Book Tour & Giveaway ~ Embrace of the Wild by Linda Ballou

 

Embrace of the Wild
Inspired by Equestrian Explorer Isabella Bird
by Linda Ballou
Genre: Historical Fiction

“I have just dropped into the very place I have been seeking but in everything it exceeds all my dreams. “

Isabella Lucy Bird (1831-1904)

Some people live to travel; Isabella Lucy Bird traveled to live. Dare to saddle up with this equestrian explorer on her way to becoming the best-loved travel writer of her day. Set off on a voyage from England to the South Seas. Jump ship in Honolulu, then hop on board the Kilauea steaming its way to sleepy Hilo. Be captivated by the lavish beauty of the Sandwich Islands. Charge up the flank of a living volcano, ford roaring torrents on the way to Waipio Valley where the gods come close. Feel the loving touch of the healing hands of a Hawaiian elder and let go of chronic pain that has held you captive.

Invigorated from your stay in Hawai’i press on to ride solo in Colorado on a 600-mile mountain tour. Here you meet an unlikely soulmate in the form of renegade Rocky Mountain Jim. Convince him to guide you to the top of the loftiest peak in the Rocky Range, and try not to fall in love with him and the majesty of his realm. Know the wild abandon of giving rein to your mount with tears streaming, hair flying, and blood pumping. Set your spirit free with Isabella as she breaks through physical and social barriers to follow her dreams.

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The narrow track now slippery with red mud was treacherous. My mare struggled for traction with her legs sliding out from under her. Cascades streaking white down the cleft of the pali dislodged rocks that rattled down the mountain. At times the rain was so dense, I lost sight of Kilani who forged ahead undaunted. We crossed several smaller gulches with rushing water up to my horses belly without incident. But, when we arrived at the lip of Hakalau gulch lost my conviction. Foaming water broiling in a riotous rush to the sea had risen half way up the side of the water corridor. Limbs of trees and leaves swirled in a muddy chaos below. The thunderous sound of breakers crashing on the sea cliffs filled me with dread. If I didn’t drown in the river, I would surely be crushed on the rocks by the pounding sea. I decided I would prefer spending a night in the rain on the shore over attempting this crossing.
Two native men on the other side of the raging torrent had lassoed the horse of a woman trying to reach the other side. With ropes tied to trees they were pulling her to the shore. Her horse floundered falling backwards into the brew. The woman went into the drink. She clung to the horn of the saddle while her body was caught in the current. With a herculean effort the men pulled the flailing animal to the shore. The horse found purchase and the woman was rescued.
Kilani was not dissuaded by the perilous crossing we just witnessed. She stood on the edge of the gulch prepared to jump into a certain death. The men threw the lasso over her horses head and she pressed her horse forward. My heart was in my throat as I watched her being picked up by the roiling water and sent spinning downstream. I screamed over the wild chorus of the river for her to face the flow. She was attempting to cross sideways with her horse completely submerged up to its head. She managed to swing around to face the torrent and the men were able to pull the wretched animal towards the shore. The horse’s eyes rolled white with fear, snorting and puffing as it struggled with every ounce of it’s being to find footing on slippery rocks while the rain pounded even more intensely. Kilani managed to gather herself back onto the horse as it lurched up the far bank of the river. I could only hope for her that her husband’s affections would be rewarded in kind.
I made my decision not to follow her lead to a sudden death. But, as I was about to turn back a lasso was draped around my mare’s neck. Without so much as an “Are you ready?” I was pulled into the roiling drink. Instantly immersed up to my neck, I had no choice but to press forward. I spurred the hapless animal beneath me with all my might. She was swimming toward the far side, but we were drifting towards the sea. I yelled for help over the roar to no avail. My screams were swallowed in the roar of the ceaseless foaming rollers below. This looked to be a sad ending to my new found freedom.
From shore Kilani screamed “Spur. Spur. Spur.” Both men were on the rope they pulled taunt around my horse’s neck. They secured their feet on boulders and grunted with each pull giving a small release so they did not choke her to death. The animal was gasping, and gave out a sorrowful whinny that shook her entire body. I was lifted by the water out of the saddle. My arms were being pulled out of their sockets as I clung to the big horn of the Mexican saddle. The rain was blinding and I was about to let go and join the spirits in the underworld of Po. Suddenly, my mare found a reserve of strength and lurched forward. With the help of the men pulling her, she was able to swim close enough to the shore to scramble up the slick wall of mud and out of the torrent.
Upa finally arrived with a mule in tow. The men tossed him the rope that he put around the creatures neck. He deftly hopped rocks, dove into the muddy brew and navigated the charging river like an amphibious creature leading the mule behind him. He laughed loudly when he reached our party on the other side.
“Lucky we get here today,” Upa said.
My horse stood trembling. My teeth chattered involuntarily. The tumult of blinding rain had not ceased. I didn’t feel lucky.

From my roots in Alaska I receive strength, centeredness and respect for the awful power of nature. Numerous adventure articles, essays on my website are set in my homeland. In Hawaii I found a spiritual awakening, sensuality and the heroine for my historical novel Wai-nani: A Voice from Old Hawaii. Lost Angel in Paradise, takes you day tripping with me to my favorite outdoor days in sun-splashed California. I share tips for "Wannabe" travel writers in GET GREAT TRIPS. I added Lost Angel Walkabout to my audio books for my armchair traveling friends in 2020. I just released of Embrace of the Wild an historical novel inspired by the life of equestrian explorer Isabella Bird.

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Book Tour & Giveaway ~ Under the Light of the Italian Moon by Jennifer Anton

Historical fiction, women’s fiction, biographical fiction

Date Published: March 8, 2021

Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers

A promise keeps them apart until WWII threatens to destroy their love forever

Fonzaso Italy, between two wars

Nina Argenta doesn’t want the traditional life of a rural Italian woman. The daughter of a strong-willed midwife, she is determined to define her own destiny. But when her brother emigrates to America, she promises her mother to never leave.

When childhood friend Pietro Pante briefly returns to their mountain town, passion between them ignites while Mussolini forces political tensions to rise. Just as their romance deepens, Pietro must leave again for work in the coal mines of America. Nina is torn between joining him and her commitment to Italy and her mother.

As Mussolini’s fascists throw the country into chaos and Hitler’s Nazis terrorise their town, each day becomes a struggle to survive greater atrocities. A future with Pietro seems impossible when they lose contact and Nina’s dreams of a life together are threatened by Nazi occupation and an enemy she must face alone…

A gripping historical fiction novel, based on a true story and heartbreaking real events.

Spanning over two decades, Under the Light of the Italian Moon is an epic, emotional and triumphant tale of one woman’s incredible resilience during the rise of fascism and Italy’s collapse into WWII.

UNDER THE LIGHT OF THE ITALIAN MOON

On the day of the Festa dell’Uva the weather was blustery, and the tents of the merchants whipped and shook. No one wanted to cancel, but the conditions were less than ideal. It seemed it would rain any moment. Nina looked out the window, cursing her luck. The door to the house opened, and Corrado entered along with a gust of wind. 

“Bundle up! The festa is still on. Even if we have to huddle under blankets, we won’t be cancelling!” he announced. Everyone let out a cheer and grabbed their scarves and coats. Nina tied her chignon tight to avoid the wind making a mess of her hair. Vante, Aurora, Evira, and little Luigia tied blankets over their shoulders like capes as they marched to the piazza where the festivities would begin. 

In the Piazza Primo Novembre, the Fonzasini huddled next to each other on either side, leaving space for the parade. Nina scanned the crowd for her friends and Pietro. To her surprise, Onorina grabbed her arm and shouted at her, “Come with me!” 

Nina allowed herself to be pulled across the piazza towards a section of the crowd where Onorina’s friends stood, anticipating the celebration, next to a row of young men in linen pants and wool caps. To Nina’s nervous pleasure, Pietro was with them. 

“Squeeze in!” yelled Toni Bianchi, a wilful and brawny young man who had spent time abroad in Canada, come back to fight in the Great War and returned to find his father had died of the Spanish flu. He pulled the two girls next to him with Onorina on his side, forcing Nina between her sister and Pietro. 

“Hello there,” Pietro said, jostling as the crowd pushed and pulled to get the best view of the parade. The wind tossed his curls. “You weren’t at the festa in Frassenè!” he nearly shouted, and she didn’t have time to respond to him as the crowd cheered. Each cart rolling by celebrated winemaking and depicted a different step in the process. The first cart came through the crowd, adorned with twisted grapevines covering every surface, and one of Onorina’s old classmates, Bettina Napoli, waved from the carriage with a wreath of vines on her head. She was supposed to wear a Roman goddess costume, but with the cold and wind, whatever she wore was hidden beneath a coat. The girl held tight to her crown to keep it from blowing away. 

The crowd shoved forward and tightened, pushing Nina against Pietro on the right and her sister on her left. To her secret delight, the pressure of the crowd on Onorina’s side was rising, and she had the distinct impression Toni was instigating it, pushing closer to her sister, and forcing her into Pietro. She could feel Pietro’s warm body under many layers, and they laughed, cheering as each cart went past. Pietro’s hand brushed against hers, sending an electric current through her belly. As the carriage drove by with old men and small children stomping on grapes in a vat, the skies opened, and a light rain fell, flying about in the wind. Someone lifted a large blanket behind and above the group and Nina found herself squeezed underneath it, protected from the rain with Pietro. It was oddly intimate despite the entire population of Fonzaso and surrounding villages gathered around them. They laughed and shook their heads, unable to hear anything through the shouting crowd, accordion music, and roaring wind. They cheered along, laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation and the thrill of being close until someone released a corner of the blanket and the wind ripped it away. The group screamed in surprise as the rain drenched them. 

Pietro’s hair was soaked, his damp curls stuck to his forehead as chaos started around them, everyone running for cover from the storm. Nina imagined her hair must look wild, most of her chignon loose. The organisers announced the Alpini band would play in the Corsos’ barn. 

“Are you coming?” Pietro shouted to Onorina and Nina over the madness in the piazza and the intensifying rain. 

“We’ll see you there!” Onorina called in response, pulling Nina again with her. 

“What was that about?” asked Nina when they found cover under an umbrella someone handed them. 

“What was what about? It’s a festa! Have fun, sorellina! Your life is too serious!” Her sister was in an exceptionally good mood, even though her waves were damp and would soon frizz. They were the first into the Corso barn as the Alpini band started, and the accordions hummed. 

The exhilaration of the cold and the extraordinary situation of the festival took away any inhibition Nina had of being first to dance, and she and Onorina bounced to the music as soon as they entered. Onorina was an excellent dancer, and they both swung their hips, dipping and spinning with the music. Nina finally felt free. She twirled under the timber roof, giving in to an abandon she hadn’t felt since childhood, since before the awful days of the war took it away. 

A flood of people soon joined, swaying, and waltzing around them. Nina’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and she danced with everyone. The temperature rose in the barn, making the air muggy with the earthy smell of rain and hay. Where was Pietro? The men passed bottles of wine and raised them to allow the liquid down their throats, swigging, and handing it on. Her father appeared and lifted her around, then swung her sister. Vante and her little sisters stamped past, clapping their hands, and twirling as the music played. It reminded her of the weddings she’d attended when she was small before the war. Everyone wanted to dance with her then, and she never wanted to leave the floor. Women swished their skirts, men slapped their thighs and when the Alpini band played ‘QuelMazzolin di Fiori’, a cheer went up for the favourite song. Nina spotted Pietro through the boisterous crowd, but as he was about to break through, a young man with red hair swung her away. “Hey, Pampo!” someone shouted at him and gave him a wink as he swung Nina on the dance floor. She wanted to get away, annoyed at his awful dancing and even worse timing. She watched as Pietro found Onorina and gave her a twirl, both of them swaying to the music. Nina tried to move away from the redhead, but the barn was too packed with bodies, and he swung her again. This time, she lost her balance and, with two steps, trying to catch her footing, fell into the crowd. 

“Whoa there,” a low voice hummed in her ear as strong arms wrapped around her, catching her from her fall. 

“I remember you telling me you could dance,” Pietro said, smirking at her in a kidding manner while he pulled her into his arms. 

“Don’t blame me. A girl has to have the right partner,” she quipped back, surprised by her own words and immediately taking in the heady scent of his cologne: wood and spice mellowed by dried rain. 

‘La Monella’ played, and Pietro put his hand on Nina’s lower back, guiding her in an easy waltz to the quick tune. No one had ever held her in such a way; his palm was firm on her lower back, possessive, as though sending a message to everyone in the room. He was smooth on his feet, confident. They spun around in the packed space until the other dancers parted enough to allow them to travel. As the pace of the song picked up, Pietro became animated; he raised his eyebrowsdipping her, and teasing with his movements. Nina liked how he moved. He was smooth but didn’t take himself seriously, and it was exhilarating to be twirled around in his arms. His hair had dried into a wild flop covering his left eye. She resisted the urge to push it back for him. 

“Did you learn to dance like this in America?” she asked, as he spun her and then pulled her back close to him. 

“I’ve learnt a lot of things in America.” He leaned towards her and changed the subject. “Do you ever go to the movies?” he asked. When he spoke to her, he had to get close to her ear so she could hear him over the band. She felt the heat from his breath on her neck. 

“Sì. In Feltre and we’re meant to get a small picture house behind the church soon. I especially love American films!” 

Pietro grinned at her, searching her face as if memorising her features. “Why weren’t you at the last festa? I saw everyone else in your family but not you. Onorina was the star of the night.” 

“I’m sure she was,” Nina frowned, a chill going through her at the mention of her sister. “I had to help my mother. Babies don’t plan around events,” she said, breathless and annoyed the conversation had headed again in Onorina’s direction. How many times had men tried to get information about her sister through her? Was Pietro the same? 

“You want to be a midwife, too?” It was a serious question to ask in the middle of a dance floor, but his brown eyes made her want to share her thoughts with him. 

“I want to matter to the world,” she admitted. “My mother has figured out how to do that.” He spun her again, then looked at her seriously. 

“You do and you will,” he said. Un colpo di fulmine. The lightning bolt returned as his words sunk into her like she had been waiting to hear them all her life. 

The song changed again and, this time, Corrado appeared, took Nina in his arms, and spun her around the barn. Losing sight of Pietro, she was tossed away again as Corrado seized her mother for a rare dance. She kept moving to the music as Pampo came up once more; this time she shook her head at him, unwilling to let him have her hand. He stayed nearby anyway, gesticulating towards her. For a moment, she thought she saw Pietro frowning on the other side of the barn as the annoying ragazzo danced at her. Nina smiled awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable, not wanting to be rude but miserable about the change in circumstances. Pampo grabbed her wrist and twisted her roughly again. This time, she stepped with intention away from him and inched into a corner of the barn where observers sat on stacks of hay. She searched the space until a flash of burgundy drew her attention. On the other side of the barn, there was Onorina, again in the arms of Pietro. He had her sister’s scarf tied around his neck and was making the same animated faces at Onorina he had made at her. Nina felt the blood drain from her face, and her urge to dance died, replaced by the desire to escape. Her siren of a sister could enchant any man; and why shouldn’t he fall in love with her? Hours before, it seemed like Onorina was steering Pietro her way, but, as she batted her eyes and grasped onto the ends of her scarf around his neck, it was clear she was interested, too. Nina wove her way through the crowd to the exit, pushing away tears with the palms of her hands, and ran up the moonlit stones of the Via Calzen and home to her bed. 

Under the Light of the Italian Moon is available at the following retailers on preorder until it releases on March 8th, 2021:

Amazon (Worldwide) getbook.at/JAnton

Barnes and Noble (U.S. only) https://bit.ly/3n1nDqC​

Bookshop.org (U.S. only) https://bit.ly/3ofS39T

Or order it direct from your local bookshop

 

Follow Jennifer on Instagram @boldwomanwriting

Visit her website www.boldwomanwriting.com

 

Copyright 2021 Jennifer Anton

About the Author

Jennifer Anton is an American/Italian dual citizen born in Joliet, Illinois and now lives between London and Lake Como, Italy. A proud advocate for women’s rights and equality, she hopes to rescue women's stories from history, starting with her Italian family.

In 2006, after the birth of her daughter, Jennifer suffered a life-threatening post-partum cardiomyopathy, and soon after, her Italian grandmother died. This tumultuous year strengthened her desire to capture the stories of her female Italian ancestors.

In 2012, she moved with her family to Milan, Italy and Chicago Parent Magazine published her article, It’s In the Journey, chronicling the benefits of travelling the world with children. Later, she moved to London where she has held leadership positions in brand marketing with companies including ABInbev, Revlon, Shiseido and Tory Burch.

Jennifer is a graduate of Illinois State University where she was a Chi Omega and holds a master’s degree from DePaul University in Chicago.

Under the Light of the Italian Moon is her first novel, based on the lives of her Italian grandmother and great grandmothers during the rise of fascism and World War II.

Review the book at Amazon.com, Goodreads, and Bookbub

Connect with Jennifer on Instagram @boldwomanwriting

Connect with Jennifer on Facebook @jenniferantonauthorpage

Join her mailing list at www.boldwomanwriting.com

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Purchase Link

getbook.at/JAnton

 

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BLOG TOUR & GIVEAWAY ~ THE HELM OF MIDNIGHT by Marina Lostetter

ASIN : B0879J44XZ
Publisher : Tor Books; 1st edition (April 13, 2021)
Publication date : April 13, 2021
Language : English

Praise for THE HELM OF MIDNIGHT

"The Helm of Midnight transports readers to an intensely unique and creative world, with interwoven secrets and heart-pounding action. Bloody, ambitious, and absolutely riveting." ―Andrea Stewart, author of The Bone Shard Daughter

"A mysterious and mind-ripping journey through the mystic depths of time and the darkness of the human psyche." ―Matt Wallace, author of the Sin du Jour and Savage Rebellion series

"Beautiful and vicious, The Helm of Midnight will snare you with its intriguing mystery and then enthrall you with its rich characters and inventive world." ―Megan E. O'Keefe, author of Velocity Weapon

A legendary serial killer stalks the streets of a fantastical city in The Helm of Midnight, the stunning first novel in a new trilogy from acclaimed author Marina Lostetter.

In a daring and deadly heist, thieves have made away with an artifact of terrible power--the death mask of Louis Charbon. Made by a master craftsman, it is imbued with the spirit of a monster from history, a serial murderer who terrorized the city with a series of gruesome murders.

Now Charbon is loose once more, killing from beyond the grave. But these murders are different from before, not simply random but the work of a deliberate mind probing for answers to a sinister question.

It is up to Krona Hirvath and her fellow Regulators to enter the mind of madness to stop this insatiable killer while facing the terrible truths left in his wake.

You can purchase The Helm of Midnight at the following Retailers:

        

After scribbling a gratuity invocation on a prayer scroll, Melanie rushed back to the halfway house. She blazed through the dark, grungy hall, and into the shabby room with the boarded windows and sagging mattress. Even this had been a costly place to stay, despite the rat-nested walls, and the strange smells, and the sounds of nefarious acts rattling through the halls at all hours of the night. This had been too expensive. How anyone could afford to actually live in a city, Melanie couldn’t fathom.

“Mother. Mother, look,” Melanie said excitedly, crouching next to the bare bed. She turned her mother’s pale face toward the mask. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Mmm,” Dawn-Lyn agreed, cracking open her sunken eyes to appreciate the workmanship. Her hair fanned out across the stained pillow, framing her bony profile in a halo of black.

Melanie wanted to put the mask on this instant, to learn Master Belladino’s healing techniques as soon as possible.

But she forced herself to wait, just until they moved to the Creek Side Inn. The name itself suggested it had to be worlds better than here, where she’d had to shove a rickety chair against the door to feel safe while sleeping.

Using the board they’d brought, Melanie was able to leverage her mother out of bed and partially onto her feet. She buckled her into a harness, then looped the straps—like those on a traveler’s pack—over her own shoulders. Dawn-Lyn hadn’t been able to sit upright on her own in months. She hadn’t been able to walk in years.

Limply, her mother hugged her from behind. “Good girl. My good girl,” she breathed.

Melanie slowly took her mother’s full weight onto her back. “You feel lighter today,” she said, worried.

“Easier for you to carry, that way,” her mother said. “Soon you won’t have to worry about me anymore. You’ll be able to live your own life, as a young woman should.”

Yes, Melanie thought, but unot for the reason you think. “You’ll feel better soon,” she said.

Her mother sighed. “Yes, I’m sure I will.”

Melanie waited for her mother to ask more questions, to inquire after why they were moving, or if the mask had been easy to acquire. But her illness made her tired and her brain foggy.

If Dawn-Lyn noticed that things were dire financially, she never said. And Melanie hadn’t wanted to bring her extra worry. Pieces of well-crafted furniture had slowly disappeared from their home—sold off to ensure they could buy medicines or special food. The roof sagged in places, its holes patched by shoddy thatching and Melanie’s own hands. Their home had once sported a magnificent stained-glass window, of which only a shard now remained.

Master Belladino’s mask was it, their last shot. After this venture there was no time left, not in Melanie’s purse and not in Dawn-Lyn’s body.

If Melanie couldn’t save her mother, she’d be left with nothing in the end.

With a heavy sigh, she gathered up the rest of their meager belongings, then hobbled out of the room.

Copyright © 2021 by Marina Lostetter

Photo Credit: Jeff Nelson

The open skies and dense forests of the Pacific Northwest are ideal for growing speculative fiction authors–or, at least, Marina Lostetter would like to think so. Originally from Oregon, she now resides in Arkansas with her spouse, Alex. In her spare time she enjoys globetrotting, board games, and all things art-related. Her original short fiction has appeared in venues such as Lightspeed, Uncanny, and Shimmer Magazine. Her debut novel, NOUMENON, and its sequels, NOUMENON INFINITY and NOUMENON ULTRA, are available from Harper Voyager. Her first fantasy novel, THE HELM OF MIDNIGHT, is forthcoming from Tor. In addition, she has written tie-in materials for Star Citizen and the Aliens franchise. She is represented by DongWon Song of the Howard Morhaim Literary Agency, and she tweets as @MarinaLostetter.

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Blog Tour & Giveaway ~ Max and the Spice Thieves by John Peragine

Max and the Spice Thieves
John Peragine
(Secrets of the Twilight Djinn #1)
Publication date: April 20th 2021
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

When his mother goes missing, Max Daybreaker’s world is turned upside down. Luckily, a crew of Spice Pirates, led by the mysterious Captain Cinn, help Max on his dangerous mission across the three seas.

Along the way, an unlikely alliance aids in his search—a teenage warrior queen, a three-eyed seer, and an assassin spy.

Their journey takes them through treacherous lands while facing shapeshifting bears, an ancient witch, harpies, and the nightmarish Djinn, who will stop at nothing to enslave the world.

With every new challenge, Max unlocks the secrets of his unsettling past. Powers awaken within, forcing him to question everything he knows.

Is Max who he thinks he is? Only time and destiny will tell…

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

Tully’s neighing shocked me from slumber. My book was lying open beside me to the page I was reading. 

“Come on, ye old nag,” said a voice near the front of the wagon. “Ye be a good girl and come with me.”

The wagon lurched, and I banged my head on the back of the bench. Even though my mom had told me not to talk to strangers, she’d also told me to protect the wagon. 

“Let me just release this buckle, and then ye can come home with me.”

I stood up from my bed with my fists on my hips. “You get away from Tully! She’s my horse. You better back off.” 

I picked up a leather crop from the bench since it was the only weapon handy. I waved it at the two men standing before the wagon, but they stared at me, unimpressed. I was tall for a twelve-year-old, and my arms and legs looked like sticks. I was strong but not muscular. 

The two men were filthy and wore tattered clothing. The taller of the two held Tully’s reins, and the smaller, portly man was unhooking Tully from the wagon.

“Look at what we have here,” said the taller man. “It’s a young cub.”

Both men laughed, showing their rotten, black teeth.

“You get away from her right now. My mom and . . . and . . . dad will be back any minute. You better leave before they get back, or you’ll get a whipping!” Standing tall with my arms crossed, I glared down at the men.

“Is that so?” said the portly man as he loosened the buckle on Tully’s yoke. “I very much doubt we will be troubled, cub. Your mum’s not comin’ back.”

Tully bucked in an attempt to get away from the men, and the movement made me plop down hard on the bench. 

“What do you mean, my mom’s not coming back? How do you know my mom?” I asked, scrambling to stand.

The portly man grinned with his broken, black teeth. Something was wrong—very wrong. Seagulls cawed high above in the blue sky, signaling morning was well underway. Had I been reading for that long? My heart pounded hard in my chest. Where was Mom? She should have been back already.

Tully was loose from her yoke, and the tall man pulled her reins hard. Tully tried to rear back, but she was too old and weak to make much of a fuss.

“Ah, ye old nag,” the tall man said. “Ye won’t be worth much at market, but maybe a butcher will take ye and sell ye fer dog food.” Both men cackled.

“Listen,” the portly man said, “be a good lad and hand us yer bags from the wagon there. Yer coming with us. We may make some coin, after all.”

“I’m not some dull boy—you can’t boss me around. You need to hook Tully back up this instant . . . or . . . or . . .”

“Or what?” mocked the portly man. “Listen here, ye whelp, ye don’t understand what I’m sayin’. Either ye come down here with yer bags, or I’ll come up there, and then we’ll see how well ye swim.”

The tall man led Tully away in the same direction mom had gone hours before. The portly man grunted as he pulled himself onto the bench and reached for me. But I was a wild animal on fire. I rushed the short, round man while swinging with my crop, catching him by surprise. He toppled but then regained his balance. He grabbed the crop with one hand, tugging hard, then he drew back his other hand to hit me. But there was a loud crack, and he slumped over the bench.

Standing behind the unconscious thief was a man dressed all in black. His beard had a braid in the center held by a gold ring pushed up to his chin, and he wore a gold-and-red sash as a belt tied around his long coat, which was trimmed with silver buttons. On his head was a tri-corner hat with a single white plume. He clutched the handle of a busted oar.

Author Bio:

John Peragine is an author of over fourteen books. The Secrets of the Twilight Djinn series was written as a bedtime story for his son Max to cope with medical issues he was facing as a little boy. John is a full-time ghostwriter who lives with his son, wife, and a menagerie of animals on his vineyard overlooking the Mississippi River.

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