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text 2017-12-01 14:05
Featured Friday: Fillius Glint by Ditrie Marie Bowie with Excerpt and Interview

 

Today for “Feature Friday” let us welcome the wonderful Ditrie Marie Bowie and her book Fillius Glint.

We will have info about the book and author, agreat excerpt of the book and a interview with Ditrie Marie.

Make sure to check everything out and go and show her some love and add the book to your TBR ;) 

Happy Reading :) 

 


 

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When you are an adult, living with your parents can be awkward. All Nigel Iffik wants is one quiet night alone with his hand. Instead, he unwittingly unleashes a malicious virus which infects his entire family's network of electronics and Universe Growers. Trillions of sentient beings succumb to destruction as his sister, Nancy, scrambles to undo the damage to her mostly unprotected Universe Grower. Will the anti-viral protocols stop the digital onslaught in time?

Follow four residents of one such endangered universe as they chomp tacos, battle the absurd, and uncover a secret that will change their lives forever.

 

 

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Buy Links

 

 

 

This dream was boring. Instead of battling fire-breathing dragons or taming ninja rats, I was standing around waiting for something to happen. I mean, come on. Elder Boya was here, too, even though he’d died five years ago. And Dream Boya wasn’t a paragon of action-adventure, either.

Just. Standing.

We were stuck in the center of my village— a patch of dust ringed by straw-thatched huts. I ran past the taco trees that bordered the village, but the dream plopped me right back in the center whenever I closed in on freedom.

Screw this, I was sick of standing. I sat down on the ground in a huff.

Dream Boya wore blue ceremonial robes that fluttered in a wind I couldn’t feel. His white beard had been combed and threaded into intricate braids. I wondered what the special occasion was.

Other elders were behind him, but they weren’t real people— more like formless shadows. A crowd thrummed behind me, but I couldn’t turn my head to watch them.

Dreams were weird.

Bored, I reached into my pouch for a bauble. But there was nothing there. Frantic, I patted the ground all around me. The satchel was nowhere to be found. Irritated, I scratched my nose. That bag wasn’t only my livelihood— it was the sign of my office. A smetoriya wasn’t complete without one.

I glared at the others in the dreamscape. Had one of the shadows stolen my pouch? I saw the marking staff in Dream Boya’s hand, the knots and whorls of its wood as ancient as my people. That’s when everything clicked into place. In this dream, I hadn’t been made a smetoriya yet. Not officially.

Without warning, the dream world hushed. It was a silence that rattled my bones.

Boya spoke. “It is your eighteenth spring, Calliya Tregoriya. The time has come. You must stand before the people and be marked. Guardian watch over us as we celebrate, the elements witness this day. Did you complete the poros wreath?”

Glancing down, I saw a wreath resting in my palms. It looked like the one I had woven for the real ceremony: tiny leaves and delicate white petals intertwined in an elaborate braid. The main difference was this one glowed like something out of the Spiritwait. Shuddering, I stood up and passed it to Dream Boya. He accepted the gift with a slight bow of his head. A ghostly wind tousled his robes, but the breeze didn’t touch me.

A creeping unease rushed down my shoulders. Air was one of my elements to call; I should at least be able to sense it moving.

The errant wind blew over the poros wreath, crumbling it to dust in Dream Boya’s hand. “It’s gone.” He whispered, his rheumy eyes brimming with confusion. “Gone.” He threaded knobby fingers through the braids of his beard, tugging in frustration. “Ill omen. Ill portent. Oh, woe be unto all who stand witness here this day.” The marking staff drooped and darkened, writhing in his grasp; Elder Boya’s face twisted in tormented anger.

At least the dream was getting interesting.

“Two cycles did I train you, Calliya Tregoriya. Three more cycles did I guide you through the wilderness. Why did you abandon me to the dust?”

Whoa, now. Abandon was a harsh word. Thanks to old age, Elder Boya had met his dust without any input from me. After he passed, I had bound his body to the elements and freed his soul to the Spiritwait. I had done my part. Dream Boya needed to chill the snarks down.

The marking staff leaped out of his hand and slithered to the ground. The weird wind strengthened and inflated Boya to twice his size. “You have forsaken me! You have been marked! You shall be marked!” The staff snaked its way toward me, but I couldn’t move my legs to dodge out of the way. It wrapped itself around my ankles, cramming them together. I lost my balance and crumpled to the soil.

This was seriously uncool. But wait, it got better.

The snarking staff bit me, sending a sharp pain up my legs followed by an indescribable chill. A thick liquid clotted my veins and tightened my jaw.

Poisoned. Paralyzed. This was the worst dream ever.

Dream Boya leaned over me, his features subtly shifting. Tan and weathered skin became smooth and waxy white. Dark, heavy-lidded eyes brightened and changed into large yellow spheres with nictating membranes. The Crenosiyo sage transformed into the Guardian-cursed demon, Qorxu.

Even though I knew this was a dream, a surge of fear shook my soul as the devil leered over me, came close and closer. My spirit screamed, but no sound came out; my mouth was petrified into silence.

Gasping, I awoke to the sounds of the forest. My heart beat a wild rhythm against its bony cage.

Worst. Dream. Ever.

 

 

 

Hello Ditrie Marie. Thank you for taking the time to stop in and chat with us, it is great to have you.

 

What was the best money you ever spent as a writer?

That's a great question. I hate spending money on anything; it makes me terribly anxious. But I'm really glad I invested in copies of Vellum and Scrivener. 

What author, dead or alive would you love to co-write with and why?

Terry Pratchett, hands down. His writing was deliciously punny, and I find myself leaning heavily on that comedic fantasy style.

What is your writing Kryptonite? 

Anxiety and self-doubt. Nothing will kill a story faster.

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

I don't know how original it is, but I am myself. I write the stories that I enjoy reading. And I'm a weird, quirky little person. So, if nothing else, I write for all the weirdos out there like me.

What was an early experience where you learned that language had power?

Words have had incredible power in my life for as long as I can remember. I grew up in a bilingual household. My mother would often tell us stories or play story-making games with my brother and me when we were little. And no matter which language she's speaking at the time, my mother has an admirable ability to spin stories in an engaging and captivating way. She can tell me about someone walking down the street and make it feel like I'm reading a mystery thriller or a comedy depending on how she spins it. It's pretty amazing.

 

This was fun, again thank you so much for taking the time to chat. You rock!

 

 

Ditrie Marie Bowie

 

Ditrie Marie Bowie (née Sanchez) is a Puerto Rican in British Columbia, Canada who writes fiction. She is a member of the Alliance of Independent Authors (ALLi)and co-editor of Strange Stories to Tell in the Park. Bowie is also the creator of the webcomic, This Writer Can’t Draw. A classically trained pianist and former educator, she has lived in three different countries spanning two continents. And she met her spouse in a video game.

 

Links

 

Website *** Facebook *** Twitter *** Instagram *** Pinterest 

 

Snoopydoo sigi

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/featured-friday-fillius-glint-ditrie-marie-bowie-excerpt-interview
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review 2017-11-23 19:37
The Julius House / Charlaine Harris
The Julius House - Charlaine Harris

Love at first sight turns into newlywed bliss for former librarian Aurora Teagarden-until violence cuts the honeymoon short.

Wealthy businessman Martin Bartell gives Roe exactly what she wants for their wedding: Julius House. But both the house and Martin come with murky pasts. And when Roe is attacked by an ax-wielding maniac, she realizes that the secrets inside her four walls—and her brand-new marriage—could destroy her.

 

When your hobby is studying True Crime stories, what do you want as a wedding present? Well, a mysterious house where the whole family has vanished without a trace, that’s what. And that’s exactly what Aurora Teagarden gets from her new husband, Martin. She gets a few other secrets rolled into the bargain without her knowledge, however, that lead her to wonder whether she’s made the correct choices for her life.

The amount that I enjoy Charlaine Harris’ mysteries seems to depend more on my frame of mind than anything else. When I’m in a receptive mood, I’m willing to just go with whatever scenario she dishes up. When I’m perhaps a bit cranky, I start questioning those plot choices and I don’t enjoy the story quite so much.

This time out, I feel a bit cranky about things. Although I thought that the reveal of what actually happened to the Julius family was very well done, I found the relationship developments between Roe and Martin to be questionable. Who in their right mind goes into a marriage with unanswered questions of that magnitude? When you have an opportunity to question the ex-wife, why would you shut her down? And why would you ever go to your former date for marriage counselling?

Yeah, yeah, small town, limited number of people, blah, blah, blah. I’ve lived in a small town and I don’t find it realistic. But I’ve never lived in the Southern States, so what do I know?

I actually own a copy of the next book in the series, which I picked up in a second-hand bookstore. So I guess I will be continuing on at some point, when I have the crankies under control.

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text 2017-11-10 14:05
Feature Friday: Witch's Mystic Woods by Marsha A. Moore with Excerpt and Giveaway

Today for “Feature Friday” let us welcome the awesome Marsha A. Moore with her book Witch's Mystic Woods.The fourth book in Coon Hollow Coven Series.

We will have info about the book and Marsha. Plus we have a interview and a great excerpt from the book.

Make sure to check everything out and go and show some love and add her books to your TBR

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/feature-friday-witchs-mystic-woods-marsha-moore-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-10-13 14:05
Feature Friday for Camilla Ochlan & Bonita Gutierrez's The Werewolf Whisperer with Interview and Excerpt

 

Today for “Feature Friday” let us welcome the wonderful Camilla Ochlan & Bonita Gutierrez with their book The Werewolf Whisperer.The first book in The Werewolf Whisperer Series. 

We will have info about the book and authors. Plus we have a interview and a great excerpt from the book.

 

Make sure to check everything out and go and show them some love and add their book to your TBR ;) 

Happy Reading :) 


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Lucy Lowell, The Werewolf Whisperer, and her partner Xochitl Magaña are thrown into chaos when the Kyon Virus turns a disturbing number of Angelenos into werewolf-like creatures. As the outbreak expands to epidemic proportions, Lucy’s uncanny ability to control the creatures makes her “the silver lining in our werewolf apocalypse.” Battling their own personal demons born of family history and bad choices, the women join together in the pursuit of helping those afflicted. But all is not as it seems. Not for Lucy. Not for Xochitl. And not for a society just coming to grips with the new world order.

 

 

 

 

Buy Link

 

 

 

 

 

Hello Camilla & Bonita. Thank you for taking the time to stop in and chat with us, it is lovely to have you. 

 

How do you balance making demands on the reader with taking care of the reader?

First and foremost, story is the most important thing. Everything we write has a purpose, but we also love leaving the reader little crumbs that will pay off along the way. The Werewolf Whisperer is filled with a diverse cast of characters, struggling through the chaos of a world teetering on the edge, which gives the reader a lot to sink their teeth into.

 

What’s the best way to market your books?

We are mostly interested in connecting with readers that love Urban Fantasy. So we use social media to reach our audience. Facebook and Twitter have been good for us. And we've started experimenting with Instagram now that they allow ads. We're also working on building our readership through our BEASTY BITES newsletter.

 

What are your hardest scenes to write? And what are what are the easiest to write for you?

It varies. Sometimes the thing you think will be the hardest to write comes easiest. And vice versa. For example, the choreography of a fight scene is more straightforward to plan, but then, you have to layer in the emotional consequences of the fight — and that's where things get tricky…and time consuming.

 

Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with bad or good ones?

Yes, we read our book reviews. As indie author/publishers, we have to. Reviews give us insights into what the readers are feeling and thinking about our work, which we can learn from. That being said, we try to keep in mind that reviews are subjective. What one person likes, another may not. But what's important to us is the story, and we have to write the story as we see it.

How do you select the names of your characters?

Names come to us in a variety of ways. Sometimes a name has lived with us for a while. Sometimes a name suggests character. Sometimes the name comes from people in our lives. In the case of our heroines, Lucy Lowell and Xochitl Magaña, Lucy is a tribute to Lucy Lawless and Camilla's dad Lowell. And Xochitl is a unique Aztec name, which Camilla really liked for years. And Magaña is Bonita's grandmother's maiden name.

 

This was fun, again thank you so much for taking the time to chat.

 

 

 

K-Day 24 months ago

 

Lucy Lowell tucked into the shadows behind the white cinder block wall of Xochitl's Cantina and listened. Coarse Spanglish curses pierced the night, accompanied by loud cheers and snatches of Tijuana narco-pop. Vicious barking and short, pained shrieks lacerated the seedy revelry. Through holes in the camouflage canvas stretched over the parking lot's chain- link fence, Lucy counted thirty East Los Locos gangbangers crowding around a shallow dogfight pit. Strewn around, discarded like trash, lay lumps of fur and flesh Lucy didn't have the stomach to focus on. Through the wall of men, Lucy caught a glimpse of a blue nose pit bull turning away from its opponent, a muscular pit mastiff mix. "Handle your dog, güey!" a paunchy man yelled from just outside the ring. Accompanied by loud taunts, men from each side of the pit dragged their dogs back to the scratch lines. The mastiff's handler fussed at the dog's mouth, unfanging the dog's lip from its teeth. Clearly dead tired and hurt, the blue nose pit bull started toward the line of cages against the opposite fence. "Whoa, Puta." A young man with a baseball cap turned backwards yanked the dog's collar hard, causing the pit to drop to the ground as if taking cover. From her hiding place, Lucy could see deep scratches on the pit bull's face, bite wounds bleeding on the shoulder and old burn marks seared into the fur. Lucy's stomach cramped. The dollar tacos she and her partner Gabe had devoured on their way to Echo Park threatened a hasty exit. Cabra Blanca, their favorite late night food truck, had been parked close to the raid at Montana and Alvarado. Eddie, the owner, always included extra mango guacamole with Lucy's order. Guacamole! Shouldna eaten. The dogfighting makes me sick enough. Why'd I chance it with the cabeza quesadilla on top of those goat tacos? Lucy breathed in slowly and directed her gaze from the hurt dog to the few stars blinking in the murky L.A. sky. The lights of an airplane outshone the sliver of the waning crescent moon. She could make out the distant roar of jet engines. "Bitch won't fight no more, jefe." The young man with the cap delivered a kick to the blue nose pit's side. An ugly curse cut through the tumult as a man in a formfitting white T-shirt and dark designer jeans parted the crowd. Memo Morales, cock of the walk. Nice of you to join us. Teeth clenched, Lucy drew her sidearm and looked back down the alley. Officer Gabe Torres of the LAPD Animal Cruelty Task Force quietly crouched down next to Lucy, indicating with a nod that he too had spotted "El Gallo." Her partner for five years, Gabe was as fierce an animal rights protector as Lucy had ever met. Both she and Gabe had risked both badge and incarceration many times, as they rescued dogs from backyard dogfighting with or without departmental approval. Tonight's raid was another point of contention with their ACTF lieutenant. When the confidential informant had approached Lucy and Gabe about dogfighting behind her cantina, it had been just the break they'd been looking for. These East Los Locos had been brokering dogfights for years, but their slippery leader Memo Morales, a.k.a. "El Gallo,"always managed to ensconce the events with aggravating efficiency. Distressingly the CI, Xochitl Magaña, had given Lucy and Gabe much more than they'd hoped for. El Gallo and his Los Locos were running guns. The dogfights, while generating tens of thousands of dollars on their own, were a mere front. Lucy and Gabe's supervisor Lieutenant Heckman had turned their information over to her superior, Captain Burch. Burch had taken the lead on the raid, called in SWAT and only allowed the ACTF along as a courtesy after Lucy had begged to be involved. Lucy and Gabe had been virtually cut out of the planning despite their relentless pursuit of the East Los Locos dogfighting ring. "Get rid of it, Tuti!" El Gallo spat, prompting Lucy to inch forward. She could see El Gallo throw a fistful of cash at another man and stalk into the cantina through the backdoor. The gangbangers laughed and joked as more money changed hands. Pushing the baseball-capped banger away, the man named Tuti threw a chain around the bloodied pit bull's neck and dragged her clear of the wall of men. The exhausted dog cowered from Tuti as he tightened the chain around her neck. Small whimpers reached Lucy's ears. "Just shoot it." A thin teenage boy in baggy jeans and an oversized white T-shirt approached Tuti with what looked like a Hi-Power Browning 9mm. Nice gun. A detached part of Lucy's brain noted the semi-automatic. "¡Cállate, Flaco! Let's have some fun." Tuti yanked the chain, smashing the pit's chin into the asphalt. The sharp yowl caught the attention of the other attending Locos who turned to watch Tuti's show. Gabe's hand settled on Lucy's arm and held tight. She would have bruises in the morning. "Wait," he hissed. Lucy tilted her head to look directly into her partner's dark brown eyes. In a split second a struggle resolved between them. Burch's words, "You two hotheads are on thin ice," echoed in her memory. She knew Gabe remembered it too. "X the bitch, Tuti!" Drunken hysteria pitched the Locos' voices higher. "¡Fuego! ¡Fuego! ¡Fuego!" Her eyes still locked on Gabe, Lucy knew what was happening in the parking lot. Having investigated the sad aftermath of the East Los Locos games, she knew what inevitably came next. Slowly she nodded her head, and Gabe released his grip. It wasn't the plan. It wasn't even smart. Lucy rose to her full height. Her Beretta clutched firmly, Lucy shot a quick smile to Gabe. Easily on the taller side of six feet, muscled like a professional bodybuilder, Gabe Torres looked scary as hell. Glad you're on my side, good buddy. Lucy felt calm wash down from her head to her toes. This was what she was made for. * Xochitl Magaña paced nervously behind the bar of her cantina, anxiously waiting for the cops to arrive. ¡Santa Maria, reza por mí! Turning in her gangbanger boyfriend Memo was dangerous at best. I'm gonna be in deep shit if this doesn't go down right...And Miguel, Memo'll... "No," Xochitl hissed, squashing the sprouting thought before it could ripen. "This'll work." She snatched a towel from its hook and began wiping down the individual liquor bottles that lined the shelves behind the bar. El Gallo's done. Memo Morales preferred the moniker "El Gallo" and fancied himself Tony Montana. ¡Híjole! What's with vatos and Scarface? And like an over-glorified, self-obsessed crime lord, El Gallo had exploited his relationship with Xochi, using her bar as his headquarters — his command center for the gang's illegal operation. And I let him. But El Gallo gave her protection — something Xochitl desperately needed after her papa had died. And she had to admit, just as Memo liked having the only fair- skinned, light-eyed, natural blond ruca in the neighborhood, she'd initially liked the attention he'd given her. It had been hard growing up a "güera" in the barrio — a place, despite being Mexicana, Xochitl had never felt she truly belonged. School had been her refuge, and she'd even won an academic scholarship to UCLA. I was so close to getting out. Then everything changed. Her father had a stroke. His health rapidly deteriorated. She dropped all her classes. Moved back home. Took over the bar. Took over care of Miguel. Back in the hood, back in the life — with Memo. But Memo went too far. Gun running. There was no way Xochitl could live with herself knowing she had let this thug take over the business her papa had worked so hard to build. God, what would Papa think of me now? I just wanted to keep the bar going and Miguel safe. Xochitl hated all of it: the dogfights, the guns, the East Los Locos — Memo. She shook off the flutter of nerves vibrating up and down her spine and noticed she'd been wiping off the same fifth of tequila. As she carefully placed the Cuervo Gold in its proper slot between the Don Julio and Patrón bottles, she caught the reflection of her cantina in the mirrored glass that backed the liquor racks lining the wall. Wood and leather tables filled the space. A '50s style jukebox, her papa's pride and joy, played only vinyl from the '60s and '70s. "Mija, there's no other music." He would tell her whenever she'd begged him to update the playlist. Various paintings of matadors and bullfights attempted to lend a Spanish flavor to the rugged bar. Xochitl's Cantina had been Xochi's home since she was six when her father, Carlos, had left the Marine Corps, following her mother's death. And in its heyday, her papa's bar had been the favorite local hangout. The barrio Cheers. By the time she was eleven, Xochitl had a stepmother she couldn't stand and a new baby brother she adored. ¡Híjole! In one shot, Anita went from barfly to mother. What was Papa thinking? But Xochitl remembered how sad and lonely her papa had been after her mom had died. He was honorable and would never have considered not marrying the mother of his child. Carlos Magaña was the finest man Xochi had ever known. Biting back tears, Xochitl clenched her eyes. Her papa's warm and inviting spirit echoed within every element of the cantina. I miss you Papa. For what seemed like the millionth time, Xochi looked up to the neon DOS EQUIS clock hanging over the bar. 2:37 A.M.? They're late. The fights'll be over and Memo'll leave soon. He's gonna wonder why I'm still here and not waiting for him upstairs. "Where the hell are they?" she mumbled. "Where the hell's who?" Memo Morales asked. Startled, Xochitl whipped around, knocking over several liquor bottles. She barely registered the clamoring rattle of glass hitting glass as Memo, who had come in from the back without her noticing, stood behind her. Shit! Despite the frozen crush of heart-stomping anxiety, Xochi couldn't help admire Memo's movie star looks and how his white T-shirt and jeans emphasized his strong, lean build. His big, hazel eyes always took her breath away. Tonight was no different. Still the best-looking guy in the neighborhood. "Who's late?" Memo asked again, grabbing a beer from the cooler under the bar. "Huh, what?...Uh...no one. I mean, Miguel. He's late." Memo wrapped his arms around Xochi and tugged at her rose embroidered peasant blouse. "¡Ay, mamí! Let the boy be. He's almost eighteen. A man." He began kissing her neck. "Why don't you go upstairs, put on that sexy slip thing I got you? I'm all wound up. You can help me relax." Wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale beer and dog, Xochi shrugged Memo off her. "What do you know about it? He's not one of your boys." Xochitl knew she shouldn't be flippant with Memo. He had a short temper and could be aggressive with her when he didn't get his way. But she couldn't help herself when it came to her little brother Miguel. She hated it when Memo thought he had any say in how Miguel was raised. She wanted to yell in Memo's face, "Stay away cabrón! He's mine!" Instead she whispered, "I'm tired." Xochitl walked around to the front of the counter, trying to put distance between herself and Memo. She could see in his eyes he was losing his patience. Where's la chota already? Undeterred, Memo closed the gap between them and grabbed her arm, yanking her to him. "I said go upstairs and get in that pinche slip, bitch." Xochitl pulled her arm back and without thinking threw a right hook to his jaw. Instantly, she felt pain shoot from her fist straight up her arm. "¡Ay carajo!" Shaking out the sting from her hand, Xochi looked up and saw Memo stunned, holding the left side of his face. Oh, fuck! What did I do? Instinctively, she began backing up toward the bar's front door to make her escape. As she turned from Memo, Xochi heard a menacing laugh and the distinctive clicking sound of a gun being cocked. "Not bad for a little güera bitch. Daddy teach you that?" Xochitl grabbed for the door. "Don't you fucking move, puta." Naked fear blasted through Xochitl's body, leaving her feet bolted to the floor. She had nowhere to go. If she moved, Memo would shoot her. He's gonna shoot you anyway. Taking a chance, she slowly turned back to face Memo. He stood at close range, his gun pointed at her chest. Oh, God. Xochi raised her hands in the air. "Please, Memo," she tried to placate him. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—" "¡Cállate!" Memo growled, pacing back and forth in front of her like a wild beast about to pounce on his prey. An odd bubble of calm enveloped Xochi, and — as if locked in stasis, she stood immobile, waiting, contemplating her next move. "You think you can do this to me and not pay, bitch? I'm El Gallo!" Xochitl stole a glance at the bar. Behind the counter. Papa's shotgun. If I'm quick enough... "I run this—" Memo raged on only to suddenly cut himself off. Xochitl brought her attention back to El Gallo. He stared past her at the frosted glass window. She slowly craned her neck to follow his line of sight. A shadow moved swiftly by the front of the bar. ¡Híjole! About damn time! She turned back to Memo. His eyes again fixed on her. Xochitl could see by the amazed and — hurt? — look on his face that he'd puzzled out she had betrayed him. Why Memo hadn't made a move on her yet she didn't understand. She wasn't about to ask. Keeping him in her sights, she began inching her way to the bar. Xochitl had almost reached the end of the counter when Manny, a fourteen-year- old boy, one of Memo's lookouts, sprinted into the cantina from the kitchen. "¡Jefe! ¡La chota! ¡Afuera!" Memo regained his senses. "¿Dónde?" "Everywhere. I came from the dumpsters out back," the boy answered. ¡Carajo! The cops didn't find the kitchen entrance! The side alley door was hidden by the dumpster enclosure. Xochitl's produce vendors constantly complained about the difficult access. If I get out of this alive, I'm gonna move those pinche dumpsters. "Did anyone see you?" El Gallo asked the boy as he moved toward the kitchen and peeked through the swinging door. "No, Jefe," the boy replied, pulling out a 9mm handgun stuffed in his pants like a gangster out of a movie he'd probably watched a million times. "The cops will find the kitchen door soon." Memo stepped back into the bar. Xochitl eyed El Gallo, as he searched the room for another way out, revulsion churning her guts. How did I ever get mixed up with this monster? What am I gonna do if he gets away? Memo glanced down the hall toward the restrooms. His mouth turned up into a sly grin, and Xochi knew he had figured out his escape. ¡Hijo de puta! Where's pinche Xena warrior cop? Unsure, Manny took a tentative step closer to El Gallo. Memo put up his hand, halting the boy. "Stay here, homes. Pinche cops can't touch you." The gang leader beat his chest with his fist and shouted in salute, "¡Órale! East Los!" "East Los!" The dutiful boy soldier mimicked. Some day this kid's gonna get himself killed by these pendejos. That will not be my Miguel. El Gallo turned back to Xochitl, "I'll deal with you later." Then he ran down the hall toward the women's restroom. Xochi stood next to the bar, staring after Memo. There was nothing she could do now except hope the cops would nab him crawling out the bathroom window. She looked over to Manny, who appeared lost now that his leader had ditched him. Poor kid. Doesn't even know Memo could give a shit what happens to him. Shouting and gunfire blasted from the back lot. Officer Lowell. Xochi darted behind the bar, grabbed the Smith & Wesson 12 gauge, checked it was loaded and readied herself. Looking up, she watched Manny cock his gun. "Wait," she hissed. Manny smiled at her and ran for the back exit. "Shit!" Xochitl, shotgun in hand, took off after the boy. * "LAPD!" Gabe shouted as he and Lucy burst from the shadows. Tuti, tilting a red plastic gas can, hunched over the injured pit bull. "Down on the ground!" Gabe followed up. Tuti froze. An incredulous roar rose from the surprised Locos as Lucy rammed her full force into Tuti, taking him down and knocking the gas can from his hands. She jumped to her feet and buried her boot in Tuti's midsection. He gasped and curled in on himself. The crowd of Locos reacted with indecent speed, scrambling down the alley, climbing fences, grabbing dogs and cash as they fled. A few took in the fact that all that was threatening them were two cops — alone, and one of them was a woman. Like pack predators they closed in, toothy smiles flashing in the glow of the streetlights. The back door of the bar flew open. A skinny teenage boy wildly waving a handgun ran toward Gabe in a straight line. "Manny! No!" A screech Lucy barely recognized as belonging to Xochitl Magaña rang out from inside the hallway. Gabe clotheslined Manny effortlessly and sent his gun flying through the air. Hitting the ground it went off, prompting other frenzied Los Locos to fire blindly in return. The sound of feet running from both sides of the alley, the whirring sound of helicopter blades overhead, the sudden warning shouts of police and ACTF overlapped with the howling and barking of dogs and hollers from Los Locos escaping over the fence. Bodies in flight and pursuit, knocked over cages, men crashing or being thrown into the chain-link — the chaos all around made Lucy feel a weird calm. She noticed Flaco holding up his phone, filming the entire scene, turning his narco-pop to full blast while tears flowed freely down his scrunched up face. Freak. Near her, Gabe scooped up the injured pit bull and bolted towards the safety of the door propped open by Xochitl Magaña. "You idiots weren't supposed to grab the dog!" Xochitl sounded furious. Men came at him from all sides, shouting and flailing. Gabe barreled through them as if they were nothing. Screeching, Flaco raised his Browning to take aim at Gabe's back. Lucy clocked the boy in the face with her Beretta. He went straight to the ground. "You fucking weasel!" she spat and bent down to scoop up his gun. Someone grabbed her from behind, but she twisted out of the way, losing her grip on Flaco's 9mm. There was nowhere to go now but to follow Gabe and the pit bull through the open back entrance to Xochitl's Cantina. Lucy sprinted ahead, tripped over the stoop and gracelessly crashed onto the cantina floor, cutting her hands and bruising her pride. Crap! A shot rang out, and for a moment everything seemed to slow down. Lucy saw Gabe, who'd been in front of her and was already in the room, go to his knees on the blue linoleum. He bent forward unnaturally, releasing the pit bull who scrambled under a wooden table. Lucy lurched forward on the floor to half push and half drag Gabe out of range of the shots that were continuing through the backdoor. From behind the bar, Lucy heard Xochitl scream, "Stop shooting, you assholes!" The gunfire stopped. "Lucy." The deep rumble of Gabe's voice took her complete focus. Something was very wrong. Gabe's face had turned pasty white and glistened with sweat. Lucy locked onto Gabe's eyes — normally deep chocolate brown, they now glowed a mesmerizing amber. Before she could react, five Locos burst into the room, shouting and waving their guns. Gabe sprang up, knocking Lucy on her back, and crashed into the Locos with breathtaking force and speed. Gabe's already large frame now appeared monstrous, the muscles of his back and arms bulging and pulsing, his bones lengthening and cracking. Clean-shaven a moment ago, his face looked dirty with dark stubble. His hair, always cut high and tight — a remnant of his time in the service, now brushed his shoulders and rolled down his back like a messy lion's mane. Gabe roared like an animal in agony and ripped through one of the men's throats with the startling long, curved claws of his bare hand. He grabbed a gangbanger with the other hand, dangling the man off the floor and shaking him by the face like a rag doll. Lucy started to black out as what felt like a massive shockwave rocked through her body. She fought to keep her eyes open. The small coherent part of her brain observed that Gabe's Kevlar vest had a small rip in the back. Even if the vest had stopped a bullet from going through, it couldn't have saved his ribs from being broken. Yet Gabe moved unencumbered, with the power of ten men. She fixated on the shaggy black layer of fur that covered her partner's head and arms. Just then he turned in profile; large pointed, fur-covered ears swiveled back like those of an aggressive dog. Razor-sharp teeth flashed in a tapered lupine jaw, and he bit down on the last gangbanger. My partner's a werewolf? Lucy convulsed as hysteria shot through her like an electric shock. "SWAT! Drop your weapons! Nobody move!" At that moment, the SWAT team burst through the front door of the cantina. Gabe spun on the armed men, ready to attack. "No, Gabe! Stop!" Lucy screamed the command, instinct trumping fear. Gabe hesitated and looked at her with curiosity. Holy shit! He's listening to me. "SWAT! Get on the floor!" an officer roared as the team closed in. "LAPD. Don't shoot," Lucy yelled out and lurched ahead to put her body between Gabe and the SWAT officers. "Don't shoot. Don't shoot. Don't shoot." Lucy's voice gave out. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to squeeze sound from her throat, but her vocal chords wouldn't obey anymore and violent coughs shook her. She felt Gabe's hot breath on her neck and turned to face him, slowly and deliberately. "Down, Gabe." She pointed to the floor. "Down." For a split second, everyone in the room stood still and watched Gabe. The massive man swayed briefly and then dropped to the floor like a puppet that had had its strings cut. "Officer down. Code 33. Echo Park. North Alvarado and Clinton. Officer down. Start me additional units and medical. Code 3. Officer shot. Approach from northwest." "On their way." Lucy heard the shouting but didn't comprehend the words. She crouched down beside her partner, holding him tight as convulsions wracked his body. She saw blood drip to the floor. Gabe had been hit despite the Kevlar. "Don't die. Don't die. You can't die." Lucy's words ran together in an incessant chant. She was lost in his pain, unable to focus, oblivious to the pandemonium all around her.

 

 

 

 

Camilla Ochlan

 

Camilla Ochlan Separate of The Werewolf Whisperer series, Camilla has written The Seventh Lane, a mythpunk fantasy short, and the YA fantasy series Of Cats And Dragons (with Carol E. Leever). In collaboration with her husband, Camilla has written and produced a number of short films, including the suburban ghost story Dog Breath and the recent 20/ 20 Hindsight. A dog mom and cat servant, Camilla shares the house with three sweet rescue dogs and a rascally Abyssinian cat.

 

Links for the team

 

Website *** Facebook *** Twitter

 

Links for Camilla 

Twitter ***Instagram *** Google+

 

 

Bonita Gutierrez

 

Bonita Gutierrez

Bonita found her way to the stage at the early age of five. After college, she moved to Los Angeles to get into "The Biz." Over the years, she's played many roles from actor to producer, screenwriter to filmmaker — and now novelist. A mixed martial artist, Bonita has a background in Jeet Kune Do Kung Fu (Bruce Lee's art), Kenpo Karate MMA and Kali Escrima (stick and knife fighting). An avid runner, student of film and lover of music, Bonita is a self-proclaimed hamburger connoisseur with a passion for all things Star Wars and Buffy.

 

Links for Bonita

Twitter *** Instagram *** Google +

Snoopydoo sigi

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/feature-friday-ochlan-bonita-gutierrezs-werewolf-whisperer-interview-excerpt
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text 2017-10-06 14:05
Feature Friday for Lorel Clayton’s Tangle of Thornes with Excerpt

 

Today for “Feature Friday” let us welcome Lorel Clayton with their book Tangle of Thornes. The first book in the Eva Thorne Series 

We will have info about the book and author. A great excerpt from the book.

Make sure to check everything out and go and show some love and add the book to your TBR ;) 

Happy Reading

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/feature-friday-lorel-claytons-tangle-thornes-excerpt
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