour that will delight visitors with historical information and real ghost stories.

If you want to visit one of the most haunted towns in America, the city of Tombstone is definitely a ghosty town that will not disappoint.

Marissa's Surprise by Shiloh Darke

NEW RELEASE AUGUST 26!

Marissa's Surprise by Shiloh Darke

#gypsyshadow #eroticromance #series

http://www.amazon.com/Marissas-Surprise-Celestial-Abductions-Book-ebook/dp/B00N2HQNU4

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/marissas-surprise-shiloh-darke/1120210366           

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470646

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Shiloh.html#Marissa                               

His only chance to help save his world lies in the hands of a human woman. But dare he hope love might bloom between them? Marissa's Surprise by Shiloh Darke. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Shiloh.html#Marissa                               

                               

The first time Marissa saw him, she was training for the Olympics in the depths of the Sea. He was there for a moment, then she lost sight of him when he vanished beneath the waves.

Two years later, she has suffered some losses and is only beginning to refocus on her goals. Thoughts of her fleeting meeting with the man from the water still haunt her. When she’s abducted by an alien, she is illogically worried she may never see him again. Little does she know, he’s not from the ocean; he isn’t even from Earth.

Word Count: 18600

Pages to Print: 59

File Format: PDF

Price: $ 3.99    /2.41    /3.02

EXCERPT:

Prologue

Two years prior to when the abductions occurred

Savryk circled the portal, using his powerful tail to gain momentum. The vortex between the sister planets opened only once every few cycles, so his time was limited. The survival of his species depended on the chance that this planet held women whose DNA could be easily modified to enable them to survive within the waters of Meridia.

His brother of blood had undergone the appropriate tests to see if the land-dwelling females here could bear offspring with the Meridia races. Once the seed had taken root in the incubators, he had known the only thing left was to see if the race from Earth ever ventured into the waters of their world.

With one mighty dive, the Merman swam through the portal. The oceans of Earth were similar to the oceans of Meridia. But if the women there never set foot in their water, then Savryk knew he and his brothers of the depths were doomed.

As he swam out of the coral that protected the entrance to his world from prying eyes, he took notice of the creatures who occupied this sister ocean. Almost immediately, a school of dolphins approached him, curious about his existence. He watched them warily a moment, but couldn’t help smiling when they greeted him and joined him on his journey toward the surface of the water.

He could tell by the shallowness of the ocean floor, land was not far away. He couldn’t risk being seen, for obvious reasons: blue tinted skin, along with a tail would be very hard to play off as normal on this world. Luckily, his eyes could see easily at far distances, so he would only need to see if they were swimmers.

As he neared the surface, the dolphins, who bore close resemblance to the creatures his world called Pheldorns, sprang from the ocean, soaring powerfully out of the water and splashing each other as they did. He watched them frolic for a few minutes while he worked up his courage to surface and find out if there were any of what the Slavers referred to as humans, playing in or around the water.

Slowly, he broke through with gentle strokes, only rising above enough to let his eyes see. He stared intently at the sandy beach and the men, women and children who played there. Hope filled him as he saw women and children not only running through the shallows, but also some people, further out, swimming. They lacked the tail that he was able to grow when in water, but they still swam.

He was so excited by his discovery that he didn’t notice the girl until she spoke. “Are you okay? What’s the blue stuff; some kind of sun screen?”

Startled, he turned toward the voice, only to come face to face with the most beautiful female he had ever seen. Her hair, which he’d been told about, was light colored, even when it was wet, and floated in the water around the girl as she moved slowly closer to him. Her eyes were a deep color of blue. He could understand her speech, but he knew she would not understand him if he were to speak, so he remained silent, and simply nodded. If she thought it was sunscreen, maybe he could spend a few more moments in her presence.

She waited for his answer, but when he said nothing, she tried again. “Do you not speak English? I’m surprised to see anyone besides myself out this far from the beach.” She seemed to contemplate him for a moment before her face brightened.

“Are you training for the Olympics too? I have two more years to get ready, and I figure if I can master these waves before then, it’ll improve my time in the pools.” She chattered as he watched her in silent fascination. “I’ve also been working on holding my breath underwater. I’m up to three minutes if I’m swimming and almost six if I’m just hovering.”

When his eyebrow rose in response to her words, she took it to mean he didn’t believe her. “Oh, you think I’m lying, don’t you? Well, here! I’ll show you! Watch!”

~~~

Savryk watched in a mixture of horror and fascination as she pulled what looked to be some kind of protective eye covers over her eyes and took a deep breath before plunging beneath the surface. His eyes widened as he realized he only had a matter of seconds before she knew he was not like her. Panic filled him, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her company. Instead, he waited for the hysteria that was bound to overwhelm her. He reasoned with himself that if she passed out from what she discovered, he couldn’t leave her defenseless. She could drown.

She had sunk below the water and began mentally counting. She was good at this. He would have no choice but to believe her when she resurfaced, because he would have witnessed her talent firsthand. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around. The ocean was pretty clear out here and easy to see, as long as you used goggles.

She had her face turned to the side, but she was curious as to whether this man had put the blue sun screen over his entire body. However, when she turned to look at his legs, she found them strangely missing. Instead, there was a large fishtail. At least, that’s what she thought it was. She had heard of people who practiced swimming wearing suits that covered their lower bodies with long back fins that helped to steer their way through the water, but she had never seen one.

Her curiosity got the best of her, and she found herself reaching out to touch the suit. She had to remind herself not to breathe at her discovery. She knew what she felt was most definitely flesh under her touch instead of any kind of waterproof fabric. She stroked the tail for a moment as if trying to wake herself up from what she was afraid was only a delusion.

~~~

When he felt her hand, not only touching his tail but also stoking it, he closed his eyes. He could just take her; claim her for himself and swim through the portal with her in his arms. No one need ever be the wiser. He could claim her, breed her, and they would have children before the end of the Season. The desire to do just that was almost overwhelming.

He stayed stock still, breathing slowly as she seemed to be exploring him. She was being so gentle it was almost a kind of torture to him. She obviously wasn’t really panicking too terribly. He couldn’t imagine she would be spending so much time below the water, touching him if she was truly scared.

He was debating silently with himself when her hand slid slowly across the flesh fold that covered his genitals. Immediately, he felt them stir in response to her touch. Unnerved, he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing her hand and pulling her up.

When she surfaced, he reached out and yanked the goggles off her face, eliciting a startled squeak from her. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Please forgive me.” She spoke hurriedly, and Savryk shook his head as he found himself unwilling to let her go.

By all rights, she should be screaming and trying to put as much distance from him as she could manage. Instead, here she was apologizing and asking if she had hurt him. He gripped her arms with both his hands and held her closer than he should, but she didn’t seem to mind.

When she finally stopped speaking, she bit her bottom lip and seemed to think over her words before she asked, “Is that real?” Her voice was soft, and Savryk found himself mesmerized by both her beauty and her voice.

He knew she would not understand his words. She did not have the Nanos that had only been in use in his galaxy for a little over the last few centuries. He answered her the only way he could. Nodding his head, he was still reluctant to let her go. She might try to flee and he just couldn’t bear to part with her yet. She was the most amazing creature he had ever seen.

She offered him a shy smile. “My name is Marissa Prince. I love to swim. I’ve been swimming since I was old enough to get in a pool.” Her smile grew and she giggled. “Is this for real? I’m talking to an honest to goodness real life Merman. I must either be dreaming or I’m the luckiest girl in the world!”

Savryk fought an internal battle within himself. He was breathing in the sweet fragrance of her pheromones. It was a unique scent the men of his race could smell only when in the presence of a potential mate. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and swim swiftly back through the portal and claim her as his bride, right now.

The desire to do so almost overwhelmed him, but he fought it as he returned her gaze. She was still too young for him to claim. Even in his own world, it would be forbidden for him to take her as a mate. She was close to reaching maturity, but he knew she was not yet ready.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and stroked her cheek for a moment. Her eyes held his, and she smiled. Steeling himself, he moved back from her and turned, diving back into the depths of the ocean and making his way swiftly to the portal before he changed his mind and did something he knew would be a violation of everything he believed.

His mind repeated her name over and over in his head; Marissa Prince. He would remember her. If it was at all possible, he would request the Slavers take her when the time came. He was already desperate for her. He had to have her. He’d ask forgiveness later. If he was truly lucky, she would find a way to forgive him.

A Fragile Ghost by Violetta Antcliff

NEW RELEASE AUGUST 3, 2014!

A Fragile Ghost by Violetta Antcliff

#gypsyshadow #ghost #shortstory

http://www.amazon.com/Fragile-Ghost-Violetta-Antcliff-ebook/dp/B00ME2SYQO

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-fragile-ghost-violetta-antcliff/1120052750

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/464184

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Violetta.html#Fragile

Alone in a haunted house, Emma faces the wrath of an evil spirit whose dark secret she's uncovered. A Fragile Ghost by Violetta Antcliff. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Violetta.html#Fragile

                               

Collingwood Manor drew Emma like a magnet; after her first visit she couldn't keep away. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, and until she'd spent a night on her own in the Manor house, she'd have argued they didn't exist. However, after coming face to face with a troubled spirit, and feeling the evil presence of another, she soon changes her mind. The Manor house has a dark secret, and Emma is determined to find out what it ss. Befriending one fragile little spirit and facing the hostile wrath of another was her intention. But now she has, she can't and won't, back down.

Word Count: 10154

Pages to Print: 23

Price: $3.99

EXCERPT:

A full moon shining through a barred window caused shadows to dance high on the walls of the room. Emma shivered, and tucked the scarf she’d been given into the collar of her jacket.

Harry had unwound the scarf from his own neck and placed it round hers, minutes before locking her in the filthy, vermin-infested room. She could still smell his manliness on the gift, and somehow it gave her comfort.

Apart from a broken down bedstead, the room was empty of furniture. On the floor next to the bed, a candle leaned precariously in an empty tin can.

Emma squinted at her wristwatch and sighed; there were still ten hours to go before someone would come to unbolt the door and let her out.

She heard footsteps on the landing outside and the door knob rattled; she knew it was Harry checking up on her.

“Now you’ve seen the room, do you still want to go through with it?” he asked.

Emma was sorely tempted to say, No I don’t; I’ve changed my mind. Let me out, but she didn’t. Instead she said simply, “Go away, I told you I’d do it, so just leave me alone. Let me get on with it.” She sounded braver than she felt.

She heard Harry’s retreating footsteps, sensed his slight hesitation before he descended the creaking, rickety stairs, going back the way he’d come.

Sat hunched on the bed in the deafening silence, Emma recalled the events that had led up to the bizarre situation she now found herself in.

She brought to mind the retirement party thrown for the undermanager of the city store where she worked. Drinks had flowed and during the course of the evening, tongues had loosened and things had been said that, perhaps, would have been better left unsaid.

She knew she would have to do some apologising when she returned to work after the weekend. Telling her boss to keep his hands to himself or she’d have him up for sexual harassment hadn’t gone down well.

Tom, her boyfriend, had berated her in front of everybody, told her she’d be lucky if she had a job to go back to on Monday, if she didn’t apologise immediately.

This had made her angry. Boss or no boss, she’d spat, I’m not going to let him get away with patting my bottom and trying to peer down the front of my dress.

Tom had said she was an idiot, and she had told him to get lost.

Eve, a girl who worked in the millinery department of the store, warned her she’d lose Tom if she wasn’t careful.

She had responded with a couldn’t care less shrug of the shoulder and walked away to join in a heated discussion about the supernatural taking place in another part of the room. Tom had tried to drag her away, and for the second time she’d told him to get lost.

That was how it had all started, she’d pooh-poohed the idea there were such things as ghosts and zombies, and when she’d been challenged to spend a night on her own in a haunted house, she’d accepted.

It was the reason she now sat shivering in a derelict building on the outskirts of town, in the room that was supposed to be the most haunted in the house.

Collingwood Manor had been left to the country by its previous owner, Lord Baverstock. Over the years, due to neglect, it had fallen into disrepair and there was now talk of it being demolished.

The manor house had a reputation of being one of the most haunted buildings in the midlands. Allegations a wailing ghost haunted the place went undisputed. And it was common knowledge that both squatters and Romanies gave the place a wide berth.

The GHOST Group, Books 1 & 2 by Dawn Colclasure

NEW IN PRINT, JULY 1, 2014!

The GHOST Group, Books 1 & 2 by Dawn Colclasure

#gypsyshadow #paranormal #middlegrade

http://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Group-Books-Dawn-Colclasure/dp/1619502097 (Print)

http://www.amazon.com/The-GHOST-Group-Book-Two-ebook/dp/B00K2F48T2

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-ghost-group-2-dawn-colclasure/1119395571

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/434199

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/DawnColclasure.html#GHOSTGroup2

Second Book in Middle Grade Paranormal Mystery Series Combines Ghost Dog Story with April Fool Hijinks. The GHOST Group 2 by Dawn Colclasure. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/DawnColclasure.html#GHOSTGroup2

There’s something different about Sarah Town. It’s brimming with ghosts—and some of those ghosts need help! That’s where the GHOST Group comes in—the Ghost Helpers of Sarah Town. The GHOST Group is made up of five 11-year-old team members: Jesse, Jenny, Ryan, Trent, and Cassie.

Four delightful and spooky tales to thrill and delight you:
The Ghost of Sarah Travers
The Ghost of the Crying Valentine
The Ghost of the Irish Setter
The Ghost of the Missing Hiker

EXCERPT:

The Ghost of the Irish Setter

Chapter One

Close Call

If there was one thing that could be said about Deanna Foster, it was this: She was not much of a cook. Jenny winced at the thought, recalling the many times her mother had served something burnt or unrecognizable for dinner. Good thing usually her dad did most of the cooking or they ate takeout. “Not much” was putting it delicately.

Oh, sure, her mom could make toast—when she didn’t burn it. And she could also figure out how to get the microwave to work to nuke something for them to eat—on a good day.

But put her in front of a stove or tell her how to bake something in the oven, and all of a sudden, she turned clueless. You might as well have been trying to explain to her how to perform brain surgery; it was uncharted territory to her.

So of course Jenny had been surprised when she noticed her mother looking through a bunch of cookbooks, searching for some recipe or another. When Jenny noticed what kind of cookbooks they were, it all made sense: Cookbooks for Irish meals.

Irish. Of course. This was March, after all, and the St. Patrick’s Day Festival—a big deal in Sarah Town—was coming up. Every year, her mother made some kind of dish for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival, and every year they all got to read about it in the newspaper the next day when people got sick or had to be rushed to the hospital from food poisoning.

Okay, maybe that last thought was an exaggeration. But, yeah, her mom and cooking just didn’t mesh. Still, her mom was never say die with that kinda thing. Proof: The many sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen for hours, the occasional screams of frustration or the sounds of crying and praying coming from behind the kitchen door.

Jenny frowned, looking down at the picture she’d been quietly working on the whole time her mom had been in the kitchen. She didn’t try to force herself to do something for the festival that she knew she wasn’t good at; instead, she did something she did know she was good at. She created art.

She held up the poster, admiring the picture she’d made. And it was a pretty good picture, too, she had to admit. She’d written Happy St. Patrick’s Day! in the center, drew a dancing leprechaun under that, then created a shower of shamrocks all over the top, with some of them circling the words in the center of the drawing as they came down around it.

“Ta-da!”

Jenny looked in the direction of the sound as she placed her picture back down on the table.

“I’ve done it!” her mother declared, holding a plate of food in one hand and holding her other hand up as though she were praising the heavens. “Corned beef, cabbage and potatoes! The perfect dish for St. Patrick’s Day!”

Jenny winced. “Yuck. I’ll take Foods I Never Want to Eat for $200, Alex.”

“Well, eat it, anyway,” her mother said, walking over to place the plate of food onto the table in front of her. Jenny swallowed the puke that came rushing to her mouth at the sight of the disgusting food.

“This is the dish I’m making for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival,” her mother said, smiling. “And I need a taste tester.”

Jenny looked up at her. “Hey, Mom, why don’t you ask Dad to taste it for you? He’s the best taste tester in the world!”

Her mother didn’t say anything. All she did was heap that green and brown stuff up on a fork and hold it up to Jenny’s mouth.

Alarm bells screeched in Jenny’s head. Little people in charge of the Tasting Department frantically ran around, trying to control the chaos of impending doom. “Full alert!” one screeched. “Disgusting food about to enter the mouth! Batten down the hatches!”

“Taste it,” her mother encouraged. “Please?”

A knock sounded at the door. Jenny’s mother handed her the fork. “Here. I’ll be right back.” She turned around to walk out of the room.

Jenny made a face as she held the food up in front of her mouth. It smelled almost as bad as it looked! What excuse could she come up with to avoid eating this stuff? Tell her mother she was allergic to brown and green food?

No, that wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t be able to eat hamburgers or bacon in front of her mother again.

Maybe she could pretend the food she inched closer to her mouth was a nice juicy hamburger. Yes, that was it. Just a thick juicy burger with ketchup and lettuce and . . .

“Jenny! Cassie’s here.”

Jenny lowered the fork and let out a huge breath of relief. She hopped off the chair, ran from the table to leave the room, then ran back to where she’d been sitting to look up. “Thank you,” she whispered. She turned to run out of the room again.

“I smell food,” Cassie said, sniffing the air as she walked into Jenny’s house.

Jenny smiled at her friend. “And you just saved me from eating it, too. Mom’s practicing her dish for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival.”

Cassie frowned. “Are you guys Irish?”

Jenny shrugged. “How should I know? But I guess everybody's Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.”

Cassie chuckled. “My house smells like bread. I guess both our moms are making something for the festival.”

“Do you think Ryan’s mom will make anything? I know they are Irish.”

Cassie laughed. “Ryan’s mom isn’t much of a cook. She’ll probably grab something from the bakery. Have you found any new ghost cases for us yet?”

Jenny frowned, shaking her head. “Not yet.”

“Well, maybe something will turnip.” Cassie laughed.

Jenny only shook her head. Why on earth was Cassie bringing up turnips? And why did she use it in a sentence that way?

“Get it? Turnip? Turn up?” Cassie asked. When Jenny only stared at her, Cassie placed her arms on her hips. “Well! We were talking about food!”

Jenny forced a laugh. “Oh, right. I get it. Funny.”

Jenny walked over to the table, ignoring the horrible food still on the plate, and carefully removed her picture as though she were Indiana Jones removing the idol from the pedestal. She hurried away with her creation, a chill racing down her spine as thoughts of a giant ball of corned beef rolling behind her tugged at her mind; she paused until her friend caught up, grabbed Cassie’s hand and pulled her into her bedroom. Only after the threat of eating disgusting food was averted did she turn to Cassie and sigh. “Phew! We’re safe!”

Cassie laughed. “What was that about?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jenny replied, shaking her head. She smiled, remembering her poster. “Check out this poster I made!” She held her creation up for Cassie to see.

Cassie looked it over, her eyes widening. “Wow! That’s pretty good!”

“Thanks,” Jenny said, smiling.

The GHOST Group Book Two by Dawn Colclasure

NEW RELEASE MAY 1, 2014!

The GHOST Group Book Two by Dawn Colclasure

#gypsyshadow #paranormal #middlegrade

http://www.amazon.com/The-GHOST-Group-Book-Two-ebook/dp/B00K2F48T2

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-ghost-group-2-dawn-colclasure/1119395571

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/434199

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/DawnColclasure.html#GHOSTGroup2

Second Book in Middle Grade Paranormal Mystery Series Combines Ghost Dog Story with April Fool Hijinks. The GHOST Group 2 by Dawn Colclasure. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/DawnColclasure.html#GHOSTGroup2

There’s something different about Sarah Town. It’s brimming with ghosts – and some of those ghosts need help! That’s where the GHOST Group comes in – the Ghost Helpers of Sarah Town. The GHOST Group is made up of five 11-year-old team members: Jesse, Jenny, Ryan, Trent, and Cassie.

The Ghost of the Irish Setter is a “ghost dog” story where team member Jesse must come to terms with losing his dog, Lolly, after she ran away. A ghost dog that is an Irish setter seeks Jesse’s help, but when the rest of the GHOST Group join the case, it becomes a matter of life or death after Cassie and Ryan are kidnapped! Can the GHOST Group help the ghost dog? And can Jesse find out what really happened to Lolly?

In The Ghost of the Missing Hiker, a day of April Fool’s hijinks turn into another mystery for the GHOST Group. Meanwhile, the group's helper ghost, Adam, has some bad news for the team, and Jenny realizes she must accept her special gift and learn how to use it so she can help other ghosts in Sarah Town.

Word Count: 31700

Pages to Print: 135

Price: $4.99

EXCERPT:

The Ghost of the Irish Setter

Chapter One

Close Call

If there was one thing that could be said about Deanna Foster, it was this: She was not much of a cook. Jenny winced at the thought, recalling the many times her mother had served something burnt or unrecognizable for dinner. Good thing usually her dad did most of the cooking or they ate takeout. “Not much” was putting it delicately.

Oh, sure, her mom could make toast—when she didn’t burn it. And she could also figure out how to get the microwave to work to nuke something for them to eat—on a good day.

But put her in front of a stove or tell her how to bake something in the oven, and all of a sudden, she turned clueless. You might as well have been trying to explain to her how to perform brain surgery; it was uncharted territory to her.

So of course Jenny had been surprised when she noticed her mother looking through a bunch of cookbooks, searching for some recipe or another. When Jenny noticed what kind of cookbooks they were, it all made sense: Cookbooks for Irish meals.

Irish. Of course. This was March, after all, and the St. Patrick’s Day Festival—a big deal in Sarah Town—was coming up. Every year, her mother made some kind of dish for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival, and every year they all got to read about it in the newspaper the next day when people got sick or had to be rushed to the hospital from food poisoning.

Okay, maybe that last thought was an exaggeration. But, yeah, her mom and cooking just didn’t mesh. Still, her mom was never say die with that kinda thing. Proof: The many sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen for hours, the occasional screams of frustration or the sounds of crying and praying coming from behind the kitchen door.

Jenny frowned, looking down at the picture she’d been quietly working on the whole time her mom had been in the kitchen. She didn’t try to force herself to do something for the festival that she knew she wasn’t good at; instead, she did something she did know she was good at. She created art.

She held up the poster, admiring the picture she’d made. And it was a pretty good picture, too, she had to admit. She’d written Happy St. Patrick’s Day! in the center, drew a dancing leprechaun under that, then created a shower of shamrocks all over the top, with some of them circling the words in the center of the drawing as they came down around it.

“Ta-da!”

Jenny looked in the direction of the sound as she placed her picture back down on the table.

“I’ve done it!” her mother declared, holding a plate of food in one hand and holding her other hand up as though she were praising the heavens. “Corned beef, cabbage and potatoes! The perfect dish for St. Patrick’s Day!”

Jenny winced. “Yuck. I’ll take Foods I Never Want to Eat for $200, Alex.”

“Well, eat it, anyway,” her mother said, walking over to place the plate of food onto the table in front of her. Jenny swallowed the puke that came rushing to her mouth at the sight of the disgusting food.

“This is the dish I’m making for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival,” her mother said, smiling. “And I need a taste tester.”

Jenny looked up at her. “Hey, Mom, why don’t you ask Dad to taste it for you? He’s the best taste tester in the world!”

Her mother didn’t say anything. All she did was heap that green and brown stuff up on a fork and hold it up to Jenny’s mouth.

Alarm bells screeched in Jenny’s head. Little people in charge of the Tasting Department frantically ran around, trying to control the chaos of impending doom. “Full alert!” one screeched. “Disgusting food about to enter the mouth! Batten down the hatches!”

“Taste it,” her mother encouraged. “Please?”

A knock sounded at the door. Jenny’s mother handed her the fork. “Here. I’ll be right back.” She turned around to walk out of the room.

Jenny made a face as she held the food up in front of her mouth. It smelled almost as bad as it looked! What excuse could she come up with to avoid eating this stuff? Tell her mother she was allergic to brown and green food?

No, that wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t be able to eat hamburgers or bacon in front of her mother again.

Maybe she could pretend the food she inched closer to her mouth was a nice juicy hamburger. Yes, that was it. Just a thick juicy burger with ketchup and lettuce and . . .

“Jenny! Cassie’s here.”

Jenny lowered the fork and let out a huge breath of relief. She hopped off the chair, ran from the table to leave the room, then ran back to where she’d been sitting to look up. “Thank you,” she whispered. She turned to run out of the room again.

“I smell food,” Cassie said, sniffing the air as she walked into Jenny’s house.

Jenny smiled at her friend. “And you just saved me from eating it, too. Mom’s practicing her dish for the St. Patrick’s Day Festival.”

Cassie frowned. “Are you guys Irish?”

Jenny shrugged. “How should I know? But I guess everybody's Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.”

Cassie chuckled. “My house smells like bread. I guess both our moms are making something for the festival.”

“Do you think Ryan’s mom will make anything? I know they are Irish.”

Cassie laughed. “Ryan’s mom isn’t much of a cook. She’ll probably grab something from the bakery. Have you found any new ghost cases for us yet?”

Jenny frowned, shaking her head. “Not yet.”

“Well, maybe something will turnip.” Cassie laughed.

Jenny only shook her head. Why on earth was Cassie bringing up turnips? And why did she use it in a sentence that way?

“Get it? Turnip? Turn up?” Cassie asked. When Jenny only stared at her, Cassie placed her arms on her hips. “Well! We were talking about food!”

Jenny forced a laugh. “Oh, right. I get it. Funny.”

Jenny walked over to the table, ignoring the horrible food still on the plate, and carefully removed her picture as though she were Indiana Jones removing the idol from the pedestal. She hurried away with her creation, a chill racing down her spine as thoughts of a giant ball of corned beef rolling behind her tugged at her mind; she paused until her friend caught up, grabbed Cassie’s hand and pulled her into her bedroom. Only after the threat of eating disgusting food was averted did she turn to Cassie and sigh. “Phew! We’re safe!”

Cassie laughed. “What was that about?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jenny replied, shaking her head. She smiled, remembering her poster. “Check out this poster I made!” She held her creation up for Cassie to see.

Cassie looked it over, her eyes widening. “Wow! That’s pretty good!”

“Thanks,” Jenny said, smiling.

The Wrath of Leah by G. E. Stills

NEW RELEASE APRIL 1, 2014

The Wrath of Leah by G. E. Stills

#gypsyshadow #fantasy #romance

http://www.amazon.com/The-Wrath-Leah-G-Stills-ebook/dp/B00JEMSPKW

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-wrath-of-leah-g-e-stills/1119058165

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/425041

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/GEStills.html#Leah

Her old way of life ended tragically; Leah hopes her new one won't end the same. The Wrath of Leah, a novella by G. E. Stills. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/GEStills.html#Leah

Leah's home has been burned to the ground and a man she once loved has killed her mother. She is taken to a new world, held captive and tortured by a ruthless sorcerer. Jan helps her escape and takes her to his village. The people there look to her for salvation. How can she, a simple woman from Earth with no special abilities, possibly live up to their expectations?

Word Count: 23500

Pages to Print: 80

Price: $3.99

 

EXCERPT:

Chapter 1

Crossing the clearing between her house and the barn where she kept her horses, Leah glanced around. Tall pines surrounded the clearing containing the buildings. Only a slight breeze whispering through the pine needles disturbed the early morning silence. She loved the silence and the solitude her remote location in the mountains provided. The last of the snow had melted away and the first tiny sprigs that would grow to be a riot of beautiful wildflowers had pushed up from the ground to the right of her wooden cabin.

It’s so much different here than in the town fifteen miles away, where I spent my first twenty years.

Leah stepped into her cabin and poured a cup of coffee. As she sat at the table with her hands wrapped around the steaming cup, she thought back to her high school days and specifically, Mike. For two years, they’d dated and made plans for the future, like going to college together. Maybe even living together. Reaching up, she twirled a lock of her chestnut-colored hair, wondering what it would look like next week when she had it cut to off to shoulder length.

Her memories turned once more to Mike. He was an only child and lived with his parents half a mile from her house. She remembered the day as if it had happened yesterday. Mike was supposed to call that Saturday morning and together they would make plans for the senior dance. He didn’t call. By midafternoon, she tired of waiting and called him. The phone rang and rang.

I was worried. He never broke a promise before. The next day, she borrowed her mom’s car and drove to his house. It was vacant. Glancing through the curtainless window, she saw that the room was bare. The front door was unlocked. She strolled through the empty house in disbelief.

She searched, using every means she could think to locate them. Nothing—not a single clue, as if they had dropped off the face of the Earth. She was crushed. The boy who owned her heart had simply vanished.

A few months later, her dad died, killed in a car accident. The two most important men in her life had been ripped away from her in less than six months. She graduated from high school, but delayed entering college. Instead, she moved here to the cabin her parents owned. Pleasant memories from her childhood surrounded her. She begged her mom to come with her, but she refused, remaining behind to work at her job. Her mother, in turn, expressed deep concern that her daughter would be living in the mountains alone.

“I need time to think, to grieve,” Leah explained. “I’ll go to college soon.”

It was still hard for her to fathom—three years had passed. She would be twenty-one next month. She took a sip of coffee. I kept my promise, Mom. I’m enrolled in college. I start this fall.

The crunch of gravel jerked her from her melancholy thoughts and alerted her of visitors. Leah strolled toward the door and answered at the knock. Her mother, Janice, stood framed in the doorway.

“I would’ve called, but I just had to see the expression on your face.”

Leah moved back to let her mother in. “What’s going on, Mom?”

Janice stepped to the side and Leah saw for the first time her mother hadn’t come alone. Her jaw dropped and her knees wobbled when she saw him. His piercing blue eyes, wavy black hair and great physique left no doubt. “Mike?”

“One and the same,” he said.

She wanted to rush into his arms, and at the same time wanted to beat on his chest for never having contacted her over the years.

“I answered the door this morning,” her mother explained, “and there he was.”

Leah stumbled back and sat in her easy chair heavily. “Where have you been?”

“Away.”

“Away! That’s all you can say?”

“Don’t I get a hug and a kiss?”

She wanted to. She wanted to fly into his arms, but at the same time displeasure with his response held her back. “Not until you can give me a better answer for where you’ve been the last three years.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Her displeasure was escalating into anger. He was avoiding her question. “Try me.” Again, she heard the crunch of gravel. Now who?

Car doors slammed and a burly man darkened the doorway. She could see there were two others behind him.

“About time,” Mike snapped.

She glanced at Janice, who looked just as surprised as she felt. She looked up at Mike, waiting for an explanation. His eyes had taken on an iciness that sent a shiver racing through her.

“We got here as quickly as possible, Lothar,” the first man said.

Lothar? Who’s Lothar?

“Is that the bitch?” the man asked, indicating her.

Anger having come to full bloom, Leah sprang to her feet. “I don’t know who you are, but I didn’t invite you into my house and I won’t be called names. Get out! All of you get out. Mike, who are these men?”

He ignored her question. “That’s her, Olaf. The other one is her mother. Secure them both.”

Olaf and one of the men surged at her. The other man angled off toward her mother. Leah fought like a tigress, but the strength and size of the men quickly prevailed. In a short time, plastic ties secured her arms and legs. Olaf ripped a piece from her now-buttonless blouse and shoved it in her mouth, cutting off her swearing. He stood behind her, holding her down in the chair. She glared at Mike for a moment and glanced at her mom. Her arms and legs were also bound.

“We’ll take the witch with us. What about this one?” the man holding her mother asked.

Mike directed his gaze at her. In a voice cold enough to freeze a bonfire, he said, “She’s of no further use. Kill her.”

Leah struggled, attempting to rise, but Olaf held her in place. She watched the third man draw a wicked-looking knife and plunge it into her mother’s heart while holding his hand over her mouth to keep her silent. After twisting it several times, he pulled it free. Leah watched in shock until her mother’s wild bucking and twisting stopped. A spreading stain of blood spread over her green blouse as the older woman twitched. Her head bobbed, and she was gone.

Callously, the man wiped the blade clean on her mother’s clothes.

The gag in her mouth muffled Leah’s choking sobs. Tears stung her eyes. She closed them, attempting in vain to shut out the awful sight of her mother being murdered. Pain lanced through her heart.

NEW RELEASE February 1, 2014

Whispers From the Past: Vendetta by Charlotte Holley

#gypsyshadow #paranormal #timetravel

http://www.amazon.com/Whispers-Past-Vendetta-Paranormal-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00I5WBHKM

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/whispers-from-the-past-charlotte-holley/1118427544

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/403862

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Charlotte.html#Whispers

Psychic ghost busters Liz Carr and Kim Henson are about to learn their lives and those of John Carter and Mark Adams are hopelessly tangled with the past in a way they could never have expected. Whispers From the Past: Vendetta by Charlotte Holley. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Charlotte.html#Whispers

Whoever said the past is dead and buried never knew the evil wizard Arvashan or his fiendish plan to avenge himself on those who caused all the trouble at the very beginning . . . Liz Carr and Kim Henson find they have only skimmed the surface when it comes to the mysteries of the past and their lingering effects on the present. They are about to learn their lives and those of John Carter and Mark Adams are hopelessly tangled with Arvashan’s in a way they could never have expected.

The four friends, the local priest and the ineffable Benjamin McCann himself, have worked hard to return peace to McCann’s Manor, only to find each step forward has brought ever-increasing repercussions, leading them deeper into Arvashan’s diabolical schemes. Now the ancient sorcerer, infuriated by their success in freeing some of his captive souls, makes his demands, offering Liz an ultimatum she can never hope to accept or live with.

Liz has a few weeks to set her affairs in order and return with Arvashan to the past and a fate she has no memory of, or Arvashan will kill everyone she loves. The situation calls for a level of cunning and skill the friends will somehow have to find within themselves, along with a mastery of magic greater than any they possess, before they can emerge victorious over the ancient nemesis. But there is more . . . much more . . . and they are running out of time . . .

Word Count: 154000
Pages to Print: 463 (Print coming SOON!)
Price: $6.99

COMING early, 2014!

Whispers From the Past: Vendetta, by Charlotte Holley COMING SOON

#gypsyshadow #paranormal #timetravel

Whoever said the past is dead and buried never knew the evil wizard Arvashan or his fiendish plan to avenge himself on those who caused all the trouble at the very beginning . . . Liz Carr and Kim Henson find they have only skimmed the surface when it comes to the mysteries of the past and their lingering effects on the present. They are about to learn their lives and those of John Carter and Mark Adams are hopelessly tangled with Arvashan’s in a way they could never have expected.

The four friends, the local priest and the ineffable Benjamin McCann himself, have worked hard to return peace to McCann’s Manor, only to find each step forward has brought ever-increasing repercussions, leading them deeper into Arvashan’s diabolical schemes. Now the ancient sorcerer, infuriated by their success in freeing some of his captive souls, makes his demands, offering Liz an ultimatum she can never hope to accept or live with.

Liz has a few weeks to set her affairs in order and return with Arvashan to the past and a fate she has no memory of, or Arvashan will kill everyone she loves. The situation calls for a level of cunning and skill the friends will somehow have to find within themselves, along with a mastery of magic greater than any they possess, before they can emerge victorious over the ancient nemesis. But there is more . . . much more . . . and they are running out of time . . .

Word Count: 154000

Pages to Print: 375+

Price: $6.99

Psychic ghost busters Liz Carr and Kim Henson are about to learn their lives and those of John Carter and Mark Adams are hopelessly tangled with the past in a way they could never have expected. Whispers From the Past: Vendetta by Charlotte Holley. COMING SOON!

 

EXCERPT

Prologue
Arvashan

Darkness. Cold, unrelenting darkness so thick it stole her breath was all Liz could perceive, though she strained into the blackness. The entity she knew as Ptarmigan had spoken to her of such a place—a freezing, dark pit where no light penetrated. How had she come here, though? What sorcery was afoot for her to find herself banished to the depths of Ptarmigan’s prison? Or could the darkness, the cold, the feeling of isolation be merely illusion? Surely she wasn’t alone in this place, she reasoned, though she could sense nothing to indicate the presence of anyone else.

She fought to calm her racing heart, slowly drew in a breath and reached her hands out to probe the nothingness in front of her. “Hello?” she whispered.

Laughter.

“Who’s there?”

“You know me, Draita,” the voice whispered, so near her ear it made her whirl toward the sound. “Remember, my beloved. Remember . . .”

She forced herself to remain composed, even though the fear of the dark she thought she’d banished years before clamped down on her throat like a fist, threatening to choke off her oxygen. From where in her past did the all-encompassing panic she felt this moment spring? As a child, she remembered all too well, she had been terrified of the darkness; but she’d believed the dread was far behind her now. She stood staid and still, forcing a deep, ragged breath into her lungs. The darkness did not exclude the air, she told herself. Breathe! Just breathe, and be calm.

She heard another soft laugh very close to her as she felt a hand, light as a whisper, stroke her cheek. “What a strong, intelligent woman you are, Draita.” Her invisible companion sighed the words, more than spoke them.

Against her better judgment, she moved toward the voice and reached for the hand that had touched her, but found herself groping nothing but the velvet, frozen, blinding void. “I can’t seem to place your voice,” she said, feigning nonchalance. “You call me Draita, but my name is Liz—Liz Carr. Could you have mistaken me for another?”

Again the laugh, the mere hint of a touch on her face as she heard the soft rustling of movement so near her. The voice hissed, “What? You are reputed to be such an incredible psychic. Do you expect me to believe you can’t remember your past lives?”

“Past—” she began, only to be silenced as a pair of invisible hands grasped her shoulders and shook her. The question was the same one Benjamin McCann had put to her only a short while ago regarding her lifetime as Constance, yet her reply was still the same, even though the name had changed. “I was Draita in a past life? No, I don’t remember; I truly don’t.” She tried to pull away from the phantom holding her, but stopped in horror as she realized when she tried to touch the being who held her in his grasp, she again found nothing. Why, then, did she still feel the viselike grip he had on her? This was insanity. She thought for a moment she must be imagining things before she realized she’d been in this place before.

Here in this same abysmal, gelid blackness, she’d spoken to this being several times. It must be a dream she was having—a recurring nightmare, one that refused to let her waken. Wake up, Liz!

“No, not this time,” the voice roared as the unseen fingers dug deeper into her flesh. “You are gifted, it is true; but I will not let you leave me again—not until you have heard what I have to say to you. Like it or not, you are going to stay and listen to me this time.”

“You’re hurting me,” she said in a low growl. “If you want me to listen to you, I can hear you better if I don’t have to strain over the noise of my shoulders screaming in pain. Let me go. I promise I’ll stay and hear you out.”

“Such a convenient excuse, that you have forgotten who you are,” the voice sibilated. “Very well, I will loosen my hold, but mind you this: if you leave me before I finish telling you what I wish to say, I will destroy everyone you love, Draita. Your children, your friends, your lover—all will die, and you will have no one to blame for it but yourself.”

Liz shivered at his words, cold as this blackness in which she found herself held captive. “Why would you threaten such a thing?” she asked as she reached to rub her upper arms and winced from the lingering pain she felt.

“You are very clever, Draita, but know this: I never make threats. I will do exactly as I have said if you try to escape me again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “extremely clear. I’m listening.”

“That is reasonable of you,” he spat.

“What do you want?”

“You,” he replied.

“Me? Why?”

“I wonder . . . Is it possible you truly do not remember who you were? Is it conceivable you could have forgotten me? You were mine; how could you forget me? How could you love that miserable Jonathan bartraol more than you loved me?”

“Jonathan bar—John? I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered. “Who are you?”

“Has your beloved John even told you how he betrayed you mere days ago with Andaena, while he was away supposedly making the world a safer place for you? Has he told you he made love to your sister?”

Liz was getting more confused by the minute. Her head reeled; her stomach felt queasy. “My sister? I don’t have a—”

“This lifetime you have no sibling, but when you were Draita, Andaena was your sister. You do know her, though you now know the woman of whom I speak as Moira MacPherson,” he mocked with a dark chortle. “I take it your precious John has yet to tell you all of his escapades while he was in Gorsha.”

Moira? John had made love to Moira while he was in Gorsha? While she and Kim had been fighting for their lives against that demented maniac—she felt her stomach knot, her eyes stinging as she fought to hold back tears. “You’re lying!” she accused. “John wouldn’t—”

He laughed loud and hard while she struggled to maintain her resolve not to cry. “Ah, so perhaps you do not know the man as well as you think, my poor, dear Draita. Perhaps he does not deserve such loyalty. That should make it easier for you to do the right thing; easier for you to agree to go back with me.”

“Go back with you? Where? I can’t leave—”

“But of course you can leave. You owe it to me; you were mine until he stole you. I’d have given you the universe for the asking, but you had to go off with the bartraol,” he accused. “I am a greater wizard than he. I always was. Why should he be entitled to have you as well as the title of the greatest wizard who ever lived?”

She felt her body trembling, but willed herself yet again to silence her fear. “I belong here. Even if I was this—Draita—in a past life, I’m Liz now. This is another lifetime,” she tried to explain.

“You still owe me the rest of your life because you never made it right in all these lifetimes since you chose him over me. You never once felt remorse for the sorrow you caused me, did you? I have waited since the dawning of the world for you. Now you will at last pay with your submissiveness to my will. You belong to me!”

“I belong to myself,” she argued. “I have no place with you, and I won’t go with you.”

“Willful as ever, I see,” he indicted, his tone growing cold and steely. “I realize you will have to have time to think about your situation . . . and your responsibilities. You have kept your word and stayed to hear my demands, so now I will give you your choices. You will return to your bed and prepare to come to me.”

“You’re not listening. I just told you—”

“No, I perceive you are the one not listening. You will prepare to come to me and you shall tell no one,” he restated.

“You’re mad!” she said.

“Perhaps so, my lovely one,” he admitted. “Unrequited love can do that to a man. As I was saying, you are to tell no one. I am prepared to give you the opportunity to say your goodbyes. You see, I can be reasonable; but I will know if you tell anyone of our little conversation, and I will kill them. If you tell even one of them, they will all die. Is that understood?”

Liz stood silent, feeling lost and afraid. How could she tell them goodbye without telling them why she was leaving or where she was going? It was preposterous even to imagine what this man was asking her to do. Is he even a man, she wondered, or is he spirit? What powers does he have that he could know what I say to others?

“I can hear your thoughts, you know,” he said as he drew closer to her again, pulled her hair through his fingers and breathed in its fragrance. “I will know, and that fact is all you need hold in mind. Come now, let us be reasonable. Your children are coming for a visit in a few days, are they not? I know you will want to see them before you leave—want to spend the last moments you can with them . . . After they are gone, I will come to collect you.”

“That’s—kind of you,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re all heart, aren’t you?”

“I think you will find I deal with others with as much kindness as they show to me,” he said. “I could kill them all anyway, you know. However, I felt it would be kinder to you if I refrained from hurting them, since I am taking you away from them. I want you to remember your last moments with them as being . . . pleasant.”

Liz considered his comment and sighed. “I think I deserve to know your name and how you look, if I’m to go anywhere with you,” she said after a moment of silence.

“What is the matter?” he prodded. “Are you afraid I am some kind of hideous demon or something?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” she replied.

Silence engulfed the darkness while Liz waited for what seemed an eternity. “Very well,” he agreed, “my name is Arvashan.”

She heard a sound like the snapping of fingers an instant before a small glowing orb appeared between her and the one who called himself Arvashan. The light, which floated eerily in front of her, began as a dim glow and gradually grew brighter until she could see the face before her. He indeed appeared to be a man, she noticed with some relief; tall and angular with long dark hair and gleaming, cold steely eyes. He moved closer to her and peered so deeply into her essence she wanted to recoil, but she stood firm, staring back at him. He was attractive—alarmingly so—and his eyes slowly swept her form, seeming to appreciate what they saw.

“I have waited so long for this moment. Now you have seen me, do you remember?”

The words were simple and cool, but she thought she could see past his façade. He seemed to be imploring her to remember, to love him, to surrender to his will. For a moment, she almost wished she did remember, but it was useless. The man had threatened to kill everyone she loved. She straightened and looked at him without emotion, then shook her head.

“I—still can’t remember,” she replied, “but from what you’ve said, I gather it’s been a very long time since we’ve seen one another. Sometimes I can’t remember the faces of people I met last year. Is it really any wonder I don’t remember someone I knew lifetimes ago?” She hoped her words were not as biting as the ones she wanted to say. Who does he think he is to threaten me? What gives him the right to a moment of my time, now or in the past?

He smiled at her, a smile she was certain he believed was charming and irresistible; then he bent toward her and kissed her with a deep, hungry passion. She didn’t like it, but found herself completely powerless to resist or to pull away. He gathered her closer to him and deepened the kiss before he finally let her go and stepped away from her, extinguishing the light of the glowing orb and plunging her again into darkness.

“I will be watching you,” he said with a baleful laugh. “You will do well to remember that. If you talk about me, I will know, and I will take the proper steps to assure you regret it for the rest of your life. Farewell, my love. . . .”

Chapter 1
The Wizard’s Cat

Liz Carr swam in a dark, unplumbed well of black swirling current that threatened to pull her to the bottom of its unfathomable depths as she fought to wrest herself from the hold of the dream. Terror washed over her, wave upon wave. In the distance, she thought she heard him—Arvashan—still laughing at her, whispering, “Farewell, my love, my love, my . . . love . . .”

When she did finally manage to open her eyes, she found herself tangled in the sheets, gasping for air and groping for John. He wasn’t in the bed. She looked about the dim room, but saw no sign of him. “John?”

Timothy, Benjamin’s cat, chirred from somewhere across the room and jumped lightly onto the bed, bringing his big, furry face close to hers, his purr loud and comforting. “You know about him, don’t you? Who is he? Why does he want me to go into the past with him?” she whispered.

The big feline touched the tip of his nose to hers, the cold dampness of it shocking her senses as he began making bread on her lap. She hugged him close to her, and realized she was crying. Was it the fear she felt when she couldn’t awaken from her dream, she wondered, or was it because of the things Arvashan had said about John? How could she find out more about him without talking to anyone about him? Did he really know all her thoughts?

“He might,” she told Timothy, answering her own unspoken question. “Ben did . . . He still does, doesn’t he? Or did he give up that ability when he melded with John?” She still couldn’t completely understand what John had told her about Benjamin’s sending his spirit into John’s body at the moment of the transformation of the Gorshans. Benjamin had sacrificed his material being to become one with John. “Is that really why he sent you here? Did he know all along he wouldn’t be returning, except as part of John? Oh, Ben . . .” The thought of never seeing Benjamin again, except through John, tore at her heart as it did every time she let it surface. Tears washed freely down her cheeks and onto Timothy’s fur.

At the mention of his master’s name, Timothy looked at her with an expression of knowing in his eyes, and touched her face again with his nose. The cat was uncanny in the way he seemed to understand every word she said. She’d had animals she was certain could understand her before, especially cats; but Timothy—well, Timothy was something else. She could swear it as she looked into his big, soulful eyes—not only did he understand her every word, but he seemed to have the ability to answer her. He was a remarkable cat, after all—a wizard’s cat. He belonged to the singular man who had built this manor two hundred years ago for Constance. Benjamin McCann was an enigma she had only begun to fathom: a powerful wizard, descended from a line of wizards dating all the way back into the mists of antiquity.

She sighed and scratched the fluffy cat, “Now see, that’s proof, isn’t it? I mean, if I could remember my past lives, you know I’d remember being Constance. If I can’t even remember that lifetime, how on earth does he expect me to remember being Draita, at the dawning of the world?”

Timothy moved in a tight circle in her lap, curled up and lay in a ball flexing his big claws in the air. He watched her attentively, like a child might watch an adult who was about to tell him an exciting bedtime story.

“Does John really know everything Ben knew now? If he does, we’re in a lot of trouble, because he’ll know about the encounter I just had with Arvashan. It can’t have been only a dream, because why would I dream anything so crazy and twisted? No, I don’t remember him, but there is something . . . something about him, Timothy. It’s like he’s somehow mixed up in everything we have experienced here. I don’t know. Am I crazy? Could he be part of Ptarmigan?”

Timothy stopped purring and peered into her eyes, caught and held her gaze, then sat as though transfixed in her lap, peering right into the depths of her soul—or so it seemed. A spark of light flickered between the cat’s eyes and hers, drawing her to another place and time. She felt herself leaving her body and drifting toward another place and time. This wasn’t like it had been when she and Kim and Benjamin had traveled through the portal. No, she had her body with her then . . . this experience was more like the time when she and Kim had first come to the manor and she’d been drawn into the past to witness Ben writing the letter to Constance, and again when she had suddenly found herself in Ben’s time to see the treachery of David Spencer when Spencer locked Ben and Timothy in Ben’s own vault to suffocate beneath the fireplace.

“Where are we going?” she asked, though she expected no answer as she felt herself floating over an ancient keep in a land she could swear she had seen before—almost. The familiarity of it tugged at her, making her speculate as she found herself spiraling toward the earth and then inside the rough-hewn walls of the castle proper. She passed through the solid stone as though it were made of nothing more than vapors, and found herself standing in a great hall, the magnificent fluffy gray cat at her feet looking up at her with an authoritative air.