~ Release Day Blitz ~
Aman and Rhea seem to have the perfect marriage. They are madly in love - with each other, with their own careers and the home and life they are building in a quiet Mumbai suburb.
Rhea is a successful interior designer with a thriving business while Aman is a commercial pilot who is at peace with his life, on the ground and in the skies! What could possibly be lacking in their picture-perfect marriage?
A baby.
Like most women, thirty plus Rhea Chakraborty, wants to hold her own flesh and blood in her arms. And Aman too wants the same.
Or does he?
After another unexplained miscarriage that takes a severe emotional, physical, and psychological toll on them, Aman isn't sure if having a baby will complete them or destroy them.
Suddenly, Rhea and Aman find the fabric of their stable marriage fraying beneath the strain of their failed conceptions. Where once they were a team with a common goal, they now find themselves on opposite sides with shifting goalposts.
A Barren Heart is set in so-called modern India and is the story of the struggle of an affluent, educated couple who are still fighting the shackles of societal indoctrination and expectations and losing each other in the process.
RELEASING TODAY!
About Shilpa Suraj:
Shilpa Suraj wears many hats - corporate drone, homemaker, mother to a fabulous toddler and author.
An avid reader with an overactive imagination, Shilpa has weaved stories in her head since she was a child. Her previous stints at Google, in an ad agency and as an entrepreneur provide colour to her present day stories, both fiction and non-fiction.
Shilpa on the Web:
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![]() Stealing the Heiress
-- EXCERPT: “Stay where you are or I shall shoot,” he ordered firmly. The driver nodded, his hands trembling around his loose grip on the reins. Russell moved around the carriage and glanced through the window to find two women clutched together. He eyed the younger one. Dark haired and attractive, just as Guy had described. Very attractive. Russell clenched his jaw. Miss Heston looked a little older than the one-and-twenty-year-old he had expected but Guy had certainly downplayed her looks. She peered at him with wide eyes then murmured something to her older companion. Before he pulled open the door, the woman shoved it and pushed her head out, meeting his gaze head on. Without the hazy glass between them, he had a full view of generous lips, a slightly stubborn chin, and wire framed spectacles that emphasized a warm, nutty gaze. However, there was nothing warm about the way she looked at him. He let a brow rise. The woman was an excellent actress. “Come with me.” He kept his voice low, just in case her companion did not know of their arrangement. “Like hell!” He blinked at the blasphemy. As far as he knew, the woman they were kidnapping was gently bred and trying to escape the persistent overtures of a gentleman. Still, perhaps she was trying to play the role of helpless victim for her companion’s benefit. Very well. She wasn’t the only one who could act. He had not read every one of Shakespeare’s plays for no reason. “Come with me or I shall shoot,” he warned her, keeping his tones low and aggressive. Miss Heston scanned the length of him and lifted her chin. “If it is money you want, I am quite wealthy.” She put her hand to a broach at the neckline of her crimson gown. Russell’s gaze tracked the movement, unintentionally. He only realized her cleavage had caught his attention when she began to undo the gold and ruby broach. He swiftly looked away and blinked, feeling as though the image of soft skin, dark shadows, and generous curves might well be burned into his mind. Every time he blinked from now on, he suspected he would see the image there again. Fool. He’d seen many a cleavage in his lifetime. A little glimpse of what appeared to be a most excellent cleavage wouldn’t be the undoing of him. If he could survive on the streets and forge a life for himself from nothing, he could most certainly rid himself of the image of the faintest glimpse of not even a third of a breast. Or two. Damn it. He blinked a few more times then scowled when she handed over the broach. “Here, this is worth far more than you could get for me from ransom.” He ignored it, letting his frown deepen. Why the devil was she dragging this out? Much longer and the driver might get the courage to fight him or someone would happen along, and Russell could end up getting shot. “If that isn’t enough…” She hitched up her skirt, revealing a shapely, stocking-clad leg. Well, the cleavage image no longer bothered him so that was something. He swallowed hard and frowned as she revealed the lacy edge of her stocking and the garter holding them up. Her hand moved slowly to the band and she tugged out a bank note. Why the hell did this woman keep banknotes in her undergarments? She reached for the note then curled her fingers around something else—a jeweled handle. A damned penknife. She grabbed it swiftly and thrust it outward. Russell dodged back, the blade skimming past his stomach and catching briefly on the fabric. “Bloody hell, woman.” He grabbed her wrist. This play-acting was becoming far too dangerous. This needed to end now. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() Zinnia
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: Zinnia – Age Nine Chapter One Tucking my unicorn comforter under my chin, I come to a big decision. Naptime is for losers. I may only be nine—well, almost ten—but I know one thing: there are way too many rules for dragon princesses like me. For starters, we’re supposed to take naps every bleeding afternoon. No way. Napping is for babies. That’s why I’m sneaking out today to see my best friend, LT. Twisting under my covers, I check out my bedroom. There are pink curtains, white furniture, and the royal crest of Furonium over the door. My parents rule all the dragon shifters, so that crest-thingy hangs everywhere. My sisters, Kaps and Huntress, lie in their bunk beds across the room. So you know, my family stays in human form most of the time. No dragon caves for us, thank you very much. Those places have bats. Squinting, I look at my sisters more closely. Are they really out of it? Can I sneak away? Like always, Kaps lays half-off the top bunk. Wisps of brown hair hang over her mouth, blowing in and out with her snores. I shake my head. Even asleep, my twin is noisy. Meanwhile, Huntress rests curled up on her side. Her shoulders rise and fall silently. Huntress never lets out a sound, even when she’s snoozing. That settles it. Both my sisters are totally zonked. Time to go. ![]()
GIVEAWAY!
Date Published: June 11, 2020
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
Heaven Hill Plantation, upriver from Georgetown, South Carolina, 1807: Sixteen-year-old Alexandra Degambia is the daughter of a wealthy African American planter and a social-climbing mother who can pass for white. Balancing on the tightrope between girlhood and the complicated adult world of Low-Country society is a treacherous undertaking.
Early Reviews
Alexandra is a tenacious heroine who’s easy to root for, and the author elegantly articulates her precarious position between white and black society. Overall, this novel explores issues of equality and personal freedom in thought-provoking ways.
Sharp writing, an original plot, and a strong female protagonist make for an engrossing read.
-Kirkus Review
This tale of desperation, injustice and courage is a much needed addition to our grasp of our nation's history. A 5-star reading experience. Highly recommend!"
Laura Taylor – 6-Time Romantic Times Award Winner
Excerpt
Alexandra longs to impress Monsieur. She imagines dancing with him before bedazzled spectators. She panics. He’s an accomplished dancer. What if the orchestra does play a waltz? She’ll make a fool of herself.
“I guess I could go down and dance for a little while,” Alexandra says, rising from the porch swing.
Before the young women reach the bottom of the stairs, they see a stranger wearing the sheriff’s badge galloping toward them from the back road. Three of his deputies ride hard on his heels.
Callie leans close to Alexandra. “Let’s duck behind the snowball bush before they see us,” she says. She sets the quilt on the porch swing and hides the Dancing Masters behind the geranium planter.
But the men are coming too fast. The girls are only half way down the stairs when the men rein their lathered horses to a stop.
The new sheriff, who wears a top hat too small for his head, points at Alexandra.
“Girl! Git me some water.”
Alexandra edges toward Callie and reaches to take her hand. Callie moves away. Cold sweat drenches Alexandra.
“You deaf? Git me some water. Now!” The stocky man’s eyes graze over Alexandra’s body. He clucks his tongue and turns to Callie, “You’re too old to be dressing your slaves in your own clothes like they was dolls. I recommend you burn that fine dress to avoid being tainted by the sins of Hamm.”
“These are my clothes!” says Alexandra.
The sheriff and his deputies laugh.
“Tell him, Callie! These clothes are mine.”
“You let your girl speak to you in that tone?” The sheriff asks.
“I’m not her girl!”
Alexandra plants her feet. Callie backs toward the door.
“Callie! Tell him.”
Callie edges into the house and eases the door shut. Alexandra faces the sheriff. “My daddy will want a word with you,” Alexandra says, her fire rising.
When she sees a vein on the sheriff’s neck pump the venom that makes men crazy, the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She sighs with relief when Tante Isabelle glides out the back door like a cool breeze. Mother follows, arms akimbo, lips pressed tight.
“Where’s Sheriff Adams?” asks Tante Isabelle in her blue-velvet voice.
“Heart attack. He’ll recover more than likely, but he won’t be back to work for a long time, if ever. Traveling judge deputized me. I’m following up on a slave who escaped from the Georgetown jail. You seen a big, black buck with a crooked nose and a little finger missing on his left hand?”
“I haven’t made the acquaintance of such a man,” says Tante Isabelle. “How are Mary and Margaret getting along?”
“Who?” asks the sheriff.
“Sheriff Adam’s wife and daughter.”
“Don’t know ’em.”
“Y’all are new to the Georgetown area, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Surely, you’ve heard of Heaven Hill, the oldest plantation on the Santee,” continues Tante Isabelle.
“Yes, Ma’am,” says the sheriff.
Alexandra can tell he’s lying from the way he shifts in his saddle and looks to his men to provide him with the correct answer.
“Well then, I am pleased to present the mistress of that famous plantation, Miss Josephine Degambia.” Mother curls her lips into her Mona Lisa smile and nods.
The sheriff tips his hat.
“And her daughter, my niece, Alexandra Degambia,” Tante Isabelle continues.
The sheriff’s eyes bulge as Alexandra forces herself to curtsey.
“Carolina Gold, the most sought-after rice in the world, is shipped all over the world from Heaven Hill, but I’m sure you knew that, Sheriff. Where’d y’all say you’re from?” Tante Isabelle doesn’t wait for his answer. “Now, if all y’all are still thirsty, you and your men are welcome to use the well in back of the blacksmith’s shop. The water’s fresh and sweet, sure to cool you down on a hot day like this. When you’re done, be so kind as to show yourselves to the main road.”
The sheriff turns his horse and kicks it to a canter. When he and his deputies are specks on the horizon, Callie slips onto the porch from the back door followed by her mother. “Shall we stroll in the maze garden?” Callie asks Alexandra.
Dorothea Hubble Bonneau is an award-winning novelist, produced playwright and optioned screenwriter. Inspired by a quest for justice, her work is informed by her love of family, nature, and the literary arts.
Dorothea is a member of Author’s Guild, Women in Film, Squaw Valley Community of Writers, Aspen Summer Words Alumni, and Historical Writers of America.
Contact Links
Twitter: @DorotheaBonneau
![]() The Name of Red
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Smashwords Book trailer: -- EXCERPT: The restaurant Ferdaus was filled with a buzzing crowd. The smoke around the people twisted and formed curls, illuminated under the bar lights. The atmosphere was a hazy cloud, lingering against their clothes. Several people came in seeking shelter from the pouring rain outside. The customers of the restaurant turned to look at the entrance door- bell jingling. They glanced at the large crowd coming as the glass door was pulled open, and they watched as someone newstepped in behind them. The woman walked into the bar for the first time in the winter rain. She didn’t have an umbrella on her; her little sleeveless dress ended at her ankles, fully drenched. Her wet dress clung to her body, showcasing the outlines of her curves. In one hand, she was carrying the skirt of her dress. Suddenly, she let it go, and her long, bare arms moved upwards as she tried to fix her damp hair which had darkened in intensity due to the rain. It fell past her shoulders, the strands sticking to her face. She attempted to comb through the tangles with her fingertips. The men watched her movements hungrily, their eager faces drawn to her and at the sight of someone new. Their eyes trailed from her face, to her wet body, then back to the movements of her hands entwined in her hair. Under her arm, she carried a book and a trench coat. It appeared strange she wasn’t wearing the coat when it was pouring outside and freezing in the middle of November. Men were left mesmerized by her, and she turned heads as she walked by. Something radiated from within her, drawing the men around her in. The women who were with some of these men noticed their gaze on the unfamiliar woman. Now they stared at her with jealousy and anger. Who is she? they wondered. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() Elephant
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “SO MUCH FOR ‘I’M ON A DIET.’” Derek stuffed another soy sauce-loaded Italian meatball into his mouth. “Shut up, midget!” Jamie retorted and set another pepperoni sausage olive pizza slice onto her plate. “That’s so rude.” Lisa shoved a spoonful of chicken manicotti into her mouth. “You’re like calling her fat.” “She’s the one who’s always saying, ‘I’m so fat! I’m so fat! Guys do I look fat or phat?!” “Oh,” Lucia chuckled, “neither one of you needs to lose weight. In all honesty, you can all gain a few pounds.” She peered at Jamie, who smiled. “Thanks.” It was in the eyes. “Well.” Matt chewed off his last bite of a sweet and spicy boneless chicken wing from the sticky orange sauce on his fingers. “Who’s next?” “Mine.” Jamie handed over a sealed envelope. On the front, “MATTY” was handwritten in bold navy-blue ink. “Thanks.” As soon as their hands brushed, a shock of electricity ran through his body. “Uh, thanks.” It was all he had thought of—that spark between them and taking an extra look at Jamie; her eyes were still on him like a hawk’s. Everyone sat at the edge of their dining chairs. Lucia took a sip from her glass of red wine, as she leveled up the digital camera in the other hand (mad pro skills). Matt glanced at their eager faces, although Derek’s big ol’ goofy grin held his attention for a moment longer. The boy sure had some crooked ass teeth, to be truthful. It was also unsettling that Derek’s grin grew wider like a mannequin in a window display and not the pretty looking ones either; more of the Stepford wives with clown makeup and pumped lips and cheekbones. Matt opened the envelope and into his hands spilled two gift cards: Tillys, and iTunes. For some reason, he sighed with relief. “See.” Jamie leaned back in her chair. “I can follow your crazy, ‘Only gift cards’ rule. We all remember last year.” Lucia snorted and covered her mouth to prevent the wine from spilling out. But a few splashes sputtered through her nostrils. “Yeah,” Lisa added on, “those clothes were all baggy in the wrong places.” “You looked like a damn hobo!” Derek cackled. “Thanks, Jam,” Matt said with a bit overzealous smile. Shit, he thought to himself. Motherfuckin’ shit. He turned away and placed her gift on the small pile: gift cards Derek got him for Chick’s Sporting Goods and Best Buy with Target and Starbucks gift cards Lisa got him. “Thank you…” “Anytime, Matty.” And that time, Jamie smiled back. Holy, moly! She had pretty little teeth too. “I’m done!” Derek backed up his chair and unbuttoned his Levis to air out his potbelly. That was when Jamie broke focus with Matt. “Derek—put that thing away!” she screeched. “Mini Buddha’s belly!” Lisa chanted and wiggled her arms over her head like a gorilla. “Derek…” “Sorry, Lucia.” He scooted his chair back in, which gave the floor a few squeaks, so the red tablecloth concealed his stomach—his VERY pale, sole patched, Buddha’s belly. “Well, I don’t know about you four but I’m tired.” Lucia swayed to her feet; her fingers went white as she clutched a hold of her glass. Matt eyed that second empty wine glass like it would come alive. “I’ll see you all.” “Wait,” Derek interjected. “Aren’t we supposed to—” “SHHHHH…” They had their fingers pressed to their lips. Jamie and Lisa even glowered his way. Matt’s eyes broadened with horror, as his head drooped closer to the table. It was done, all over. Clueless at first, Derek’s eyes shot wide open as though struck by lightning. “OH—” “SHHHHH!” “Matt,” Lucia said, her speech troublesome. “is this…” The pieces of confetti on the table were shinier than ever. Matt rolled one of them between his thumb and middle finger. The confetti was a lustrous blue circle, although it felt like blazing hot fire. The creators of confetti had it all wrong. They should have been red—a mighty, burning passionless red. “Matt…” “I want you to…” On that last deep breath, he looked up at his grandma. “We’re going to the cemetery—” “Goodnight, Matt—” “Why don’t you ever want to talk about it?!” Jamie, Derek, and Lisa moved robotically. The lower halves of their bodies went paralyzed, as their eyes rolled side to side to catch glimpses of each other and the Smiths. By now, Matt was on his feet, his fists planted on the table. The tablecloth was scrunched up as he leaned forward, steadying his balance on his elbows. His pulse raced throughout his body, rigid as stone and hot as lava. “Why can’t you let it go,” he pled unintentionally. “I did.” “Matt, I’m very…” Her back was to them. Lucia lingered in the dining room archway, but by the sniffles and refusal to turn around, it was obvious. She did everything she could to cover up the waterworks; she even tugged at her sleeve (long sleeves shirts were all she ever wore). “I’m very tired. I’ll see you in the morning.” Off her glance, she was gone. Her red sea of swimming pool-eyes was no longer in their sight. His sight. Jamie, Derek, and Lisa averted their attention away from Matt. Suddenly, he felt…funny. Something seemed to boil at the pit of his stomach. Whatever it was, it shot up to his chest and formed a sour taste in the back of his mouth, like he had just eaten something spoiled, weeks after its expiration date. “Matty…” Her fingers drifted over his fist like a cloak. Matt’s fingers unfolded, but he refused to look at her. It was obvious—the strain and worry look in her eyes, as she caressed his hand. His shoulders shot up, about an inch from touching his earlobes. The twinge of sorrow prolonged in his eyes and strengthened the veins to pop right out; red, so very red from the haggardness and stress, all from another wasted amount of energy from a big waste of time. Every year, he thought to himself. Every year on my birthday. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() The Dark Awakening
-- EXCERPT: They were there in the shadows again. This was the third time this week I had thought someone was watching me. The last few weeks, I’d heard the rustling of leaves and the crackling sound of old fallen branches beneath someone’s feet, or the hairs at the back of my neck would stand straight because I knew someone stood silently behind me. Last night wasn’t any different. I exited my car after an exhausting day at work and heard what sounded like a low, deep exhale coming from the forest next to Lily’s house. I swiftly turned around, fumbling with the flashlight on my phone, but when the light pierced the darkness, the sound stopped. Tonight, it was a silhouette behind my aunt Lily’s fence in the backyard. It wasn’t someone walking by with their dog or a neighbor taking out their trash. They were standing there, staring, as I walked to the sink to rinse my dinner bowl. I wasn’t going to tell her again. She’d just tell me what she’d told me last time I brought it up. She’d say I was just seeing things and that it was normal to feel this way after trauma. “Your turn, Mercy,” Lily said. Her voice pulled my gaze from the window. “I’m coming,” I said, taking one last glance toward the silhouette. They were gone. ![]()
GIVEAWAY!
Date Published: March 30, 2020
Eating the Forbidden Fruit is a gritty fiction novel loosely based on true events in author Roland Sato Page’s life. The newcomer author delivers a personal journey into his rise and demise as a St. Louis City Police Officer. He takes the readers on a roller coaster ride of good ole family memories to the nightmarish reality of being a police officer indicted on federal drug charges. During his trial, he wrote memoirs as a testimonial of redemption. Roland’s case stems from the conflict of his childhood affiliation and his oath to uphold the law. What is certain is one can't run from sin for karma is much faster.
About the Author
Roland Sato Page was born in Brooklyn New York in a military household with a mother from Osaka Japan and a combat trainer father with three war tours under his belt. He grew up in a well-disciplined home with five other siblings. As he got older his family relocated to St. Louis where the author planted his roots and also pursued a military life in the Army Reserves.
Roland married his high school sweetheart and started a family of four. Roland joined the St. Louis police department were his career was cut short when he was convicted of federal crimes due to his childhood affiliation.
After enduring his demise he rebounded becoming a famed a tattoo artist opening Pearl Gallery Tattoos in downtown St. Louis Mo. The company grew into a family business yet another unfortunate incident tested his fate. He was diagnosed with Lupus which halted his body art career. However, with tragedy comes blessings. Roland’s sons took over the business and propelled the shop to a higher level. Roland consumed with depression began writing to occupy the time. With a newfound passion, he traded visual art for literary art.
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![]() Gilded Ruins
-- EXCERPT: “Summer,” a warm, gentle voice whispered against my ear. Their breath fluttered across my flush skin like the wings of a butterfly. It was warm and sweet smelling. I curled deeper into the blankets, turning my chin into the soft pillow. “Summer,” the voice said again, as a soft hand slid over my hip, and down around my stomach. It pulled me back against it, crushing me tenderly into a cushioned wall. Lips brushed over my exposed neck, leaving a small kiss in its wake. I slowly opened my eyes, taking in the darkness of the room. What time was it? I felt the strength of the arms around me, holding me tightly. Darce. “Darce?” I asked groggily. “Hmmm…” he hummed, nestling my neck. My body began to react, welcoming the warmth of him. Everything inside of me wanted him, invited him—all except my brain. It screamed for me to turn around, to confront him about the stunt he had just pulled out on the dance floor. Minthe. Dancing. Her wicked, smug grin. “What—” I untangled myself from him, turning to my side to face his dark silhouette. He sucked in a breath as I pulled the blankets up around myself. “What are you doing?” “He pulled a hand through his hair; I could feel his gaze on me even in the darkness. “You disappeared.” “You were occupied.” I didn’t even try to hide the venom in my words. “I was doing what I had been asked to do,” He retorted curtly. I didn’t know how to respond. I remained still, curling my fingers into the blankets. “Do you think I enjoyed a moment of it?” He asked after a long, silent moment. The rumble in his chest vibrated against the bed as his voice deepened. I shivered and bit my bottom lip. Of course he hadn’t. I had known but. . . “I saw you both and it felt like. . .like you were allowing her to win.” “Win?” Darce asked. I shook my head, though, I knew he couldn’t see me. “She knew what she was doing.” “As did I,” Darce interjected. The sound of my heart was racing in my ears, and I pushed myself up to sit. After a moment, I finally found my voice again. “But why?” There were so many whys. Why had they asked him to dance with her? What did they have to gain from the interaction? What were they planning with Darce? With Minthe? With me? My head was spinning with so many questions that it was beginning to ache. I had already thought of a thousand different ways Minthe could have seduced him or touched him, and the whole thing made me even more angry. Jealous. I bet I could give Hera a run for her money in the jealousy department. “Why?” He asked, echoing my question. “Why did they ask you to? What did they. . .” but I couldn’t bring myself to continue. I couldn’t become like her. I had to trust Darce, now more than ever. I felt the smoothness of his hand slide over my knee and come to rest there. “I will do whatever is needed to bring peace. To bring us the freedom to—” “She wants the Underworld,” I interjected. “There is no peace with her around.” “She just wants your throne,” he corrected. “Just,” I scoffed. “She wants you too.” I added, drawing my knees up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and lowered my chin to the tops of my knees. “She can’t have me,” he replied softly, drawing me closer against him. He tugged at my waist, drawing me underneath him. “I belong to no one but you.” His whisper was husky and warm against my cheek, and it sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine. I gasped with surprise as his hands drew my legs to rest on either side of his. He was so warm, and I felt myself melting into him. I knew what he was doing, and my body suddenly craved his. It felt strange to want him as I did, all the while being surrounded by Gods and Goddesses who were seemingly plotting against us. “All of this is such a dangerous game,” I murmured as I felt his thumb hook around the waistband of my sleeping shorts. “I like dangerous games,” he said with a chuckle as he pressed a tender kiss against my stomach. I sucked in a breath, trying to concentrate on what I wanted to say. We were walking around on this boat with targets on our backs. We were far from safe—and he knew that. We wouldn’t be until we reached the depths of the Underworld again. But his mouth was so hot against my skin and it was bliss. “Not me,” I said, shaking my head, pressing my hands against his bare chest. “Them! The game they’re playing. The things I’ve learned. . .” I sighed as he nipped my hip bone. Tears welled in my eyes as I sucked in a breath. “I just want to go home.” Darce paused, his warm palm cupped my cheek. “I know,” he said tenderly and leaned forward to press a kiss against my temple. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, burrowing my nose into the crook of his neck. “We’ll go home, I promise,” he said gently. “Together,” I reiterated as I traced a line down the length of his back. He tensed and nodded beside me. “Together,” he finished as his hands went to work, swiftly removing my shirt and shorts. I let myself sink into him, and the temporary comfort he could provide. It was easier to hide the truth in the shadows of the night. And in the darkness of his arms, I allowed myself to disappear. ![]()
GIVEAWAY! ![]() Grave Humor
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Google Play / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Lemon smelled so much better than rot. As far as the restless dead went, Old Man McGregor hadn’t left me with too much of a mess to clean. He’d stayed mostly intact, limiting his oozing to a spot here and there. It took me twenty minutes to erase the evidence he’d gotten out of his coffin and taken a walk. Five minutes later, Direct Hammel and his merry band of somberly dressed assistants arrived. Why did Direct Hammel need four men to stand around? Most viewings, even the big ones where the whole town showed up, only needed two attendants. The rest of the time, I could handle the work without any help at all. While the viewings sometimes had upwards of the town’s full three hundred people, I couldn’t think of a single funeral with more than twenty attendees since I’d started working at the place. The old stayed, the young left, and with a world full of magic to discover, who wanted to stay in Sunset, Alabama? If my college fund hadn’t been bled dry on drugs and hookers, I would’ve been on the first bus out along with the other six seniors in my class. “Any problems?” the director asked, sniffing the air. I bet he smelled the lemon and wanted to know why I’d been cleaning. “No problems,” I replied. Any other day, Old Man McGregor rising and coming out of his coffin for a chat would’ve counted as a problem, but I was too worn and tired to care. Like with all things, problems were relative. If the restless dead hiding in his coffin decided to cause a problem, I’d back up and watch the fireworks. “I finished my other work for the morning, so I cleaned to make certain everything was ready for the viewing, sir.” “Good job. Our clients will arrive soon. We’ll handle the rest from here. Mr. McGregor’s family is rather conservative, so if you could handle inventorying and cleaning the preparation and refrigeration rooms, that would be useful. Otherwise, go home.” I didn’t need a diploma to read the writing on the wall. If I went home, I wouldn’t be invited back to work, which meant someone hadn’t done their job cleaning the basement. The funeral home went through inspections once a month to keep its license, and we were due to have a government worker poking around the place. Plastering a smile on my face, I nodded. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, sir.” “Good. Call the main line if there are any problems.” Once again, I read the writing on the wall: if I had any problems during the viewing, I would be in need of a new job. I struggled to maintain a neutral, professional expression. To keep guests from wandering into the restricted parts of the funeral home, Director Hammel locked the stairwell door and turned off the lift. I’d spend the next six hours in the basement. After the surge of restless dead and corpse possessions, the funeral home boasted reinforced lower level walls and doors, fashioned of a mix of concrete and steel to keep the bodies contained should they decide to get up and take a walk. Fortunately, excluding Old Man McGregor, we only had two bodies in storage, and John Doe had been in our freezer since before I’d been born. If he decided to get up, they’d hear my screams in the next state. While the rules kept changing, one thing stayed the same: the older the corpse, the stronger the undead it became. I hadn’t seen Mr. Doe, but I sometimes heard Director Hammel talk about him in hushed, fearful tones. Nothing scared Director Hammel except our John Doe. The other body we had didn’t worry anyone; the vampire wasn’t going anywhere until someone reattached his limbs and revived him with a lot of blood. I wasn’t sure why we kept the vampire on ice, but someone from the CDC came once a month, along with the funeral home inspector, to make sure he remained as alive as an undead got. I’d gotten to take a look at the vampire, as Director Hammel wanted to make certain I knew to avoid the sleepers in the freezer. All in all, I didn’t care about either corpse. Unless I put my throat to the vampire’s mouth, he couldn’t hurt me. As for John Doe, I wasn’t sure what I thought about him. While I wanted to curse over my foul luck, I kept smiling, grabbed my purse and coat, and descended into the basement. I made it all of two steps before the lock clicked behind me. “Asshole,” I muttered, shaking my head and reaching for switches. I flipped three of the five, bathing the stairwell and landing below in a yellowed light. The stench of embalming fluid burned my nose, and I turned on the ventilation fans so I wouldn’t suffocate before the end of the viewing. When I found out who had left the basement a reeking hell hole, there’d be a third body in the freezer. In prison, I could study and pretend I had a future, and I’d do so on the government’s dime until they kicked me out and made me finish my term doing community service. Curling my lip in a snarl, I stomped down the steps and aimed for the disposal bin meant for the latex gloves. I caught it with my foot and launched the damned thing through the open doorway. It crashed onto the metal table bolted to the preparation room floor. “What’s the fucking point of having a three-inch thick containment door if it’s open all the time? I’m surrounded by brain-dead idiots.” “Yes, you are,” a husky, deep voice replied. “I was wondering who they’d sacrifice to me first. I knew the scarecrow would hide, but I thought he’d betray the whiner first. How disappointing.” ![]()
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