Seeking the Storyteller- new fiction out now!

I know of the Storyteller, it whispers into the man’s ear, I’ve met him. If you promise not to kill me, I’ll take you to him. 

Alix Andre DeBenit and Randall Fagan are Hunters, part of a hidden network of humans who track and kill the monsters lurking in our world so everyone else can pretend they don’t exist. But when a living shadow mentions someone called the Storyteller, Alix hesitantly decides to learn more.
They say the Storyteller lives in a massive library full of books that tell every being’s life story. He can read
these books, rewrite them and change anything he wants, even if it’s already happened. That’s the power Alix wants, the power to bring his murdered family back and he’s determined to make the Storyteller do it.

He just has to decide if working with the very creatures he’s supposed to kill is worth it.


Looking for more?? Check out the first chapter at this link:!hunters-1-preview/c1ier

Thanks for visiting the site today…here are some fun facts about the author:

What’s 2014 look like for you as an author- any new works?

For 2014 I’m working on a new novel based around a group of people who are personifications of different elements.  Oh, and the sequel to Seeking the Storyteller, of course.

Who is your favorite author and what is your favorite book?

My favorite author, at the moment, would have to be Kim Harrison.  I love the world she creates and her characters feel so real.  As for favorite book… I have far too many to choose just one. 

What genre does your writing fit under?

My genre usually fits under Urban Supernatural, but I also love dabbling in the horror genre.  And very occasionally romance…

Any other hobbies or interests?

I love to sew.  My partner/co-author and I both attend quite a few anime conventions in costume and sell our crafts and hang out with a lot of people.  That pretty much takes up all our free time in one way or another.

What is one thing your readers may not know about you?

Seeking the Storyteller started over 12 years ago when my coauthor and I met online and started roleplaying with different characters.  It has evolved and changed since then, but it was always our form of ‘dating’ since we were states apart.


Maureen Gregory’s- Beware the 7th Wave

In the novel deceit, obsessive love, betrayal and murder are threaded along side the fabric of normal life.


Attracted by Marks lifestyle, country living, horses, a successful business, Emma believes she has found the man of her dreams, until she eventually discovers her lover has a darker side.


Was he a cold, calculated killer or a man suffering from mental torment?


 Initially Emma’s relationship with Mark seemed idyllic, too good to be true, marred only by Mark’s affection for his long standing friend Alicia. Emma is heartbroken when Alicia runs over and kills her beloved pet dog, this act, combined with the aftermath of Marks affair with Alicia leads Emma to break off her engagement and return home.


Her subsequent marriage to Phil is more a marriage of convenience than passion and their relationship quickly crumbles. Shortly after they break up, Emma receives a distraught phone call from Mark informing her of Alicia’s murder.


Mark becomes a prime suspect in the investigation. After Emma’s investigative work leads to the arrest of an acquaintance, she inadvertently finds proof pointing to Marks involvement. Faced with Emma’s discovery Mark confesses to a second heinous crime. Desperate and out of control he attempts to end both his own and Emma’s life. Phil’s chance intervention saves Emma’s life.


Emma and Phil embark on a new life together. It would seem that betrayals and lies are behind them – or are they? At the end of the novel there is a clear hint that Emma is more than capable of lying.

WOW! A free sneak peek into part of chapter one–Check it out!

Chapter one

The Long Day

Go home, stay away, go back now’

Persistent whisperings inside her head flung conflicting commands across the thin net of reason holding her together.

Their endless chatter ceased abruptly as Emma performed a rapid last minute left turn.

For a heart-stopping moment she thought she had taken the wrong route altogether, until the grey slate roof of the old church came into view. Changing to a lower gear, slowing her speed, she glanced down at the funeral bouquet wilting on the passenger seat. Jostling for space amongst a sea of discarded tissues, pink and lilac petals tumbled to the ground like dying butterflies.

 “Should have bought a wreath, had it sent on” she muttered.

A cloying perfume permeated the car’s stuffy interior, as though the scent had bled from each battered and bruised flower.

Vapors of antistress essence, seeping out from a dangling car freshener failed miserably to live up to its promise.

She saw the gateway looming in front of her, seemingly diminishing in size as she edged the vehicle closer toward it.

Numerous options presented themselves in rapid succession. 

‘Turn around, – carry on, go home – drive on – stop’

Her mind went blank, the way it often did when faced with overload.

In a moment of sheer panic, she considered jumping ship, abandoning the car as though it was a trolley in the screaming aisles of a supermarket.

Against a whirlwind of indecision, she made her choice in a split second, challenging the wisdom behind it even as she executed the movement. Crouching low, she headed for the opening between the gateposts. Holding her breath, she hunched over the wheel, pulling her stomach in, as if shrinking her body would somehow reduce the size of the car. Grimacing at the shrill sound of metal scrapping against concrete, she drove through the gateway toward the church, mumbling a stream of expletives between gritted teeth. Her fingers curled around the steering wheel, forcing it to hold its line. With grim determination, she maneuvered the vehicle onto a concrete walkway running alongside the Church. It lurched to a stop directly below the grotesque pitted face of a stone gargoyle. In response to the crude and abruptly executed halt the rear tyres emitted an eerie screeching sound, reminiscent of an animal in pain. The alien noises produced by her undignified arrival rudely disturbed the tranquility of the church grounds.

With the flick of a key, the engine spluttered and died, amplifying the deathly silence that followed. Her stiff fingers struggled to disengage the seat belt. Tugging roughly against the buckle, she grappled in angry frustration before releasing the mechanism. Liberated from the strap’s constraints the tension slowly loosened its clawing grip, allowing aching shoulder muscles to readjust. Resting her head against the smooth circumference of the steering wheel she inhaled deeply.

An image of two small boys running across a park played silently behind closed eyelids. The red leash trailing like blood on frozen grass remained as vivid as it had been back then, making it easy for her to pinpoint the exact moment the panic attacks had started. 

She felt bone tired, mentally drained, unable to think clearly.

Brooding on the reason for her journey, she glanced anxiously through the window.


Lack of space in the designated car park offered a lame excuse for her unconventional parking. Satisfied that the risk of being wheel clamped was miniscule she decided to leave the vehicle where it was. Angling the rear view mirror toward her face, she shuddered at the unflattering image reflected on its smooth surface.

Appalled at her disheveled appearance she flipped open the catch on her handbag.

Hurried fingers delved into the cavernous interior of the bag. Familiar with its multiple pockets they quickly fished out a comb. The effort of dragging it through layers of bedraggled hair made little difference to her overall appearance. A quick look at her watch confirmed that she was way behind schedule. Unzipping a tightly crammed make up bag, she pulled out a lipstick, deftly swiveling the stick to full capacity. As she pressed the soft tip into her upper lip it broke away. A flash of pink tumbled to the floor. It lay like a fat slug in the middle of the decapitated flower heads.

An omen, a bad omen’

‘Shut up’ she chided herself. Her voice sounded hollow, as though it belonged to someone else. 

Ignoring the temptation to reapply fresh make up she scrambled out of the car. A spray of dirty water made unwelcome contact with her skirt as she stepped heavily into a muddy puddle. Large drops of rainwater fell from the open mouth of the gargoyle, scoring a direct hit on her uncovered head.

Oh my God!” Her face crumpled in dismay as she turned to lock the car. Several long jagged scratches framed a large dent on the near side door. Their testimony to her erratic driving elicited a grudging relief that she was in her own vehicle and not Phil’s. Mumbling a range of ungodly curses she headed in the direction of the graveyard.

The chatter in her head began in earnest.

‘Why come, why here, why now. Go Home’

The words beat their own rhythm.

The rhythm grew louder as blood pounded in her ears.

‘Why come, why here, why now. Go Home’

Shielded from view by a high stone wall she ran down the pathway toward the cemetery. Turning the corner brought her within sight of the funeral party. To save time she took a short cut across the grass, walking as quickly as dignity would allow, keeping her eyes downcast until she reached the large circle of mourners.

In an effort to become as inconspicuous as possible she stood at the back of the gathering. Despite her attempt to remain unobtrusive, she was acutely aware that her late arrival had been noted. To her embarrassment, several of the mourners looked disapprovingly in her direction. Turning away from their reproachful glances, she dropped her gaze to stare at the dove grey boots worn by the person standing directly in front. The sharp tip of the woman’s pointed heels appeared to be sinking into the wet, spongy ground.

Several minutes passed before she was able to summon up sufficient confidence to raise her eyes and scan the group. Diverting her attention from the boots, she strained her neck to look over the wearer’s shoulder, searching for familiar faces. Almost immediately, she found herself looking directly into the eyes of her ex lover.

“Emma” he mouthed her name silently.

His gaze, penetrating and unwavering locked with hers. While part of her brain registered its disapproval, the remainder dissolved into a throbbing obsessive need. An insatiable desire to be with him answered the one question she had been afraid to explore. With absolute certainty and clarity, she realized she was still in love with Mark.

Seconds passed, time melted into fragmented moments. In a heartbeat and to the exclusion of all else he became, as he always had, the centre of her being.

Memories from the past clung to her like a living membrane. Breathing substance into the ashes of half-buried dreams, she could almost feel the touch of his skin against her own. Her hand itched to smooth away his thick dark hair as it flopped endearingly over one eyebrow, like the wing of a raven.

Shrouded by the past, she reveled in its exquisite bitter sweetness.

A movement, deliberate and unhurried brought her awareness sharply back to the present. The woman standing next to Mark slowly lifted her head. Black gloved hands swept back a fine laced veil, exposing pale flawless beauty etched with arrogance and cruelty. Her gaze, as chill and unwelcoming as the grave swept over Emma like a dawn mist, freezing, penetrating and menacing.

A bitterly cold wind swept down from the moorland, Emma shivered.

Taking a small step backwards she turned her face away from the silently threatening gaze directed upon her by her adversary; half believing that Alicia could read her mind, picking out secrets one by one.

Lowering her eyes, she stared unseeing at the grey boots. 

The brief moment of tenderness and intimacy between herself and Mark faded away without a fight. As transient as ripples on a lake, it lacked the substance to survive. Treasured memories collapsed like a house of cards, replaced by uncompromising reality.

Time had not diminished the bitterness, hatred and anger Emma harboured toward Mark’s wife.

Her reaction on seeing Mark forced Emma to examine her motives for attending Brian’s funeral.

Denied the comfort of self-delusion the truth hit her with force. Closing her eyes in shame, she acknowledged the facts as they were. Brian’s death offered a convenient excuse to see Mark again. Despite her marriage, regardless of a new life painstakingly created, she had wasted precious time hoping for a tender reunion. Her lies lay exposed like a gaping wound, raw and painfully obvious.

Straightening her drooping shoulders, she strove to convey an outward air of dignity. A master of deception, adept at concealing the truth, she could handle this, go through the motions and return home.

Through half closed lids, she stared down at the toes of her black suede boots. Flecked with grass and mud they looked shoddy and cheap. Splashes of rainwater had left wet patches down the front of her ankle length black skirt. Studying their damp shapes, she willed herself not to look in Mark’s direction. Complex questions invaded her thoughts, demanding an answer.

Where might the future lie, had past reactions been different?’

The answer eluded her.

Sunlight filtering through trees created patterns of colour and light on her closed lids. 

Reminding herself of the supposed reason for her journey she mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ to Brian. Knowing him as she had, she believed he would understand. A tear trickled down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped it away.

Seeking comfort from within, closing the door on a hostile world, she remembered Brian in happier times.

Brief cameos of her last moments with him teased their way into her mind, like ill-fitting pieces of a jigsaw they refused to slip neatly into place.

Frustratingly, amazingly, she found herself unable to recount the exact occasion of their final meeting.

‘Was it three weeks before Christmas?”

Yes, it must have been.

Can I leave this with you Brian, I don’t want Mark to see it, he’ll only want to open it!”

Was that their last conversation? Or was it a few days later when he invited her into the kitchen to sample a glass of malt?

Just a small tipple Brian, I’m not a lover of whisky

Brian shaking his head in mock horror.

“How can anyone not be a lover of whisky?”

In complete contrast, she remembered every drawn out second of her last moments with Joyce – the feel of Joyce’s arms around her trembling shoulders, failing in their attempt to offer comfort.

Joyce’s round face, pale, saggy, and old looking, as if the horrors of that day had carved their memory into her skin, drawing it down, pulling at her mouth.

 Had Emma known it was to be the last time, she would have held Joyce a little closer, hung on to their friendship.

Following the breakup, it had been Emma’s decision to cut off all contact with Mark’s parents. Initially she had found it too painful to keep in touch. Later, the passage of time brought its own constraints.

Carefully chosen works spoken by the parish vicar rose above the sound of the strengthening wind.  Regardless of his loud and forceful tone, Emma ignored the content of the eulogy. His emotive speech went unheeded as she dipped into happier memories of Brian and Joyce.


Emma’s first opinion of Joyce had been less than favorable.

Mark had already forewarned her to expect the unexpected.

“Don’t take any notice of my mother, she’s a touch eccentric! A family trait, at least on mother’s side, present company excluded of course”

Ignoring Emma’s appeal for more information Mark had teasingly refused to impart further detail.

“You’ll find out soon enough don’t worry; she’s harmless, well, most of the time anyway”

Emma had anticipated the meeting with a mixture of intrigue and dread. Initially she had interpreted Joyce’s lack of small talk as rudeness. Those early reservations rapidly faded; despite Joyce’s bizarre, often unconventional behaviour her unflinching honesty won Emma’s respect. Over a short period of time respect turned to affection.

Emma’s over riding memory of Joyce was her kindness, at a time when she needed it most. 

It was almost impossible to think of Joyce without picturing Brian.

In marked contrast to his wife, Brian had been a quietly spoken, sensitive man, polite and courteous, combining a dry sense of humour with a razor sharp wit. Outwardly, Brian appeared shadowed by Joyce’s overly large persona. The image proved deceptive. Closer observation showed that Brian was indeed Joyce’s rock. Although Joyce was the driving force behind the business it was Brian who had calmed many a storm. 

They worked well as a team, steadfastly building up an enviable property portfolio. Beginning with the renovation of their first home the couple went on to create a thriving business.

A senior partner in the family business Mark appeared to share his father’s commitment to the company. During their time together Emma saw Mark’s role expand as his father gradually relinquished authority over to his son. It was generally accepted but rarely mentioned, that Brian would retire before he was sixty. The master plan was that he and Joyce would travel, but if pressed both were sketchy on detail or time scale. Emma agreed with Mark’s assessment that neither of them would care to be away from their home for too long.

As Emma watched the coffin being slowly lowered into the ground she sadly acknowledged that both had died before reaching their retirement.  In truth, she could not imagine one without the other.

The coffin landed in its resting place with a dull thud. Emma lifted her head, looking upwards into pale, sifting clouds. Trying to imagine the world beyond the earth’s atmosphere left her feeling vulnerable, insignificant, and completely alone.

As if in defiance of the prevailing bleak environment, a break in the cloud allowed a shard of bright autumn sunshine to filter down. Pale golden rays touched the bowed heads of the somberly dressed circle of mourners. Shimmering light created the effect of a temporary halo of brightness around the group. A gentle breeze shook the surrounding foliage, softly ruffling the feathers of watchful birds perched high in the safety of nearby trees. Emma guessed that they were waiting patiently for a chance to pick out food and grubs from the newly disturbed earth.

‘Life went on’ she thought, smiling sadly ‘Brian would have appreciated that’

The vicar’s final ‘Amen’ served as a signal for the gathering to disperse. The group broke up into small intimate segments. Moving forward like separate parts of the same body they inched toward the Church, a darkly clothed, creeping mass.

Emma shivered as a surge of unease uncurled like a snake in the pit of her stomach.

Unable to think rationally, mindful of her past weakness in dealing with Alicia, Emma planned to put some distance between them. Her gut feeling was to head for home as soon as possible. Nursing a strong premonition that her day was about to get worse she hoped to slip away unnoticed.

Retracing her earlier steps she made her way across the wet grass to a gravel pathway skirting the gravestones. Despite a growing sense of urgency, her pace slowed to a shuffle as she walked passed tightly spaced graves. Glancing at the headstones her heart rushed with sympathy for the unknown occupants.  Many of the structures were in various stages of neglect or decay, creating a picture of desolate cold loneliness. Staring at the aging monuments and weed encrusted containers she found it hard to believe that the occupants had once been a part of the living.

‘Had they followed their hearts or died in regret for opportunities lost’?

Her eyes scanned the tombstones; faded lettering humanized the graves, linking them to the present.

Bowing her head in silent acknowledgement, she hoped they had achieved at least some of their dreams.

Standing in proud contrast amongst the crumbling head stones of long ago, a scattering of well-tended graves added their own colour and life. Ornamental statues stood proud and erect on raised surrounds. Vases of fresh flowers threw splashes of vibrant colour against the dismal canvas, their cheery brightness incongruent against the bleak backdrop. Taking a moment to ponder on the finality of death Emma turned her attention to the living.

* * * * *


Author Profile

Having previously combined writing short stories with a career in psychiatric and community nursing I now write full time. Beware The Seventh Wave is my debut novel. My second novel Killing Mrs Panama should be ready soon.

 When I am not writing I can usually be found riding one of my horses. I live in the Peak District with my husband and a friendly assortment of creatures’ great and small.

 If you have a moment please take a look at the 62 second promo/video. I tried to tie in the video with the title of my book, which ties in with the plot. I hope you like it.

The you tube link is

 To read a sample chapter of both books, or for any further information my website is comments always welcome and all emails answered.

My facebook author page is

 Thank you for your time, and many thanks to Jessica for giving up her time to host me on her blog.

The Strength Within- A Collection of Stories

“The Strength Within” is a collection of stories written by women, and featuring strong female characters. They include:

“Her Cracked Heart” – Stephanie Warren is a wife, mother, and famous author with a life that others only dream about. An accident turns her world upside down, leaving her cold and emotionless, wanting only privacy and solitude.
Joe Sullivan, a single man who has custody of his six-year old niece, is almost frozen where he stands, when he meets the ice queen on an early morning jog. One thing leads to another and Stephanie finds her empty shell slowly being replaced with fun, laughter, and passion.
Will she take that leap of faith with a ready-made family or will the ghosts of her past keep her happiness at arm’s length.

 “At What Price?”  Katherine Gardner is awakened at 6:30 in the morning with a call from a strange woman who claims to have her granddaughter, Rio. This woman is calling the police if Katherine doesn’t make arrangements for somebody to pick this little girl up.

Katherine is a fifty-six years old woman and all alone, since her husband died over three years ago. Her life takes a dramatic turn when six-year old Rio comes to stay with her. Rio is a scared little girl whose life is filled with uncertainty and fear. 

 In her grandmother, Rio finds a safe haven and an unconditional love that she has never known in her six short years and Katherine has found a love to fill the void that has been absent for way too long.

Unfortunately Katherine’s daughter, who deserted Rio, has other ideas.

“Alone and Afraid” - Life hasn’t been easy for Shannon Knight, raised by a single mother, money’s been tight, but it’s about to get a whole lot worse. When her mother uproots them, to be with a boyfriend, then suddenly goes missing, it leaves Shannon facing homelessness in a strange city where she knows no one. Convinced that this man is responsible for her mother’s disappearance, Shannon sets out to prove it, with surprising consequences.


 “Kick the Can”Dave Smith and his wife, Jocelyn, had waited a long time to have children. And then they were blessed with twins!

The man in the suit that greeted Dave as he saw his children for the first time gave him chills. Dave needed to spend the next twelve years preparing to play a game that would change their lives forever.


 Permafrost”Living on an outpost of a frozen world, Cyan makes the discovery of her career. Life on the wastland. And love.

 “Brandon’s SecretRochelle moves to the beach to get her life back on track after her mother dies in a car accident. Shortly after she arrives she meets tall, dark and sexy Brandon. Night after night he shows up at her beach house and they have a great time together, but he never comes around during the day. Where does he go all day? He says that he is at work all day , but Rochelle decides to do a little digging around and unveils more than she wants to. What secret is Brandon keeping? “Brandon’s Secret” is a short story packed with romance, mystery, and secrets.

 Deep Dark Secrets - Evan Sanders was destined to a life of fighting. He wasn’t an ordinary man. He was a lycanthrope. Not only was he a werewolf but he was the pack’s leader. His mission in life was to protect humankind from vampires. Everything was on track for their big gathering of the full moon. Battle plans were laid out for the upcoming war between the werewolves and the vampires. Nothing would get in the way.

That’s what he thought until she walked into his life.
Cheyanne Willows was banging on his door one night needing help. She was on the run from vampires.

It wasn’t long before Evan learned that Cheyanne wasn’t an ordinary woman. She had no clue how powerful she was or why they were after her. He had to protect her from the vampires.

How could Evan focus on the battle and protect Cheyanne at the same time?


Best selling authors, P. A. Estelle, Karen Lewis, KateMarie Collins, and Lizzy Stevens have written stories about people that do what they need to do in a world where things aren’t always fair!

 The Strength Within comes in both eBook and print versions.

 Jessica, I want to thank you for letting me barge in on your blog to talk about The Strength Within.  I also write stories for kids from 8 – 14 years of age.  For more about my books and myself, please take a minute visit my sites.  I love visitors

Flawed Perfection- Cover Reveal!

Cassandra Giovanni has written another book, soon to be out! This week, she has revealed the cover for Flawed Perfection.

Flawed Perfection

Beautifully Flawed, #1

Cassandra Giovanni

Publisher: Show N’ot Tell Publishing

Cover Designer: Gio Design Studios

Release Date: March 7, 2014



Bobby Beckerson was the American All-Star hockey player–he was the spitting image of perfection to his family. Goofy, sweet and undeniably gorgeous, he had everything but the one girl he wanted: River Ahlers.

River Ahlers is successful in everything but love. She’s been in love with Adam Beckerson since they were kids. Worst of all she’s stuck right in the middle of the brother’s dueling over everything and anything, and she doesn’t even know she’s the ultimate prize.

Adam Beckerson was a boy with a guitar, a smile that sunk girl’s hearts and a stone wall around his own. He was anything but perfect, and no matter how hard he tried he was nothing compared to Bobby. Sweet, damaged, with boyish good-looks, nobody thought Adam loved anyone but himself.

Bobby loved River, River loved Adam and Adam only loved himself–or so everyone thought. Then one night everything changes, and as it threatens to destroy everyone involved a tragedy strikes that will break them all…

GENRE: New Adult Contemporary Romance

About The Author

Cassandra doesn’t remember a time when she wasn’t writing. In fact, the first time she was published was when she was seven years old and won a contest to be published in an American Girl Doll novel. Since then Cassandra has written more novels than she can count and put just as many in the circular bin. Her personal goal with her writing is to show the reader the character’s stories through their dialogue and actions instead of just telling the reader what is happening. In 2012 she became a published Young Adult author, releasing In Between Seasons (The Fall, #1) and the Amazon bestselling thriller, Walking in the Shadows. In 2013 she branched out by using her artistic illustrating talents to publish her first Children’s novel, The Adventures of Skippy Von Flippy: Tales of Friendship (Skippy Tales, #1). Cassandra released her first New Adult novel, Love Exactly, which became an Amazon Bestseller overnight in June of 2013. She’s currently working on her new New Adult Contemporary Romance, Beautifully Flawed. The first novel in the series, Flawed Perfection is scheduled to be published on March 7, 2014.

Besides being a writer, Cassandra is a professional photographer known for her automotive, nature and architectural shots. She is the owner of Gio Design Studios Photography and Gio Design Studios Publication Marketing . She is currently studying to receive a degree in Marketing. Cassandra is happily married to the man of her dreams and they live in the rolling hills of New England with the other loves of her life their dogs, Bubski and Kanga.

Cassandra can be found on:

Facebook ~ Goodreads ~ @cgiovanniauthor


Indie Authors are Back! Margo Bond Collins’ new book!


Fairy, Texas. A small town like any other.

Laney Harris didn’t want to live there. When her mother remarried and moved them to a town where a date meant hanging out at the Sonic, Laney figured that “boring” would have a whole new meaning. A new stepsister who despised her and a high school where she was the only topic of gossip were bad enough. But when she met the school counselor (and his terminal bad breath), she grew suspicious. Especially since he had wings that only she could see. And then there were Josh and Mason, two gorgeous glimmering-eyed classmates whose interest in her might not be for the reasons she hoped. Not to mention that dead guy she nearly tripped over in gym class.

She was right. Boring took on an entirely new dimension in Fairy, Texas.


Margo Bond Collins has graced the website this week with her brand new book- Fairy, Texas. Try this free excerpt on for size:

Excerpt 1:

 Fairy High could have fit into one wing of my old school. The three-story, red brick building looked like it had been around for at least a century—it actually had carvings over two of the doorways that read “Men’s Entrance” and “Women’s Entrance.” I was glad to see that none of the kids paid any attention to those instructions.

            “Counselor’s office,” I muttered to myself. At least I wasn’t starting in the middle of a term—though given the fact that there were fewer than 500 students in the entire high school, I didn’t think I was going to be able to go unnoticed, even in the general bustle of the first day back from summer vacation.

            I walked through the door marked “Men’s Entrance,” just be contrary, and faced a long hallway lined with heavy wooden doors. The spaces in between the doors were filled with lockers and marble staircases with ornate hand-rails flanked each end of the long hallway. Students poured in behind me, calling out greetings to each other and jostling me off to the side while I tried to get my bearings. None of the doors obviously led to a main office; I was going to have to walk the entire length of the hallway. And people were already starting to stare and whisper.

            God. I hated being the new kid.

            I took a deep breath and stepped forward. I made it halfway down the hall without seeing anything informative—all the doors had numbers over them and many of them had name plaques, but neither of those things did me any good since I didn’t know the name or office number for the counselor. I was almost getting desperate enough to ask Kayla, but of course she was nowhere to be seen.

            I turned back from scanning the halls for her and caught sight of the first adult I’d seen—and almost screamed. As it was, I gasped loudly enough for a guy walking past me to do a double take. The man standing in the open doorway was tall, over six feet, and way skinny—so emaciated that it looked like you ought to be able to see his ribs through his shirt, if his shirt didn’t hang so loosely on him. He had white hair that stuck out in tufts, thin lips, a sharp nose, and pale blue eyes that narrowed as he watched the kids walk past—and all the kids gave him a wide berth without even seeming to notice that they did so. He stood in an empty circle while students streamed around him in the crowded hallway.

            But none of that was what made me almost scream.

            For a moment, just as I’d turned toward him, I could have sworn that I’d seen the shadow of two huge, black, leathery wings stretched out behind him.

Pick it up here :

Author Bio:

Margo Bond Collins is the author of a number of novels, including Waking Up Dead, Fairy, Texas, and Legally Undead (forthcoming in 2014). She lives in Texas with her husband, their daughter, and several spoiled pets. She teaches college-level English courses online, though writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading urban fantasy and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about vampires, ghosts, zombies, werewolves, and other monsters.

Links for More Info:

Amazon Author Page:



Twitter:  @MargoBondCollin


Goodreads Author Page:

Facebook Author Page:

Facebook Novel Page:



Manic Readers:

 Be sure to add Fairy, Texas to your Goodreads bookshelves: